My Baby, My Darling.

"What are you doing here?" My voice was quiet as he moved to stand up. He was sitting beside my door and I wondered if he'd been waiting long. More importantly, why was he waiting.

My eyes traveled down to the book clutched in his hand. It was the book I lent him not too long ago, my favorite book, The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. I remember wanting him to read it so badly, forcing him to put aside his medical journals for hours at a time just so that I could watch him read it, watch his expression lighten at the funny parts and his eyebrows furrow at the sad parts. Of course, he never knew I was watching him. I always told him I was drawing or reading a magazine, but I was always watching him out of the corner of my eye. I love to watch him read, I loved to watch him read.

"I was just, uhm, returning this to you." He said, his tired eyes scanning my face. I held my breath, as if me drinking was something to hide from him. Of course he could always tell when people were drunk, he was a doctor. He knows what alcohol smells like. But for some reason, I didn't want him to know that I was drunk. He'd feel the need to take care of me like he always did, as if I wasn't capable of taking care of myself. As much as I wanted him to, he couldn't stay.

"Um, thanks." I said as he walked toward me, handing the book out to me. It was a little more worn out than when I gave it to him a few months ago and I could tell he read every single page, maybe even more than once. My fingertips grazed across his cold touch as I took the book from him and he quickly pulled his hand away, rubbing over the back of his neck. "Did you like it?"

He cleared his throat in front of me, his eyes dropping to the ground. "Yeah, I did."

I nodded and our eyes met for a brief moment. I realized how close we were standing. Heat radiated off of his chest and standing so close to him, all I wanted was for him to wrap his arms around me so that I could breathe in his scent, feel his warmth around me. I was always comfortable in his arms, as if that's where I was supposed to be. It felt right. But standing in front of him now, I felt the closest I had felt to him so long, but at the saw time so far away. It was awkward. As if reading my mind, Dexter took a step back and licked over his lips.

"Well I just, I wanted to make sure you had that back because I know how it's your favorite book and all."

"You didn't have to-"

"No. It's your book, you should have it." He shook his head, breaking eye contact with me. He was quiet for a few moments, refusing to look at me. His jaw was clenched as he took a deep breathe and looked back up at me. "You have a lot more stuff at my apartment if you want to come by and pick it up sometime. When you're ready, I mean."

I nodded, taking in his words. "Okay."

He nodded briefly and moved past me, toward the stairs. The thought of taking back all the things I have at his apartment makes me feel more empty than ever. Knowing that a part of me was still at his apartment made me feel secure, like I was still with him in a way. And now he was asking me to take it all back. I can only imagine how many times he's come across one of my coffee mugs or a crumpled up sketch lodged in between his couch cushions. I wondered if he even noticed, if he still cared. Stop it. You asked him to stop caring. You asked for this. You need to go over there tomorrow and pick up your stuff like a big girl. You need to do this. You need to take back all your coffee cups and sketchpads and that key you gave him-

"Shit." I said, slamming my hand against the door. I forgot my purse in Travis's car. My purse has my keys in it. And my cell phone.

"What's wrong?" Dexter walked towards me, concern etched onto his features.

"My keys." I said, gesturing toward my front door. "I'm a fucking idiot and I left my purse in Travis's car."

He tensed for a second and then cleared his throat, looking past me at my door. "Did you try calling him?"

"My phone is in my purse. God, I'm such an idiot." I hissed, leaning against my door in frustration.

"You're not an idiot." Dexter said, running a hand through his hair. His eyebrows were furrowed. He was conflicted, he was thinking. After a few minutes, he let out a breath of air and met my eyes.

"Come with me." He said, moving to grab my hand but stopping himself just as he realized what he was about to do and shoving his hand into the pocket of his coat.

He gestured for me to walk ahead of him and I shook my head, narrowing my eyes. "Where are we going?"

A smirk spread across his features and I raised an eyebrow at him. "You are so stubborn," he said. "I'll drive you back to my apartment. I left your key somewhere in my room. I'll find it so you don't have to break into your apartment or something.

"Dexter, I can't just-"

"Just what." He said, waiting for me to come up with a better solution.

I searched my mind for something, anything. After a few seconds, a grin spread across his features. "It's not a problem, really."

"Okay." I said and he gestured for me to move toward the stairs and I did.

I tried my best to keep my balance as we walked down the stairs. I faltered a few times, but I'm positive he didn't notice.

I didn't object when he opened the car door for me, in fact, I had to fight down a smile at the familiarity of the gesture. I hated to admit it, but I missed his chivalrous acts.

A Coldplay song played on the way to his apartment. I stared out the window and tried my best to suppress the memories that filled my senses from being in his car. It was quiet, but not an awkward quiet. It was more of a comfortable silence. I don't know why, but silence with Dexter was always comfortable. He had that vibe about him. Or maybe I was just always comfortable around him.

I found myself watching him drive. The streetlights illuminated his features in the darkness and my gaze settled on his focused expression. It's like I forgot how defined his features were, how beautiful he was even in darkness. His eyes were tired and I wondered if it was because he had been working or because, like me, he couldn't sleep. His grip was tight on the steering wheel, as if the car would go out of control at any moment. His other hand rested on the middle console, where my hand usually met his while he was driving. I remember running my fingertips over every crease in his hand, watching his expression change at every touch.

"So you were with Travis tonight?" His voice caused my eyes to snap to him. He wasn't looking at me, his gaze was still settled on the road.

I nodded, "Gabe was throwing a party at his apartment. Travis gave me a ride home."

"Why?" He said, still not looking at me.

"Because I was drunk." I said, and his eyes quickly moved to meet mine before returning to the road. He suddenly looked angry. This is why I didn't want to tell him.

"Are you still drunk?"

"I don't know. I don't think so." I said and he nodded.

"So you and Travis then." He said, his grip on the steering wheel increasing. His knuckles were turning white but his voice was normal, not angry.

I shook my head, then realized that he couldn't see me. "We're not together, if that's what you're implying."

He was quiet. And suddenly the silence was awkward. After a few moments, I found the urge to speak, anything to get rid of the silence. But just as I opened my mouth, he spoke again.

"Why not?"

I found myself letting laughter escape past my lips and I shook my head. This wasn't funny. He turned to look at me, a mixture of confusion and anger etched across his features, and I laughed some more. Maybe I was still drunk, because this most certainly was not funny.

"What's so funny?" He said, turning his gaze back onto the road. I laughed some more and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"You think it's that easy, don't you?" I said, staring out the window, still trying to stifle laughter.

"What's easy?" He said, pulling up to the front of his apartment building.

"Nevermind." I shook my head, moving to open the door, but he pressed the button to lock the doors. "It's nothing."

"No it's not." He said and I turned to face him. Sure enough, now he was looking at me. I had his full attention.

"You're back to telling me what I think." I said, challenging him.

"Tell me." He said, his eyes boring into my own. I shook my head and unlocked my door, pushing it open before he had the chance to lock it again. I made my way into the apartment building and up the stairs to his floor. I could hear his footsteps chasing after me and I struggled to move faster. When I finally made it to his door, he was emerging from the staircase, not at all out of breathe.

"You're going to have to tell me what you meant." He said, making his way over to me and I shook my head.

"Just open the door, Dexter." I said. Now I was the one avoiding eye contact.

He shook his head, the keys in his hand jingling. "Not until you tell me."

"Don't be an asshole." I hissed, rolling my eyes.

"You're back to calling me an asshole." He said and I nodded.

"Will you just open the goddamn door?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I want to know."

"No." I said, making a move to grab his keys but he just pulled them out of my reach.

"Well then I guess we'll be out here all night." He jingled the keys in front of me and I groaned.

"It's not easy, okay? That's what I meant. That's all I meant. Now will you open the door?"

"What's not easy?" He moved the keys higher when I reached for them.

"Dexter." I groaned.

"Tell me."

"Moving on." I finally said, meeting his eyes. "It's not easy moving on from you. I can't. It's impossible. And it's not easy to have these feelings for you all the damn time because no matter what I do, something always reminds me of you. It's like everywhere I go, everything I fucking do, I keep wishing you were there with me. I keep waiting for your dumb ass comments or for you to pull the goddamn door open for me when I go anywhere. I can't be with Travis because I'm still in love with you. Nothing is fucking easy anymore, okay? Are you happy? Now, can you please for the love of god open this damn door?"

He blinked, staring at me for a few moments before reaching down and unlocking the door. Without a word, he pushed it open and left me standing in the hallway. The door swung wide open and after a few seconds, I followed him inside.

I scanned his empty living room and heard him fumbling around in his bedroom. I shut the door behind me and scanned the room for my box of things he said he had. There was no box in sight. Maybe it was in his room. After a few minutes, he emerged from the room and my stomach dropped when my eyes traveled to the box in his arms. There it was, all my sketch pads and coffee mugs and books. Everything I'd ever left here, there it was, clustered into that one cardboard box.

My eyes traveled to his face and I saw him scanning over my expression, silently analyzing me. It was quiet. We stood there staring at each other for a few moments. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally broke the silence.

"I don't want to give this box to you." He said. "Do you want me to give this box to you?"

Was this a test? If I said yes, it would mean that we were done. We officially would not be together anymore. There would be no piece of me in his life and I would have no connection to him. If I said no, what would it mean. I don't know. All I know is that I didn't want that box. I did not want to take that box back to my apartment.

I shook my head, refusing to think about the consequences. His expression didn't change and I desperately wanted to know what he was thinking.

"You need to say it, Chelsea."

"I don't want you to give me the box." I said.

"Why not?"

I shook my head, "Dexter."

"Why don't you want the box?"

"I don't know." My eyes moved to look down at the box.

"Yes you do." He said, dropping the box onto the coffee table. There was a crash inside the box and I jumped at the sudden noise. "Look at me and tell me why."

"Because-"

"Why?" His grey orbs bore into my own and I felt so small. His expression was commanding, not scary but the most serious I had ever seen him.

"I don't want to break up." I stuttered, surprised that the words left my mouth.

"What?" He said, moving closer to me if that were possible.

"Don't make me say it again, you ass-"

He pulled me against him, crashing his lips against mine and silencing me. I didn't stop him. I refused to listen to my subconscious screaming that this was a bad idea, that I should have stuck with my original decision and cut off all ties. I should have moved on. And I should push him away. But here I was, kissing the only guy who could make me feel this way, the only guy who knew me better than I knew myself, the only guy who could make me genuinely happy. Here he was, pulling me closer and closer to him with every passing second and there was no way in hell I was going to push him away. Instead, my hands moved up to his waist, pulling him closer to me. His hand moved to the back of my neck, deepening the kiss. My tongue moved instinctively with his. He tasted like mint mixed with something else, coffee.

His hands gripped the backs of my thighs and I jumped up to wrap my legs around his waist. I was vaguely aware of him moving to the couch and pulling us both down. I straddled his lap. My hips instinctively rocked against his and he moaned into the kiss, his grip on my waist tightening. His fingers slid under my shirt and his familiar touch sent tingles throughout my body. My lower half rubbed against him and a string of curse words escaped past his lips as I felt him harden against me. I know I should stop, but I've been deprived of his touch for so long and once again, I find myself pushing aside my subconscious to bring my hands under his shirt. His grip on me tightens and he breaks the kiss, causing my lips to trail down to his neck.

"Baby, if we don't stop now, I don't think I'll be able to stop myself." He breathes and curses when my lips find his sweet spot.

"Then don't stop." I whisper against his skin and grind my hips onto him, causing him to let out another groan.

He shook his head and moved to grip my shoulder, making me break the kiss. His eyes scanned over my face, full of lust but etched with concern. "This is happening really fast and I just think we should think about this."

"I'm so tired of thinking." I said, moving toward him and his grip on my shoulder increased.

"I'm just saying." He said, looking into my eyes. "I want you to be sure, and tonight might not be the night to do this. We just got back together and-"

"Dexter." I closed my eyes, shaking my head. "Are you saying that you won't have sex with me?"

"That's not what in saying." He smiled, reaching up to push strands of hair out of my face. "I'm just saying that I won't have sex with you tonight. I fully intend on making love to you sometime in the near future, believe that."

"Oh my god." I said, burying my face in his chest. "You are so 1920s. Making love."

"That's what I prefer to call this." He nodded, a grin spreading across his features as he gestured between us. "We aren't just going to fuck or have sex. Those terms are so impersonal. That's something that happens with someone I don't really care about. I care about you. I wouldn't just fuck you. When we do decide to do this, I will make love to you."

I was quiet, listening to his chest rise and fall with every breath he took. He was a gentleman in all aspects. I mean, I really didn't think that about him when We first met. I mean, I thought he was the biggest douchebag around and all the holding doors open for me and pulling my chair out, I always thought he did that to annoy me or because he knew I hated it. But this is what he believed in. He believed that when he found someone worth pleasing, worth loving, he would take every precaution of respect. He respected me, and that might just be the most admirable, lovable quality about him.

"You believe me don't you?" He said, his fingertips trailing up and down my spine. The notion sent shivers throughout my body.

"What?" I said.

"That I love you," he said looking down to meet my eyes. "Because I do. I need you to know that I do. You said before that you didn't believe me when I said that I loved you. What I did, I'm so sorry. If I had known it would have hurt you the way that it did-"

"Dexter." I said, silencing him. "If you didn't love me, you wouldn't have fought so hard to get me back. You wouldn't have returned my book to me."

"Your book?" I could tell he was smiling.

"You wouldn't have bothered." I said and after a few seconds added, "I know you love me."