I'm Movin' On
Dean stares at his phone, noticing the missed calls from Roman and Seth. He desperately wants to answer but he can't. He can't deal with them.
He needs to focus on himself. He needs to focus on finding himself. He needs to be alone. He can't focus on them. They'll never allow him to change. He'll always be the lunatic they fell in love with.
He hates doing this but he needs to do this for himself.
For once, he needs to put himself first.
After he attacked Seth, he dashed out before anyone could find him. It's been weeks since he's been home. He couldn't bring himself to come back.
None of this makes any sense to him but he knows what he has to do.
He's supposed to meet a man named Smitty outside the small trailer. He's got the money for something better but he doesn't want that.
The dirt cracks beneath his boots. The trailer plots are all dirt, with patches of brown grass scattered around. Something tells Dean it's like this when it's not the dead of fall.
He'd always made it a point to avoid places like that. They all reminded of where he grew up and that's a place he never wanted to revisit.
Yet, places like this provide anonymity. The neighbors don't ask too many questions because they're into worse shit than you. Besides, how much is he really home?
"You Moxley?" a grizzled old man asks. "Name's Jack Smitty. People call me Smitty."
Dean turns, taking in the sight of the man with a long white beard. He's wearing a red flannel shirt that's definitely seen better days and torn beige khakis. Dean instantly likes him.
It also helps that he looks like he won't ask too many questions.
"Jon Moxley, good Sir." Dean shakes his hand. "This the place?"
"It is. This beauty is a vintage Fleetwood. It ain't much and the bed's part of the dinette table but she'll serve ya good," Smitty says, opening the screendoor.
Dean quickly sees the man isn't kidding when he calls the trailer 'not much'. It's been lovingly painted in shades of mauve and gray. The appliances are old but Smitty swears they work.
Since Dean's not in a position to be picky, he accepts. 300 dollars a month for the trailer plus an additional 400 a month for lot rental and utilities sound good to him.
Besides, there are no memories attached to them. This space is uniquely his.
He knows they're confused. He knows they're hurt. Hell, he's confused and he's hurt but none of that matters.
For once, Dean needs to be selfish.
With a handshake and a money order for 4200 dollars get Dean the keys to the trailer.
He goes to the car, pulling the suitcases out. Resting a blue plastic basket on his hip, he stares inside and notices he's got Seth's hoodie. He doesn't remember grabbing it but that means nothing.
He's done a lot of weird things lately.
It turns out sad people go through the motions. They walk through a mist that makes no sense to anyone but most of all, to them. Over the last few weeks, he's bought more heads of lettuce than he'll eat in a lifetime, lost his keys in his pocket and somehow, managed to book flights to the wrong city twice.
So, it is entirely possible that he accidentally grabbed Seth's hoodie when they were backstage before their big match and forgot.
He doesn't know.
As he sets the basket down, he notices the cream-colored envelope hiding beneath the hoodie. Clearly, this wasn't an accident.
The hoodie's been put there intentionally.
Dean
He'd recognize that scrawl anywhere. How many times had he seen it on grocery lists, hotel receipts and birthday cards?
He wants to read it. He wants to stop everything and see what he's got to say. They've known each other for so long and really, no one knows him better.
Yet, he can't. If he does that, he'll run back to them both, begging for forgiveness and to be taken back.
That's not what he needs right now.
The trailer bed is much smaller than Dean anticipates. There are also springs poking through the thin mattress and jabbing him in the ass.
He's going to have to go to Walmart or a Mattress Firm or an Ikea and find a couple of mattress pads if he expects this to work.
He's changed his number, giving it only to Baron. He doesn't want anyone to know where he is.
Again, he realizes he needs space.
Dean's had all the love a man could have. He's had two great partners who took care of him through it all. They've loved him even when he wasn't very lovable.
They've also relied on him more than they probably should have.
The silver ID bracelet glints in the moonlight, catching the inscription.
2 of 3
He let the pressure mount for far too long. Finally, he just snapped. Seth didn't deserve what happened but Dean couldn't deal.
He needed to break clean, ensuring that no one would look for him.
He's not against getting back together in the future. They'll probably never have anything to do with him again. Yet, he can hope.
He's only ever been truly happy when he's with them.
He turns, doubling the pillow over his shoulder. He's not used to sleeping alone. Even when he did for all those months, he never liked it.
He struggles to his feet. The trailer's cold. The heat works but it works on the side the unit's on. It doesn't do anything for the far corner the bed's in.
He slips into Seth's hoodie, if only for the comfort. It smells like Seth- peppermint shampoo, ivory soap and Drakkar Noir. Should he find it weird that he wears the hoodie, despite pummeling Seth the way he did?
Dean's going to have to ponder this one for awhile.
He fixes a cup of herbal tea. Whenever he couldn't sleep, Roman would always bring him a cup of chamomile, claiming it eased the mind.
Dean's not sure of that but he craves that little taste of home.
With the mug of tea sitting on the windowsill, he decides there's no better time to see what's in the envelope.
He tears open the envelope, careful not to rip it too much. He pulls out a single sheet of thick cream-colored stationary. He's never imagined Roman as the fancy paper type but this makes as much sense as anything else this week.
He sips his tea and begins to read as the taste of home rolls over his tongue.
Dear Deano,
I'm not sure you'll ever read this but I wouldn't be very good at loving you if I didn't do this.
I know you're going through a rough time. I see it. Seth sees it. Hell, I'm pretty sure our mailman sees it. We all want to help- even the mailman. Fred asked me twice why you looked so mad and if he should get his wife to make her award-winning chocolate chip Zucchini Bread.
I politely declined. Have you ever eaten zucchini before? Besides, you're the champion baker of protein muffins as we found out. Don't think her Zucchini bread would come close.
In case I never told you enough, I love you. You're my best everything. My best friend, My best love, my best. I'm a better person for having known you.
Do I hope you'll come back? Yes. I also know you'll do it in your own time and no amount of pressure from me is going to make it happen.
I respect the fact you don't want to talk. I respect the fact you need your space.
I'm here if you want to talk.
No matter what happens, know you always have a home with me.
I love you.
Always,
Ro
P.S- Be the bad ass I know you are.
Tears silently run down Dean's face as he sets the letter aside. He can't break down.
This isn't the time for that.
Instead, he chooses to drink his tea and settle in for a sleepless night.
He doesn't know what tomorrow will bring but he needs to trust this will lead him to the place he ultimately belongs.
Noticing the stars, he stares out the window. One star shines brighter than the rest.
He whispers that old childhood tradition.
Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight- I wish I will, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight. I wish they find peace without me and I learn how to be me on my own. Bring them peace.
With that, he pulls the sweatshirt over his head, curls into a ball and tries to fall into a fitful slumber.
He has to trust he made the right decision.
-fin-