Starting With You

46. Evidence of our previous cohabitation

Teddy

I GO TO JENSEN'S APARTMENT ONE DAY after work when I know he's gone. It's been a week, and I'm running out of clothes. Somehow most of my wardrobe and all of my toiletries have made their way over here. I guess I was practically living here; it shouldn't come as such a surprise that most of my stuff is here.

I pull the bag that Jensen stuffed into a dark corner of the closet after he dumped all its contents into his dresser, and I begin stuffing my clothes back into it. It won't be big enough for all my clothes, but I'll come back for the rest later. I'm in desperate need of underwear and tank tops.

As I cross through the bedroom on my way to the bathroom, I glance at the unmade bed. I resist the urge to crawl in and snuggle under the covers.

After retrieving my stuff from the bathroom, I pass through the bedroom again, pausing at the hamper. It's filled to the top, the contents spilling onto the floor, the colorful splashes of my clothes intermingling with his neutral-colored ones.

The simplicity of this domestic scene, evidence of our previous cohabitation, catches me off guard and I suck in a breath. I pick up one of Jensen's gray t-shirts, pressing it to my nose to inhale his familiar scent.

I miss him so much it hurts.

Swiping away the single tear before it can trail down my cheek, I stuff his shirt into my bag and leave the room.

When I'm halfway across the apartment, the front door opens and claws click-clack across the floor toward me. Scout jumps up, his paws on my knees, tongue hanging out of his mouth, and his tail wagging. I scratch him behind the ears and then push him down, finally looking up to meet Jensen's eyes.

He's paused in the open doorway, his hand still on the doorknob, as if paralyzed.

"Hi," I say, taking a few tentative steps toward him. "Sorry to barge in. I just needed some stuff."

His eyes fall to the bag hanging on my shoulder and he glares at it. "That fucking bag."

I laugh, and when it startles us both, I clamp a hand over my mouth. "I guess maybe it was just a sleepover, huh?"

"Teddy." His hard voice is a warning. He steps fully into the apartment and closes the door behind him. "Don't say shit like that."

Sighing, I adjust the bag on my shoulder. "I'll just..." I motion behind him at the door.

"You don't have to go. You could stay. Eat with me."

Shaking my head, I say, "I don't think so, J. I should probably just go."

When I go to move around him, he stops me with a hand on my stomach. "I've hated everything about this week without you," he whispers.

His hand moves to my waist, scooting me over to stand in front of him.

"Me, too," I admit.

"Stay. Please."

I stand on my tiptoes, pressing a hand on his chest for support, and place a feather-light kiss on his cheek. Then I step around him and walk out the door. This time I don't stop the tear as it falls down my cheek. Or the ones that come after it.

-

I TOSS THE HEAVY BAG ONTO MY BED once I make it to my apartment and I dig out the shirt I pilfered from Jensen's hamper. Removing my tank top, I replace it with his shirt, bringing the cotton up to my nose to inhale his scent.

Then I stalk to the kitchen to raid the cupboards for whatever junk I have left after a week spent stuffing my face with Little Debbie snacks and licorice and whatever else looked good the day I stocked up at the store. After pouring myself a tall glass of wine, I bring my supper to the living room and fall onto the couch, reaching for the remote to fill the emptiness with trashy TV.

Apparently, this is how I live now.

A few minutes later my phone dings. When I see Jensen's name on the screen, I almost ignore it. All I've done all week since we decided to take some space is sulk and think about him. My brain needs a break from thinking about the man. He's everywhere. And he's nowhere.

Finally, I cave. I pick up my phone to read his text.

JENSEN: I hate this.

I don't know how to respond to that. I hate this, too. I hate it so much.

A few minutes later, he texts again.

JENSEN: I miss you.

I throw my phone onto the couch, glaring at it. I'm so upset right now. I don't want to talk to him over text. I don't want to read these words. I want to hear them from his mouth. I needed to hear them last week. Or earlier today when I was at his place. Not now via text.

He texts again. Almost against my will, I read it.

JENSEN: Fuck, Teddy. I'm dying over here.

Tears leak down my cheeks again. I'm so sick of crying. I'm so sick of feeling this way.

My phone dings with another text. I cover it up with a pillow, willing myself to ignore it. Maybe he'll leave me alone if I continue to leave his texts unanswered.

The ding is muted under the pillow as he texts again.

Groaning, I retrieve my phone and read his messages.

JENSEN: I love you, baby.

JENSEN: I'm sorry.

Since my theory about ignoring his texts was wrong, I decide to finally answer.

ME: You know I love you, J. But nothing has changed.

JENSEN: I'll work on it, ok? Just tell me I haven't lost you. I can't lose you, Teddy.

ME: You haven't lost me.

JENSEN: Fuck, baby. I don't deserve you, but I want you so fucking bad anyway.

ME: Talk to someone, J. If it's not me, then someone else.

ME: I think you need to talk to Caroline. You need closure.

ME: And your dad. But actually let him talk this time, J.

ME: This shit is eating you up. You know it is. I don't like seeing you like this. You're a good guy. You do deserve me. You're just in a bad place right now. Take care of you. I'll be here.

JENSEN: I wish you were here. I really want to hug you right now. I love you, baby. I'm so sorry.