Murder Me, a JD x reader (female)

What is love?

What is love?

Is it what you feel for your pet?

Is it what you feel for your siblings?

Parents?

How do you know if you are in love?

Is it the rythmithic pounding of your heart?

Is it the ache you feel in the pit of your stomach when you are away from him?

Or maybe is it the way you leave your body as you become one with him?

You don't know.

But you can't help but wonder, do I love Jason dean?

You met him two days ago, and he's already your first.

But just because he took your virginity it doesn't mean that you have to love him. But something about him just clicks. You dont know what it is. 

Like a blind man in the ocean.

You dont know where you are going, you have trust your instincts. You have to just run with the impulse to turn slightly one way, or the other.

You could never be bored with him. Ever.

Even if it was just staring at him. You could be lost in the sea of dreams. Remembering that this boy is yours.

There is always something new to learn about him, so many things you have yet to learn.

Mysterious.

You want him all the time, but when he's with you, you don't know how to react. You always take a shot in the dark, hoping with all your might that you made the right decision. And usually, you did.

This was what went through your mind back then.

All those weeks ago.

When you were new the the prospect of anything sensual. He taught you everything, everything you were willing to learn.

He still does.

In more ways than he did before.

But when you are naive, young, you don't know what to think about anything.

Everything mattered to you. 

And it mattered to him. Even when he wasnt naive, when he never really has been naive in that sense. Not since his mother waved her last goodbye from that building.

You remember that day as well.

Clearly.

The two of you were relaxing. Blindly watching the TV, spacing out. Watching the host set up cheesy puns while the recorded laughter played. 

You were laying on the couch, your head on his lap, he was stroking your hair, picking apart each strand and smoothing it out.

It was a quiet night..

There was nothing to do, the tiredness hung around the air like a hanged man.

Both of you were to tired to get steamy, but didn't want to be apart.

You were mindlessly letting your brain shut down, when suddenly it hit you like a brick in the head.

And so you asked him.

You asked him in the most casual voice you could muster.

You asked him what happened to his mom.

You knew immediately you had made a mistake. He stopped stroking your hair and his breathing hitched.

You felt tears brewing in your eyes as you quickly sat up, trying to figure out the complexity of the situation.

He tried to shut it down. Tried to change the subject, hiding his tears with a fake grin that looked more like a grimace. But you didn't have it. You placed a hand on his cheek and turned his face from the TV. He faced you.

He let his gaze be pulled with his head, letting his eyebrows furrow in a frown that kept his lips from wavering.

You had never seen him cry. Not if he could help it. His facade fell with the force of a waterfall. And before you knew it his head was buried in your shoulder, voilently sobbing as he clutched your back.

You hugged him as tightly as you possibly could, trying not to let your own sob escape your lips. Your years fell silently. Creeping and falling as you stroked his hair.

You didn't know what made you cry. Maybe it was the fact that he had broken down completely, the way that you saw what he was really like hidden behind the bad boy escipade.

You stayed there. Letting him cry it out, whispering consolations in his ear as you tried to reach the place he was stuck.

You told him, in one way or another, he could tell you when he was ready.

And he was.

And he did.