Unfamiliar Ceilings

My timing could not have been any more perfect that it was. Just as I was pulling my black dress over my head, Mark was calling up the stairs, saying that Dean was here. I felt a nervous twist in the pit of my stomach after shouting back that I was on my way down. I stopped, took a soothing breath and told myself to calm down; it was only Dean. Ha, sure, that worked.

I put my necessities in the pocket and an old leather jacket, which had belonged to my cousin Daniel a couple of years back. I’d stolen it when I was fourteen, I think. My necessities were my phone and some money. I was sorely, sorely tempted to just leave my iPod at home, but I couldn’t bring myself to. It was like my baby. And I need to get a life.

I shoved my feet into a pair of flat, black satin shoes, and then hurried down the stairs without tripping over my own feet. The front door was shut, and nobody was near the stairs. I could hear Mark laughing from the living room, and then another voice talking. Oh, dear.

When I walked in, Dean was standing near the oak shelves which ran along one entire wall, the majority of them covered in old, dog-eared paperback novels and a couple of DVD’s slung here and there, probably because nobody could be bothered to organise it. He was running his long fingers along the spines of the books and squinting to read the faded titles, chuckling quietly to himself.

“Oh,” Mark said, seeing me. “Here she is.”

Dean turned himself around and smiled. It was this really, really lovely smile. I felt weird to be on the receiving end of one of those smiles, but I could certainly get used to it. He looked me up and down briefly and nodded, making his way across the living room towards me and saying hello. He’d changed his clothes since this morning. He was wearing a black v-neck shirt, dark jeans, white Nike high-tops and a thick, grey cardigan, with a faux fur hood.

“You look amazing,” he said. “Ready to go?”

“Liar,” I blushed. “Yeah.”

“One at the latest,” Mark shouted once we’d gotten to the front door. Dean called back an assurance that he’d get me home completely unscathed and not a minute after one. I pulled open the front door and pulled him out before he could carry on talking.

I should’ve been in some severe state of shock, and I probably would’ve been if I weren’t so happy about his change. Thinking back to that time, I could’ve been more cautious with him. Oh well. If that one kiss was the path to my undoing, this night could be my ultimate destruction.

But hey, I’m being dramatic.

*****
“Why can’t I just pay for my own ticket?” I asked, following closely behind Dean to a seat right at the back of the theatre. We were at the Odeon cinema in Leicester Square, getting our seats to see The Final Destination. He managed to work his charm on the ninety-something year old ticket seller, getting her to give us a discount on the tickets.

“Because,” he smiled, sitting heavily into a centre seat. “This is my way of apologising for being a complete and utter lower colon.”

I laughed and sat down beside him. “You’re making this sound like a big, fat obligation or something.”

“It is an obligation,” he said. “But I wanted to take you out anyway.”

“Wow, thank you, ever so much Dean. You’re far too kind,” I laughed, smacking his arm lightly and leaning back in my seat. Hardly anybody came in after us; just a couple that looked as though they should be walking hand in hand along the side of the Seine and a few boys that looked around twelve years old. Dean put his feet up on the chair in front of him and we waited out the previews. I shrugged my jacket off and let it hang off of the back of my seat.

Dean chuckled throughout the film, even more so when somebody died in some overrated, clearly too-well-thought-out way. Admittedly, they were weak in comparison to the trilogy before this one. I almost threw up, however, when one of the deaths included a teenage boy being dragged down to the bottom of a swimming pool and having his entrails ripped out through his backside. Beautiful.

Dean was laughing far too hard for it to be healthy, just because I jumped. “I knew I should’ve taken you to see Harry Potter or something.”

“Shut up,” I mumbled. “I’m not scared, that was just disgusting.”

He just laughed and shook his head. He stretched his arms up over his head and did something so cliché and idiotic that I had to stuff my fist in my mouth to stop myself from laughing. After he stretched, he let his arm fall around my shoulders. I looked up at him, allowing my head to rest on his shoulder a little bit.

“Did you seriously just do that?” I whispered.

“Looks like I did,” he shrugged slightly.

“Smooth, Dean,” I shook my head and turned my attention back to the screen, automatically cuddling into his side.

“Maybe not,” he whispered, his lips against the curtain of my hair. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

I blushed and thanked whatever force there was out there that it was dark in here. “Shut up and watch the film.”

I could hardly focus on the film myself though, because every time I tried he’d do something to distract me all over again. At one point, he had a huge coughing fit that I wasn’t entirely sure was real. He kept using his thumb to trace patterns on my bar arm and making me shiver. Every now and again, I’d take a little sideways glance at him and see him smirking to himself. I sighed and tried my best to ignore him and take in the ending.

“Well, remind me to vote for that at the Oscars,” he said, once the credits started rolling on-screen. “For the ‘Most Anti-Climactic Ending Ever’ award.”

He moved his arm away from my shoulder and stretched both of them out in front of him, like a cat, then stood up. He reached his hand out and grabbed mine to pull me out of my seat. I tucked my jacket under my arm and walked with him out of the theatre, his hand still curled around mine.

“So,” I said. “What now?”

Dean turned his phone on and checked the time. “We’ve got three hours before you have to go home. Anything you feel like doing?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Good,” I smirked and started walking out of the cinema. “I’m paying.”

*****
Spending time alone with Dean was surprisingly fun, yet tense. After going to the nearest chip shop – which I flat out sprinted to, so that Dean wouldn’t beat me to paying for our food – we wandered around and he told me there was somewhere he felt like going.

I had my arms looped around the chains of an old, rusted swing, situated on a children’s playground, a small portion of chips in my hand. Dean was sitting beside me, flicking through my iPod with one hand and holding his own food in the other. We’d talked a lot, and I gradually stopped getting all nervous around him and started being a smartarse.

“I’m too sexy for my shirt!” he said, jumping off of the swing and dropping the last of his chips on the floor. He clutched my iPod tight and danced around in a way I didn’t even know he could. The boy had not one bit of dignity left after that. Then again, the song was on my iPod. Mortified? Yes, very much so.

“Sure you are,” I laughed, once I’d picked my jaw up off of the floor. I’d never seen this side of Dean; he was always so chilled and totally not immature. He finished his little dance, and then sat down on my lap and leaned back into me.

“Come on,” he smiled over his shoulder. “I’m not even a little bit sexy?”

I laughed and tried pushing him off me. “Nope.”

He clicked his tongue playfully and said, “Shouldn’t have said that.” And before I had a chance to think of a retaliation, he leaned forwards and then slammed his body back into mine; knocking the both of us straight off of the swing and onto the ground. I landed on the Astroturf with a thud, feeling it graze my bare elbow slightly.

Dean sat as heavily as he possibly could on my stomach, restricting my breathing to the very bare minimum. I tried telling him this little fact, but he pretended that he couldn’t hear me and just spread his weight more. I slapped him in the back of the head, which got him to swivel around and put a leg either side of my body.

“That hurt.”

“You’re heavy,” I gasped. “Get off me!”

“Oh, now there’s no way I’m getting up.”

I groaned and he smirked and said, “I know you like me, but I’m only sitting on you.”

I scowled and rolled my eyes, going to hit him again. He grabbed both my wrists and held them tight. I gave him a pleading look – complete with puppy-dog eyes – but he might as well be made out of stone, because he just laughed.

“Fail,” he muttered, placing his elbows down on the ground beside my body, loosening his grip on my wrists and stroking the patch of veins there. Somebody really should’ve just showed up and slapped me, because I could’ve sworn my heart fluttered and my breathing quickened. Just because Dean was closer to me.

“I know what you want,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over mine.

“Then you know you want it too.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think I want it?”

I shrugged. “Dean?”

“Yes?”

“Shut the fuck up and do it.”

He certainly didn’t delay and crashed his lips onto mine. He released my wrists and put his hands around onto my back, while my arms instinctively went up around his neck. My fingers curled and tweaked his straight hair. His tongue traced my bottom lip ever so slightly and I smiled.

That kiss really was the best I ever had, maybe the best I ever would. Ever in my life. Better than the time Joseph Kelley kissed me in year two in the sand box at primary school. Better than every little peck Ryan gave me every New Year. Better than anything I could imagine. I could kiss Dean Owens forever and not complain. Not once.