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I've worn him out.
After barely making alive out of the walking cemetery of the living dead, I was the one driving around in circles, hiding my doubts from the man in the passenger's seat. In truth, I should be the one wearing Dean's scowl and expressing frustration.
Dean folds his arms as he droops down into the seat. Even though the sun is still glaring down at us, his stare is more likely to burn a hole through me. I ignore the feeling of irritation and continue to drive to God knows where.
"What's it like up there?" He asks, twisting his tone with a superficial dreamy octave.
Upon instinct, I answer his question with another without tearing away my focus from the bumpy road ahead, "Up where?"
"Up so far your ass that you can't even admit that you're lost." If we weren't mad at each other, I bet he would've burst out laughing because he was that proud of his punchline. Hell, I would've too if he wiped off that hybrid of a scowl and smirk off his face.
"I'm not lost," My defense is tense and infused with venom, as I assure him for the twentieth time. As much as I can hide the fact that I don't even believe in myself at the moment, Dean doesn't buy my lie. To buy some time for an idea, I make a grand effort to distract him.
So without another word, the heel of my foot stomps on the brake to brace the car into a halt. I don't plan on looking at Dean, because I see Dean's body shift along with the brake.
I allow my hands to gracefully fall from the steering wheel and change the gears to a halt in the middle of the barren road.
"You really have a way of shoving everything out of me." My eyes search for his but they are as much of a coward as I am, as they fix their attention to the fields afar.
Dean takes his chance to talk as a choice to be silent, giving me the way to continue.
I draw out a sigh before I talk, "When traffic got too heavy in the morning, this is the route I take to get to work. Not many people know about it because the big trees cover the winding road. It would always take a few minutes longer, but it was more peaceful than hearing the constant honking of cranking drivers in the crack of dawn. But Mark's voice was still a good substitute. He seemed to never get the hint that I didn't need another alarm in the morning pissing me off. This road made memories for me, memories I still have even after jumping off that building an hour ago. So you have to believe in me when I say I know where we're going, but I know it too well. As much as Mark annoyed me, I still..."
My words jumble with his voice, "Don't give me that bullshit saying that you miss him when a blind man could see that you wanted slit his throat back there."
"I still have memories with him. Those don't change," as I correct his assumption, Dean doesn't say anything. It's as if he knows what I'm talking about. As much as someone pisses you off, you still have memories of them, and once they're gone, it's not like the memories of them go away, even if sometimes you want to.
For a man of many words, he only mutters one, "Charlotte."
I've heard that the sweetest word to a person can be your name. I never really got that. After all, the very few friends I had were all colleagues of mine, so they called me Dr. Dawn. Patients called me the same. My parents and Alan and Diana never did either because they barely even called me. Then there was Dean. Before I knew he was Lucille's husband and when we were friends, he would call me Dawn. Never Charlotte. No one ever called me Charlotte and I never questioned why. I do have to admit though, it did sound like the feeling you get when you're a kid taking it caramel for the first time. How the sugar melts in your mouth the second it comes in contact. That's what it feels like.
My name even seems foreign to him. It rolls off his tongue and he doesn't know what to do with the aftertaste. Maybe it isn't sweet to him as it is for me.
"What?" is the best question I can come up with.
"Let me drive," he insists without much persuasion. In any other situation with any other person, my stubbornness dictates every move. However right now, I was ready to jump into the passenger's seat, but not until I knew Dean was convinced.
"To where? Off a cliff?" My face makes a scowl as I realize my bitter, unfitting sarcasm peaks to a whole new level.
"No, but if this doesn't work out then that can be our next destination," he throws a wink at me as he gets out of the car.
Dean pulls on the handle of the car, swinging the door open, "Let's go home. I know this street to when driving Lucille to the hospital. It's not far down from here."
I slowly make my way out of the car. As I stand up, Dean is just a few inches away from my face as I ask him, "Your home?"
"Our home."
I didn't have to ask him twice to know that I wasn't in that equation.
