Inspiration from somebody other than David Gray. Good for me.
Prompt : None. I had a dream about a guy working in a bookstore and that’s it. Don’t ask, I don’t know. Okay, maybe I do, but I can’t tell you.
She was wiping down some tables when they walked in. By the time she saw him, he was busy with his second beer.
They sat at opposite ends of the bar. They each drank a couple of beers and got up at almost exactly the same time to leave. If Sam didn’t turn around to give her a last look before following Dean out the door, she wouldn’t even have registered that he was there.
They kept coming back every week or so. He never talked to her, never looked at her, never gave any indication that he even knew she was there. He went directly to exactly the same barstool, had exactly the same number of beers and walked out with exactly the same look on his face. I don’t want to be here.
Sam came closer every time. He started sitting at one of the tables she served. Ordered something to eat the next time. Then gave her a shy smile and a Hi Jo. Slowly but surely he wore her down. She started looking forward to seeing his tall frame walk through the swinging doors.
He touched her hand. When she handed him his plate. It was an accident, but when she looked down with startled eyes, she saw that he had been waiting for it. Hoping for it. The next time she comes through the kitchen door, he’s standing right there beside it, waiting for her. Slips an arm around her waist and pulls her close. Bends down to softly brush the corner of her mouth with a whisper of a kiss. She stares past him, catches Dean looking at them in the mirror behind the counter. Finally looking at her.
Slowly he gets up and moves towards the men’s room. She softly detangles herself from Sam and with a sly I’m working backs away into the kitchen. Makes a break for it and stands screaming silently at the faint stars in the stinking dark alley between the overflowing trash cans and stacked cases of empty beer bottles.
Dean pushes her against the wall, pushes at her, pushes into her.
He wants to push her away. Say go to him. He needs you. He wants you.Instead he holds her closer, puts his hand against her cheek and brushes at her frustrated tears with his thumb. His eyes say don’t go. Stay with me. I need you. I want you.
They don’t see Sam framed in the harsh, unforgiving light pouring through the doorway. They think they are hidden in the secret dark spaces between them.
She stops waiting for them to come walking back through those swinging doors after eight months, give or take a week. Sometimes she goes outside to the alley behind the kitchen, stands against the wall between the filth and feels his hands move over her. Feels them finally slip down her arms, brushing against her finger tips. She places her hands on her swollen belly and again sees the taillights flare red and fade.