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I was surprised to see Dean’s car parked in front of the house. I rushed at it and leaned on its tinted window to check the man inside but no one was there.
I walked into the house with complicated emotions and immediately heard voices—Mom and Dean—talking in the kitchen.
My frown deepened.
First of all—why was Mom home early?
Second—why was Dean talking to her?
I headed straight to the kitchen, where I saw Mom cooking while Dean hovered near her, trying to help.
"My son's home," she said when she saw me. Dean just smiled.
I stared at him. "What's going on?" I asked, utterly confused. "Why are you here?"
Mom pointed the ladle she was holding at me. "Is that the way you talk to your friend?"
Friend?
"I'm sorry I dropped by unannounced," Dean said politely.
How the hell did he even know where I live?
"I let him in because he said he was waiting outside," Mom explained. "Now go change your clothes. Dinner's almost ready, and your dad will be home in about half an hour."
She turned to Dean. "And you're staying for dinner, young man."
I stood there, frozen. None of this made sense. Everything had gone from zero to a hundred in a blink, and now my head hurt.
"This is impossible," I muttered as I climbed the stairs to my room.
"Who's his friend?" I added sarcastically to no one in particular.
I quickly changed and went back downstairs—there was no way I was leaving Mom alone with this guy. For all I knew, he could be a serial killer hiding behind a pretty face.
Dean was now sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine like he belonged here.
I went straight to the kitchen.
"Mom, what was that?" I asked, trying to keep my voice down.
She raised a brow. "What do you mean?"
"We're not friends."
"Well, he said you went to the camp together."
"Yeah, together, not as friends. He's just... an acquaintance."
Mom gave me a look. "He said he wanted to be friends with you. I'm just glad someone came over for once—other than your volleyball teammates. I was starting to wonder if you even had friends at school."
I groaned. "I do have friends. He's just... weird."
"A weirdo who can cook, and is very good-looking," she said casually, clearly taking Dean's side. That just made me more annoyed.
I walked out of the kitchen and headed for the couch where Dean was pretending to be wholesome.
"What are you really doing here?" I asked, arms crossed.
Dean looked up with that smug smile of his.
"Sorry, I couldn't help it," he said. "I mean the smiling. I know it annoys you."
"Yeah. Glad you know."
I tensed up as he stood, returning the magazine to the coffee table, then took a few steps toward me. Instinctively, I took one step back.
He smirked—he was trying not to, but failing.
"Are you scared?" he asked.
No. But also, kind of yes.
I didn't understand how we even got here. We weren't friends. We'd barely talked. But he acted like we were close or something. So arrogant.
"I'm not scared. It's just because you're a—"
"Weirdo?" he cut in, raising a brow.
I frowned. "And an eavesdropper."
"I could hear you clearly from here," he said.
No way. I was sure I'd kept my voice down.
"What do you want, Dean?"
"I just wanted to tease you."
"What?"
He looked at his watch. "Your dad's going to walk through that door in ten seconds."
I narrowed my eyes. What?
"Ten..." he counted.
I don't know why I started counting along in my head.
Two... one—
Click.
The door opened.
Dad walked in, groaning in relief.
I blinked in disbelief.
"Psychic," Dean said, tapping his forehead with his finger.
"More like a psycho," I muttered.
Dean chuckled, which caught Dad's attention.
"Welcome home, Dad," I said quickly.
He hung his coat on the hook and turned to Dean. "You brought a friend?"
"No. He's just an acquaintance," I said flatly.
Dean stepped forward and extended a hand. "I'm Dean, sir. Ned's friend."
Dad took it. "Don't call me sir."
Jameson got home about ten minutes after Dad did. Luckily, Dean didn't stay for dinner—his mom called, looking for him. Unluckily, Mom blamed me for not making him stay.
"You shooed him away," she said.
"I didn't!"
After dinner, I went up to my room and tried to study for the exam tomorrow—but my brain was in a mush. Nothing was sinking in. Five minutes later, I gave up and crawled into bed.
I'd just study in the morning.
The next day, practice ran late, and I ended up walking home even though it was already dark. The streets were usually busy at this hour, but that night... it was different.
Quiet.
A little too quiet.
I picked up my pace, feeling a strange chill creep down my spine.
Then—something blurred past me. Fast.
It darted across the road. I stopped, my heart in my throat.
There, in the middle of the street, stood a huge animal. I could barely see it—just a dark silhouette—but its eyes were glowing. It only had one eye, and it was staring right at me.
It should've terrified me.
But instead, it felt... familiar.
A car horn blared in the distance. My eyes widened.
"Move!" I yelled, waving my arms at it. "Get out of the way!"
But it didn't budge.
The truck's lights lit up the street, closing in fast.
And then it hit the creature.
I screamed.
But what shocked me wasn't the sound of the impact—it was the pain that exploded in my chest. Not physical, but something deeper.
Like I'd lost something. Something important.
I gasped, bolting upright in bed.
My shirt was damp. My face wet.
I was crying.
And I didn't even know why.
It was just a dream.
Just an animal.
So why did it feel like I'd lost a part of myself?
- ผู้เขียน
