My Baby, My Darling.

"You just...left?" That was the fifth time she had asked me that. Same pause, same tone, same confused voice. I could practically hear Nicole's jaw drop over the phone when I explained the Dexter encounter from a few hours ago. I was currently going through my leisure Friday night routine where I ate breakfast for dinner and lounged on my living room couch, watching Friends in yoga pants and a Led Zeppelin tee. My hair sat atop my head in a messy bun as I picked up a piece of bacon from the plate on the coffee table in front of me.

I sighed and fixated my gaze on the episode where the gang goes to Las Vegas, nibbling on the piece of bacon. "Yes, Nicole. I just left. And please don't say it again. I already clarified what happened a million times." I rolled my eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm just trying to process this. The hunk tells you he has feelings for you, and you just run away. What are you, twelve?"

"Shut up, I panicked." I hissed over the phone.

I could hear music playing in the background as she sighed, probably rolling her eyes, "Why did you run?"

"I don't know." I muttered, picking up the remote to decrease the volume as I made my way into the kitchen, checking on the cookies in the oven. "At the time, it just seemed so natural, too perfect. Like he'd said and done these things a million times before. I couldn't take it, so I left."

"You left, because it seemed too perfect? What the fuck is wrong with you?" she muttered as the timer on my oven beeped. I pulled on an oven mitt and pulled out the tray of hot cookies.

"Nothing's wrong with me. I just, I got the feeling. It didn't seem right," I explained, "something had to be wrong. He could have easily said and done all these things with a million other girls before me. I wasn't going to just be a number on his list that he could check off, you know. I don't need that. And besides, he barely knows me. The whole situation was just, it was off."

"You can't just base these things on a feeling, Chels." She urged, "I think you should at least give him a chance. He could be something great for you."

I bit my lip and shook my head, grabbing a spatula to remove the chocolate chip cookies from the baking pan. "I can't do that."

"Why not ? What is holding you back?"

"If I do that, put myself deeper into the hole, I don't think I'll be able to get out." I answered honestly. I put down the spatula and fixated my eyes on the cupboards in front of me.

I could hear her nodding slowly on the other end as an understood silence filled the conversation, "Then I think you need to decide, honey. You either let go and fall in, or  give up and climb back out. There's no way you can cling to the sides anymore and hope for the best. Make a decision." Nicole was the smartest, most philosophical girl in the world when she wanted to be. "I'll talk to you later, alright?"

I nodded feebly and started to scrape the cookies off the pan again, "See you tomorrow." And we hung up. I finished scraping off the last of the cookies, making my way over to the living room and sitting down to watch another episode of Friends. Fifteen minutes into the episode, there was a rapid knocking at the door. I hoisted myself up from the couch and wiped cookie crumbs onto the side of my pajama pants, stumbling over to the door. It was probably just my mom because she forgot her house key again, or maybe Gabe trying to mooch some free dinner off of me. My dad was currently on a business trip, so it couldn't be him.

However, when I swung the door open, I was presented with neither of the two. Standing in front of me, in the same hospital scrubs I left him in, was Dexter McHale. Or at least that's what I think I saw before he burst through the door frame so fast I had no choice but to stand in my doorway, dumbfounded as to what just happened, or why there was now an out-of-line Dexter storming into my living room. I quickly shut the front door and followed him into the living room, furious.

"What the hell are you doing in my house? I could call trespassing on your ass! Are you fucking aware that this is a crime punishable by-"

"Just let me get this out." He held up a hand, silencing me.

"No." I hissed, "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Just let me say this, then you can yell and scream at me all you want." he gestured for me to sit down on the couch. I merely shook my head sternly, narrowing my eyes at him.

He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw, focusing on me as if in deep concentration. "I like you." he paused,  letting out a breath of air and expecting me to run away again. When I stood still, keeping my glare on him, he continued, "As much as I don't want to admit it, I think about you way more than I normally would anybody else and you're like nobody else I've ever met before. You're beautiful, and smart, and-"

I held up my hand abruptly, silencing him. I couldn't take this. "Bullshit." I finally met his eyes, a fierce intensity in my tone.

He blinked, "What?"

"You heard me, I said bullshit. You're feeding me all these bullshit words and corny lines that I've probably heard in movies about a million times before with that bullshit expression that's supposed to tell me that this whole bullshit scene is sincere. What, do you think I'm an idiot, Dexter? That I'll just fall at your feet after you finish that speech? News flash, dickwad. I'm not another one of the slores you meet at parties. I am most certainly not going to make myself some story that you tell other people about when they ask you about the last girl you got into bed. I'm not buying any of this bullshit, Dexter, especially from you."

He shook his head sternly, furrowing his eyebrows and clenching his jaw, establishing fury in his eyes, "Are you fucking kidding me, Chelsea? I'm in the middle of telling you I have feelings for you and you feel the urge to pull all this shit?"

"Well then! Maybe you shouldn't have feelings for me in the first place if I'm the type of girl to pull this shit on you. This must work for you every other time, but you can't just pull this fucking bullshit on me. I'm not going to buy your asshole moves."

"How else am I supposed to tell you this shit? Fuck, it was hard enough saying it the first time." he hissed, hastily brushing past me and walking out of the living room.

I shook my head sternly and spun around, following him into the foyer where he was now opening the front door. "Why me?" I yelled, causing him to stop in his tracks. "There are plenty of other sluts who are guaranteed to fall for that routine. What's the point in wasting your time on me. You should have known from the first moment you met me that this wouldn't be easy."

He spun around to face me, raising his eyebrows. "This isn't a fucking routine, Chelsea. I'm not here to feed you the bullshit lines I use on those girls at parties. This is different-"

"How?" I snapped, crossing my arms, "Please, enlighten me. What makes you different from all the other assholes that say the same exact things you just told me?"

He clenched his jaw, standing in my doorway with his hand pressed against the doorframe. I tried so hard not to stare at his flexed, perfectly toned arms and his beautifully defined jawline. "Because I want to know you."

"What?" I hissed, furrowing my eyebrows.

"I can't understand a single thing about you. You're not like them," he looked down, "Nothing  at all, like them. And that's what scares me. I have no idea what to do when I'm around you. I'm so afraid that I'll fuck up and make you leave like you did today. It all used to be so easy, all this bullshit. But now, you cross my mind more times during the day than I'd like to point out. A part of me wants to protect you at all times, and the other part of me just wants to forget everything about you and move on. I want to figure you out so badly, because I can't understand a single thing you do. I want to know why you shudder slightly every time you curse, or why you always smell like daisies. I want to know why you inhale coffee as if it's your job and what goes through your mind when you look at me the way you do, like you're thinking about a million things at once. I can't figure out why you are so afraid of letting people in. I need to know you, Chelsea. And that is what scares the shit out of me. But, I'm here. I don't know why, but I am. And all I want to ask you for, is a chance, if you'll even remotely consider being around an asshole like-"

My lips crashed onto his, causing a cease to his rant. At first, he stood confused as to what was happening, but after a few seconds, his lips finally moved along with mine as he smiled into the kiss and his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling our bodies closer. I breathed into the kiss and brought my hands up to cup his cheeks, his tongue grazing across my bottom lip yearning for access, which I granted. It was as if at that moment, we were entirely focused on one another, and I was suddenly aware of everything around me, the scent of his cologne, the thin, smoothness of his lips, his perfectly shaped jawline, his heartbeat. Time stood perfectly still. We stayed like this for a few moments, in pure bliss, before his cell phone started to ring. We broke away from the kiss abruptly, his arms still pulling me close to him. He glanced down at the phone ringing in his pockets and back up at me as if contemplating whether he should answer it or not. I nodded lightly and stepped back, allowing him to take his call. He furrowed his eyebrows and pulled his phone out, silencing it. We stood, staring at each other for a few moments, both trying to figure out what had just happened.

I blinked, remembering how genuine his speech was, how little he had thought it out. But, every word out of his mouth only sent more goosebumps onto my body. I wondered how closely he must have watched me when we were together to observe these things, and how I was only a step closer to understanding him. I looked up to meet his eyes, which examined me with deep concentration, holding worry. I wanted to tell him everything at that moment. How many times he had crossed my mind on a daily basis, how I loved the way he smirked and furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. I wanted to assure him that I wasn't going to leave, and how he had given me the right answer. The right answer, if that was even possible. But no words formed on my tongue. I opened my mouth, trying to tell him every thought running trough my mind, but when I opened my mouth, none of the right words came. I found myself staring at him, "Do you, um, want some breakfast?" I smiled lightly.

His lips parted slowly as his eyes scanned my face for any hint of anger. His lips formed into a tight line, the tension fading away, before his lips formed into a wide grin. "Will there be bacon?" he smirked lightly as he walked over to me as he wrapped a fairly muscular bicep around my 5'4" frame. In comparison, his tall frame escorted me towards the kitchen me as he bent slightly to place a kiss on my forehead.

I snorted, and led him through the kitchen doors, trying to stifle a laugh, "Yeah, asshole. There will be bacon."