487 Jade Lane

Chapter Three: I Develop a Phobia of Showering

Ryan P.O.V

Chapter Three: I Develop a Phobia of Showering

Of all the things to happen today, you would be surprised to discover that it was coming to Deanna's house, (my girlfriend) to find her not ready for our date, but instead curled on her bed sobbing violently, that tripped me up the most.

Her face was red and raw from crying, and she kept using the same tissue to wipe her eyes. I gave her a fresh one and she nodded at me in appreciation, and blew her nose. "It happened, Ryan. I made it to season six,"

Immediately I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. I love Deanna to death, honestly, but I will never understand what's so amazing about that weird show she watches. All I know is that both the guy actors are "friggin hot" and that they fight demons. And also it causes a lot of emotional pain. But I've never seen her cry so much over it, so the protecting instinct kicks in and I wrap my arms around her and she turns to me gently and says with her voice somewhat hoarse and sounding depressed:

"Sam and Dean are model brothers. I love how much they care for each other, I really do. It makes me see light in the world," she sniffled and sunk back into my chest, and she looked at me through her glasses, her eyes icy blue and watery.

"I like your cologne. And the flannel. You know who wears flannel? Sammy does,"

Then she disappears into another cascade of tears. I grimace as I thought this shirt would be the perfect option, but once again, I have failed.

"We can cancel the plans,"

"Cancel? We can't cancel! We have the dance tonight, and we already bought the tickets, its fine. Honestly," Deanna starts to get up and I notice that she's wearing sweats, which makes me blush. Sweats are hot.

"Besides, the dress was like three months of saved allowance. That's worth almost eight or nine times to the movies with popcorn and a slurpee each time," she stood and moved past me, leaving me sitting on her bed.

"Did you actually do the math?" I asked, truly curious. Just how much would that actually be? Leave it to my girlfriend to actually do the math so she could use it in conversation.

She sighs. "Ryan, gosh I don't know. Point is we're going to the dance. It'll be great, I know it," She walks over into her closet and pulls out a hanger on her bag, which I know to be her dress. I don't know what it looks like it at all; she's refused to tell me anything about it, accept that it's blue.

"I can't wait to see you stop crying," I interjected softly, as tears were still falling steady down her cheeks, and down her chin.

Deanna bit her lip and looked up at me. "I'm sorry; it just gets me every time,"

"Wait a minute; this isn't the first time you've seen that?"

"No, but it's still painful every time," she takes the back of her hand, and gingerly dries her cheeks, while I stare on incredulous, trying to understand her interesting reasoning.

"But shouldn't it be less painful since you already know that it's coming?" I furrowed my brow at her and saw her face contort for a second, as if she couldn't grasp the words she was hearing from me.

"Ryan," she pauses and gives me a deathly look. "If I died and you had to relive it, wouldn't it hurt over and over and over no matter how many times you saw it?"

"Why did you have to say something so dark?" I asked, trying to push the horrifying thought of life without her away. For a minute I was drowning in it. Life would be horrible without her, and I'd surely cry harder each time I dared enough to recall.