Unloved

Chapter 6

I don't know if Dean's comment was supposed to be sexual or not, but it's all I've thought about for the past three days. The reaction I gave when all he did was touch my hair was enough to make him think I wanted his hands on me. But I don't. He's a killer, why would I want him touching me.

I skip every meal I can to avoid sitting in the same room as him, let alone the same table.

I wonder if he's wondering where I am right now. But at the same time, I'm beating myself up for even caring. Dean Ambrose is a killer. I want absolutely nothing to do with him and he wants absolutely nothing to do with me.

On Thursday, I finally work up the courage to go out to the main room. Mostly because I miss my books and really don't want to skip a Thursday where I could be consumed in them just because I'm afraid of some giant man.

I slowly enter the main room, keeping my eyes peeled open to track the sight of Dean. I spy him across the room, gently playing the piano. The melody is so beautiful and every chord he's hitting makes the perfect sound in harmony with the rest.

Instead of immediately asking for my books, my feet involuntarily take me over to him, intrigued by the soft, beautiful music.

"You can play the piano?"

"No."

I stare at him, not even knowing what to say next. What does he mean no? He was literally just playing the most beautiful and powerful music I've ever heard.

"Obviously I can play the fucking piano." He smirks.

Now I've lost all interest and immediately get up, retreating from the old piano. I retrieve my books and plop myself down on a couch far away from Dean, hoping to get some peaceful reading done.

I fall asleep instead.

I am woken by a quick shake and my name being spoken by the voice of an angel, or at least that's what it sounds like.

It's Dean's voice. Nevermind.

"What?!" I snap.

"God damn, what's with the attitude?"

"You woke me up for no damn reason. I've barely slept in days."

"And why is that?"

He seems genuinely curious.

"I...um...I don't know, I just can't sleep. It's hard for me."

"Isn't that crappy medicine they give us supposed to make us sleep?"

"I wouldn't know." I say, looking over at him. "I don't take that shit."

"And how do you get out of that one?"

"Easy, I just hide it under my tongue. Then when I'm alone I find a way to dispose of it."

"Clever, maybe I should try that."

My eyes widen, "I don't recommend it."

"Why is that?"

"Because you actually need those pills."

He smirks again, "What makes you say that?

"Trust me, I've heard the stories about you." The guards commenting on Dean's arrival instantly flash through my mind.

He shifts uncomfortably, "What kind of stories?"

"How you killed people. Burned them. Ruined lives all because your boss wouldn't give you your precious raise. You're the definition of crazy. And you're evil. You disgust me actually." I almost want him to feel bad, but I know he won't. Psychopath's like him don't ever feel bad.

His eyes lower as if anger has just taken over his whole persona. When he speaks, I can tell his voice drops three octaves. "You don't know anything about me."

I can't tell if he's trying to intimidate me. All I know is that a shiver runs through my veins as I stare into the eyes that have now been turned cold.

"I know enough." I dismiss him and open the book in my lap. I don't want him to feel that he can intimidate me.

He doesn't say another word as I read that pages of my old books, but I feel his gaze on me. It makes my skin burn.