Will's large, hulking body is above me again, crushing me until I can't breathe. I can almost feel his hand covering my mouth, hear him saying my name over and over again. This time I'm able to free my arm, rear back and then slam my fist into his face.

"Ow, shit! It's me Jessie, wake up!"

That's not Will's voice. It's Dean's. I open my eyes as the realization that I was dreaming slips into my consciousness. The dreams are becoming more and more frequent lately and it's beginning to wear on me. I blink the blurriness from my eyes and look up to see Dean clutching is jaw, wiggling it around to check for an injury. Oh my god…

"Oh shit, Dean, I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you? Let me see." I sit up and take his face in both my hands. I gently feel for anything broken or swelling. I'm avoiding his eyes because I know the questions are coming and I'm still just not ready to give him the answers.

"Jessie I'm fine. Sore, but I'll live. Are you okay? You were thrashing around and when I tried to wake you, you clocked me." He rolls his jaw one more time, then takes my hand in his, performing the same examination I just gave to him.

"I just had a bad dream. My hand is alright, trust me I've thrown so many punches that I'm sure my knuckles just expect the abuse." His thumb strokes across my knuckles and I break out in goosebumps. I need to get out of this bed and get some breathing room.

I move quickly, yanking a pair of jeans off of a hanger and dragging a gray fitted long sleeve shirt from a drawer. I dress half in and half out of my closet, but there is no teasing seduction in my movements this time. I just need space. I can't breathe. Not when he's looking at me the way I know he is, without even laying eyes on him. I can feel the penetration of his eyes.

"Jessie what are you doing? Sit down, talk to me. Something obviously has you spooked." He stands up and starts to make his way across the room but I stop him with one outstretched hand.

"I told you, I'm good. I just need to get to class. I have a paper to turn in." I step into a pair of flats and hook my arm through my book bag on the chair by my door. "Help yourself to whatever, there's some cereal and oatmeal in the cabinet above the stove. I'll see you in Creative Writing later okay?" I hop up on my toes and plant a quick kiss on his cheek then spin around and make a beeline out of the apartment before he has a chance to stop me.

I feel like shit for leaving him like that, but I can still hear Will's voice in my ears and the last thing I want to do is associate Dean with anything related to that night six years ago. I need to clear my head. I impatiently push the down button in front of the elevator over and over. When it doesn't come fast enough, I turn on my heal and head for the stairwell. I hear the door to an apartment open and look over my shoulder to see Dean, now fully dressed, looking up and down the hall until he spots me. I pretend I didn't see him and jog down the steps as fast as my legs will allow.

"Jess! Jessie, wait!" I can hear his footfalls echoing in the corridor with mine. He's about a flight of stairs behind me. I know it's cowardly but I just ignore him and run out of the front door with Kelsey's car key in my hand, since she planned to forego her last class before break this morning. I head straight for her car and am just opening the driver's side door when Dean jogs down the path and stands staring at me across the roof of the car. We're both panting from the exertion.

"Dean, I told you, I have to get to class."

"Why won't you talk to me? I know it's not just a stupid nightmare that has you this worked up. I've been trying so hard, and you still won't let me in. After last night I thought we were…I just don't know what else to do." The hopelessness in his voice catches me off guard and I hesitate a moment too long. Long enough for him to ask the one question I knew he'd eventually need the answer to, and the one I refuse to give him right now.

"Jessie, who is Will?"

I stare dumbfounded. All the color must drain from my face because Dean looks alarmed and starts to walk around the car toward me. I slide into the driver's seat and slam the door, punching the locks and jamming the key into the ignition. He's standing a few feet away from the car on my side now, and I can tell by the look on his face that if I leave now I will slice a tiny fissure into the relationship we've only just made official. I must have said Will's name when I was having the nightmare. So now I have no choice but to tell him. But not now. Not today.

I look into his eyes and plead silently for time, just a little more time, before I shift gears and pull out of the parking space. I know my overreaction has only made things worse, but I'm not exactly my most rational self today.

I don't know why I look. Call it masochism. But I do look in the rearview mirror and I see Dean, hands behind his head, face raised to the sky. He yells, but I can't make out the words. When he turns and kicks the tire of a car parked next to him not once but three times, I can more or less infer the gist of what was said.

Class was just an excuse to get away. I'm one of maybe seven students to show up for my 8AM psych class. We turn in our papers and bullshit for about fifteen minutes before Dr. Riche let's us go. I kill time in one of the lounges before Creative Writing. I don't want to get there early, just in case Dean is planning an ambush, so I wait until five minutes before class starts to leave the psych building.

I timed it perfectly, I'm just sliding into my seat as the professor starts talking about the last writing project of the semester which we'll be starting after break.

I'm trying to figure out a way to distract Dean because this is our last class for the day and I know he'll be waiting for me once it's over. I don't bother looking around the room for him. I can feel his presence. It's amazing how attuned I've become to him just over the last month. Jamie told me I need to trust him and open up to him, but I'm afraid of reliving everything and what it will mean for us. It's not like I have a choice at this point. The dreams are becoming an almost nightly occurrence and I don't need a full psychology degree to understand the meaning there. Dean and I are getting closer and there is still this festering wound from my past that I haven't been able to fully stitch up. It's going to continue to be a problem until I tell him about it.

For now, I just need to keep things on an even keel until we're away from school and all of our respective distractions, on neutral ground.

Before I know it, class is over and students are filtering out of the classroom. I look around and see that Dean and I are the only two people left. Naturally. I pack up my things and stand just as he makes his way to the front of the room. We don't talk, but he does hold out his hand for mine. I take it and find myself wishing things could just be this simple. Why can't I let it be simple?

As we walk through the doors, a gust of wind kicks up outside and I tug a gray knit cap down over my unruly hair. It's cooler than just a few days ago, but still significantly warmer than it would be if we were back home and just three days away from Thanksgiving.

We silently make our way to the parking lot. Dean unexpectedly reaches over and threads his fingers through mine. As tense as things are, this small form of contact causes my heart to swell. Is it possible that he isn't holding my ridiculous behavior from this morning against me? I expect this bubble of contentment to burst once we reach the car but Dean just turns me to face him and places his hands on my waist. I look up and see the unreadable expression on his face. I can't tell if he's hurt, frustrated, mad or sad. He just stares down at me for a minute, then lowers his mouth to mine.

The kiss is warm and lingering. He doesn't tighten his hands on my waist, or move them at all. I rest my hands against his chest and let him take whatever he needs from me. I don't think he even knows what that is. When he pulls back, his eyes are smokey and intense when they meet mine. My breath catches. He brings one hand to my cheek, as he so often does, and I lean into it. We just stare at each other for a moment, no words passing between us. He is the one to finally break the silence.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow at eleven," he says, rubbing his thumb against my bottom lip, then brushing lightly against the purple crescent below my eye. His expression doesn't change. He is still totally unreadable.

He places a kiss on my forehead and turns to walk across the parking lot, where I'm assuming his car is parked. I don't know why, but I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. I know I should be happy that he still wants to go away with me, and that he isn't pushing the whole Will thing. For some reason, the lack of confrontation just doesn't sit well with me. It feels like a brief lull, the calm before the storm. All I can do is wait and ride out the incoming waves until the clouds finally gather for the tempest.