Please Don't Go

I didn't understand. Perhaps I never would.

He sat there; on the edge of the bed, duffel bag and knapsack by his feet. He had his head bowed, hands fiddling with the zippers of the jacket that he had pulled on. It was obvious that he was avoiding me.

Avoiding us.

"When will you come back?" I managed to murmur. It was amazing how steady my voice was, betraying nothing of the tumultious wave that was threatening to overtake me. He didn't reply, not at first. Pulling at the strings a little more, Dean sucked in a deep breath and looked up. There were tears in his eyes, sorrow in the way he held my gaze, "I'm really not that sure."

Fingers aching to reach out, to touch him, to feel him; I shoved my hands inside my jean pockets.

Don't.

"Well, how soon will I be able to hear from you again?" I was fishing for time, fishing for hope. Dean had told me about this particular trip. It was to that school that he went to, abroad, where he studied all those things that he didn't like talking to me about. It was in that school that he had had his heart broken, by a red haired little wench who had known nothing about how deeply Dean had really cared for her. He left every year, Dean did, and he came back. Always. But this time, I knew, this time, something was different.

There was a look in those brown eyes, a look that brought to life visions of death, destruction and pain.

Stop it.

And I knew that I had to. I had to stop thinking like this, feeling as if this was most probably the last time I was ever going to see him again. It was irrational, to be so afraid, to wish so much that he would stay.

You know that he never will.

Who was I kidding? I was always going to be the girl back home for him, the friend, the almost-maybe. Dean was never going to see me in any other light. Turning to the wall, I imagined stories into the patterns that brightened the wall paper - stories of love, joy and happiness.

Stories of me, and him.

"You want me to call your sisters to tell them you're leaving or...?"

He moved so fast, I swear I would've missed it if I hadn't turned to face him in the last second. Before I could react, he had his lips on my own; tongue probing softly. The adrenaline that shot through me gave my heart a jump start that it really didn't need. My breath hitched at the back of my throat as he worked his hands up my arms, my waist, and then finally, my hips.

Oh, dear god. I was dreaming.

And I had to be. This couldn't be real - none of it could be real. Dean Thomas was standing there, kissing me, tasting me, touching me. I had fantasized for this for so long, five years now. I had to be hallucinating, just had to be.

Finally able to function again, my mind screamed for my body to respond. It did, sluggishly. Resting my hands against his chest, I pushed once, twice, and gave up.

Let this be a dream then. A wonderful dream that I didn't ever want to end.

And the dream was beautiful.

I worked through the layers of clothing he had on slowly, carefully. If this was indeed a dream, and I had convinced myself that it was, I had no intention of breaking the reverie. Dean was mine for the moment, and I his for as long as he would have me. That was all the reality that I needed.

The rush of the cool night air against my bare back had me pushing against his body, unconsciously searching for a warmth that only he could give. His hands moved down, pushed away an unnecessary belt, jeans and underwear.

It's just us now, just you and me.

We found ourselves on his bed suddenly. In a sudden whirl of wind and speed, we were pressed down against his West Ham duvet and covers.

Kisses, tastes, scents and breaths.

Then suddenly, he was inside me and the world started to sway. I was where I wanted to be, exactly. I was complete. I was whole.

I love you, Dean, more than you'll ever know.

An explosion of colours, of emotions so bright. I screamed from the pleasure. It was all I could do. Fingernails raking against skin the colour of chocolate, I tensed when I finally came. Collapsing as we did, afterwards, he brushed the hair away from my face and planted a kiss on the tip of my nose.

"I love you, Nora, I can't believe I never saw it before, but I always sort of have."

Content, I could do nothing but smile, "I've always loved you, Dean. I'll still be here, loving you, when you come back."

He frowned, only momentarily, but then, in the blink of an eye, the moment was gone and he was smiling. He kissed me again, this time harder and for the next few hours, we were lost in each other's arms once more. It had been a long time coming, this moment. We were in no hurry to see it off.

I can't remember when exactly I fell of to sleep, but I do remember the moment Dean got up to leave. I remember how quickly he had gotten dressed, as silent as night itself. I remember sensing his presence by the bed once more, and anticipating the possibility that he was never going to leave, that he had changed his mind and was going to stay here.

With me.

But that wasn't to be. Instead, as the cool touch of wood caressed my forehead, I heard Dean whisper a single word into the air.

"Obliviate."

And then, I remember nothing at all.