Wow, thank you so much for all the reviews! As for the Dean idea. . . things may not be as they seem. Although, after this chapter, you can probably tell what's going to happen.
Also, I don't really know about Paige's family. I'm assuming that Dylan's her only sibling, and for the sake of this story, he dad is not in her life. Not dead, but not in her life.
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"Paige?" Dylan said softly, shaking my arm. Everything was dark, and my head was pounding. Slowly feeling back into my limbs. I was in my room, lying in bed. I had been somewhere good, somewhere warm, somewhere dark. Sleeping. I had been sleeping. Who did Dylan think he is, taking me away from that?
"What?" I asked, pulling the blankets over my head.
"There's someone here to see you."
Two days since mom had died, and we had been bombarded by phone calls and visitors. Dylan had kept strong, talked to my relatives, answered the phone and the door. There was a pile of casseroles slowly growing in the freezer. He had been organized enough to label who each container belonged to. He was functioning, dealing with it, taking on all the responsibilities. I, on the other hand, stayed in bed, and kept popping the sleeping pills the doctor prescribed me the night she died. I was there for the things I absolutely had to be there for, but I slept whenever possible.
"I don't want to see them."
"Come on, get up." His tone stayed soft, but he pulled the blankets off.
"Please, Dylan," I asked softly. "Let me sleep."
"Paige. . . I know this sucks, and I know how hard this is for you, but I really need you to get dressed and come downstairs."
I sighed, but managed to pull myself out of bed as Dylan left. My limbs felt heavy, and I was afraid of looking in the mirror. I found a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt on the floor, and I pulled them on. I didn't bother to run a comb through my hair.
I got to the top of the stairs, but couldn't see the mysterious visitor that Dylan was hellbent on getting me to talk to. I came down, and realized that Dylan wasn't there, but sitting uncomfortably at the end of my couch was Spinner.
He got up as soon as he saw me. I just stared at him for a minute. Neither of us had any idea what to say. Things had been weird between us after we broke up in grade ten. We'd dated, and maybe I'd ever loved him, but things just hadn't worked out. We were still friends, but there was always something there that hadn't been there before. It was like going to university and then going back to high school.
Finally, after an awkward silence, I found myself running into his arms. I wrapped my arms around him, and buried my head in his chest. His body stiffened at first, then relaxed, and cradled my head with one hand, then rested his other hand on the small of my back. I allowed myself to weep shamelessly. He didn't stop me, but kept me close to his body and murmured something into my hair. Eventually, we found ourselves on he couch, my eyes swollen from crying, my body completely limp from exhaustion. He kept me close to his chest, and I curled up to his body. He stroked my hair.
"How did you get so good at this?" I whispered. I had stopped crying, at least for the time being. I was all out of tears.
"I had a good teacher," he whispered.
All I wanted was to get lost in him. I wanted, I needed to escape. All I could think about was getting back with him, getting him to stay with me, having him there no matter what. The way we had been. It was comfortable. It was familiar. And all I needed was something familiar.
"Spin," I whispered, reaching up to touch his face. I brought my whole mouth up to his. And I kissed him.
"Wait," he said. "Paige, no."
I pulled back, stunned. "What's wrong?"
"I can't do this," he said, getting up.
"What's. . . what's wrong?"
"I can't do this. I'm not going to take advantage of you."
"But you're not." Why wasn't this working? Why couldn't he help me?
"No," he told me, coming back over to me. He sat down beside me, but not too close. "I want you, Paige. You know that. But right now you aren't. . . I can't let you do something you might regret."
"All I did was kiss you," I whispered.
"Paige. . . I don't want you to regret anything you do. If you still want to hook up in a couple of weeks, fine. But right now. . ."
I nodded. "Maybe you should leave," I said softly, not looking at him.
"Paige, don't do this." But still, a minute later, I heard his footsteps leaving, and the door closing softly behind him.
I crumpled to the floor and started crying again.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"What kind of flowers do you think she'd like?" Dylan asked me later on. We were at the funeral parlour, making final arrangements for her funeral the next day. "Lilies?"
"She hated lilies," I said softly. "She always said that they made funerals even more depressing."
"What would she like?"
"Daisies. Yellow daisies."
Dylan looked over at the funeral director. "Yellow daisies it is. What about music?"
I shrugged. So did Dylan. "Whatever you usually use."
Usually use? He didn't usually plan my mom's funeral! How the hell was he supposed to decide what was 'usual' for her funeral. What was this to the guy planning it? Just another business deal? Just more money? Just another job!? Was that all my mom meant? The room started spinning. "I don't wanna do this."
"Paige-"
"I can't do this." I got up, out of the stuffy office, and ran out into the hall. The lobby was wide and open, but I ran right into someone. I looked up to see the stranger from the emergency room.
"Sorry," he mumbled, keeping his head down. We both backed up, then he looked at me. His eyes were red-rimmed. "You." His deep blue eyes just bore into mine.
Something he had said when we first met hit me. "Your sister didn't make it?" It was the least socially correct thing to say, but I had a feeling that he cared about as much as I did. What was I supposed to say? How are you? We were in a funeral home. You don't go to a funeral home happy, even if it's someone you didn't know who died. Unless he was a complete ass, he wasn't doing well either.
He didn't look offended by the question. Maybe a little bit surprised, but not offended. "No, she didn't."
His words crushed my heart. Sure, I had just asked him if his sister was dead, but with his words came the realization that he felt about as bad as I was. "I'm sorry," I whispered.
"I can't breathe in there," he said softly, his eyes still holding mine. "My dad's making all the plans, and he wants me to help, but. . . I can't do this. I can't make plans to put my sister's body six feet under."
I wanted to reach out and touch him. Hold his hand like he had done like that night. Just hearing his words made me feel like he was the one person in the world who understood what I was going through.
"The guy who's planning it just. . . it's like this is just business. She was business. She was my mother! My brother can handle all of this. He's just getting all organized, and he can deal with it. I just. . . I can't."
"How did your mom die?"
"She was hit by a truck. He was drunk. Ran a red light. She had. . . they said something happened in her brain. . . they couldn't have done anything."
He put his hand on my shoulder. A current ran right through me. "I'm sorry," he whispered. It wasn't sexual, it was just him being there for me, me being there for him, just our presence.
"Paige?" Dylan asked from behind me. I turned to see him, and the stranger's hand fell off my shoulder. "We still need to finish."
I nodded. "I'll be in in a minute."
He nodded, then went back into the office. I turned to the stranger. I guess he wasn't a stranger anymore, but I didn't know his name. "Thanks," I whispered.
He nodded, then we both turned towards our respective offices. I turned back to him, just as my hand touched the doorknob. "How did your sister die?"
He turned back to look at me, his eyes locking on mine once again. After a pause, he responded quietly, then disappeared into the office.
"She killed herself."
Also, I don't really know about Paige's family. I'm assuming that Dylan's her only sibling, and for the sake of this story, he dad is not in her life. Not dead, but not in her life.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Paige?" Dylan said softly, shaking my arm. Everything was dark, and my head was pounding. Slowly feeling back into my limbs. I was in my room, lying in bed. I had been somewhere good, somewhere warm, somewhere dark. Sleeping. I had been sleeping. Who did Dylan think he is, taking me away from that?
"What?" I asked, pulling the blankets over my head.
"There's someone here to see you."
Two days since mom had died, and we had been bombarded by phone calls and visitors. Dylan had kept strong, talked to my relatives, answered the phone and the door. There was a pile of casseroles slowly growing in the freezer. He had been organized enough to label who each container belonged to. He was functioning, dealing with it, taking on all the responsibilities. I, on the other hand, stayed in bed, and kept popping the sleeping pills the doctor prescribed me the night she died. I was there for the things I absolutely had to be there for, but I slept whenever possible.
"I don't want to see them."
"Come on, get up." His tone stayed soft, but he pulled the blankets off.
"Please, Dylan," I asked softly. "Let me sleep."
"Paige. . . I know this sucks, and I know how hard this is for you, but I really need you to get dressed and come downstairs."
I sighed, but managed to pull myself out of bed as Dylan left. My limbs felt heavy, and I was afraid of looking in the mirror. I found a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt on the floor, and I pulled them on. I didn't bother to run a comb through my hair.
I got to the top of the stairs, but couldn't see the mysterious visitor that Dylan was hellbent on getting me to talk to. I came down, and realized that Dylan wasn't there, but sitting uncomfortably at the end of my couch was Spinner.
He got up as soon as he saw me. I just stared at him for a minute. Neither of us had any idea what to say. Things had been weird between us after we broke up in grade ten. We'd dated, and maybe I'd ever loved him, but things just hadn't worked out. We were still friends, but there was always something there that hadn't been there before. It was like going to university and then going back to high school.
Finally, after an awkward silence, I found myself running into his arms. I wrapped my arms around him, and buried my head in his chest. His body stiffened at first, then relaxed, and cradled my head with one hand, then rested his other hand on the small of my back. I allowed myself to weep shamelessly. He didn't stop me, but kept me close to his body and murmured something into my hair. Eventually, we found ourselves on he couch, my eyes swollen from crying, my body completely limp from exhaustion. He kept me close to his chest, and I curled up to his body. He stroked my hair.
"How did you get so good at this?" I whispered. I had stopped crying, at least for the time being. I was all out of tears.
"I had a good teacher," he whispered.
All I wanted was to get lost in him. I wanted, I needed to escape. All I could think about was getting back with him, getting him to stay with me, having him there no matter what. The way we had been. It was comfortable. It was familiar. And all I needed was something familiar.
"Spin," I whispered, reaching up to touch his face. I brought my whole mouth up to his. And I kissed him.
"Wait," he said. "Paige, no."
I pulled back, stunned. "What's wrong?"
"I can't do this," he said, getting up.
"What's. . . what's wrong?"
"I can't do this. I'm not going to take advantage of you."
"But you're not." Why wasn't this working? Why couldn't he help me?
"No," he told me, coming back over to me. He sat down beside me, but not too close. "I want you, Paige. You know that. But right now you aren't. . . I can't let you do something you might regret."
"All I did was kiss you," I whispered.
"Paige. . . I don't want you to regret anything you do. If you still want to hook up in a couple of weeks, fine. But right now. . ."
I nodded. "Maybe you should leave," I said softly, not looking at him.
"Paige, don't do this." But still, a minute later, I heard his footsteps leaving, and the door closing softly behind him.
I crumpled to the floor and started crying again.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"What kind of flowers do you think she'd like?" Dylan asked me later on. We were at the funeral parlour, making final arrangements for her funeral the next day. "Lilies?"
"She hated lilies," I said softly. "She always said that they made funerals even more depressing."
"What would she like?"
"Daisies. Yellow daisies."
Dylan looked over at the funeral director. "Yellow daisies it is. What about music?"
I shrugged. So did Dylan. "Whatever you usually use."
Usually use? He didn't usually plan my mom's funeral! How the hell was he supposed to decide what was 'usual' for her funeral. What was this to the guy planning it? Just another business deal? Just more money? Just another job!? Was that all my mom meant? The room started spinning. "I don't wanna do this."
"Paige-"
"I can't do this." I got up, out of the stuffy office, and ran out into the hall. The lobby was wide and open, but I ran right into someone. I looked up to see the stranger from the emergency room.
"Sorry," he mumbled, keeping his head down. We both backed up, then he looked at me. His eyes were red-rimmed. "You." His deep blue eyes just bore into mine.
Something he had said when we first met hit me. "Your sister didn't make it?" It was the least socially correct thing to say, but I had a feeling that he cared about as much as I did. What was I supposed to say? How are you? We were in a funeral home. You don't go to a funeral home happy, even if it's someone you didn't know who died. Unless he was a complete ass, he wasn't doing well either.
He didn't look offended by the question. Maybe a little bit surprised, but not offended. "No, she didn't."
His words crushed my heart. Sure, I had just asked him if his sister was dead, but with his words came the realization that he felt about as bad as I was. "I'm sorry," I whispered.
"I can't breathe in there," he said softly, his eyes still holding mine. "My dad's making all the plans, and he wants me to help, but. . . I can't do this. I can't make plans to put my sister's body six feet under."
I wanted to reach out and touch him. Hold his hand like he had done like that night. Just hearing his words made me feel like he was the one person in the world who understood what I was going through.
"The guy who's planning it just. . . it's like this is just business. She was business. She was my mother! My brother can handle all of this. He's just getting all organized, and he can deal with it. I just. . . I can't."
"How did your mom die?"
"She was hit by a truck. He was drunk. Ran a red light. She had. . . they said something happened in her brain. . . they couldn't have done anything."
He put his hand on my shoulder. A current ran right through me. "I'm sorry," he whispered. It wasn't sexual, it was just him being there for me, me being there for him, just our presence.
"Paige?" Dylan asked from behind me. I turned to see him, and the stranger's hand fell off my shoulder. "We still need to finish."
I nodded. "I'll be in in a minute."
He nodded, then went back into the office. I turned to the stranger. I guess he wasn't a stranger anymore, but I didn't know his name. "Thanks," I whispered.
He nodded, then we both turned towards our respective offices. I turned back to him, just as my hand touched the doorknob. "How did your sister die?"
He turned back to look at me, his eyes locking on mine once again. After a pause, he responded quietly, then disappeared into the office.
"She killed herself."
