Madelyn's PoV
May 2013
The last serious relationship I was in ended almost a year ago, and I haven't been intrigued by any human with testicles ever since. But suddenly, this sarcastic and devilishly handsome mechanic steps into my life, and my mind is running a million miles a minute. All it takes is one guy to send me back into my teenage years, where big hair and neon colored pants were the cool thing to have.
I think I fooled him, or at least put him in his place. After I told him to watch his tools, he seemed pretty taken aback. Apparently he hasn't been rejected much, and by the looks of him, I can tell why. I was hoping when I walked in there and saw him laughing that by some God loved chance, he wouldn't be a jerk. Maybe, there'd be an attractive, decent guy that I showed interest in. But no, as previously stated, he's a sarcastic and self confident jerk.
I unzip my boots, tossing them into my closet, hanging up my jacket as well. When I moved here yesterday, I thought surely to God, I can have some normal, average neighbours. Sure they're average; average jerks. I turn on all of the lights in my place, revealing an apartment filled with boxes. I sigh, running a hand through my hair, but move to my bedroom.
I change into leggings, keeping my black and white, thin striped tank top on, just replacing my blazer with a black knit cardigan. I tie my hair into a knot at the back of my head as I walk out to the kitchen, opening the fridge for something to eat. Nothing. I suppose if I'd bought groceries before I moved that would have helped, but I guess I just never thought last night or this morning because I just ate out. I sigh, shutting the f ridge as my stomach growls. I could go out to eat, but I just got into comfy clothes.
Just as I'm debating whether wearing real pants are worth it or not for food, I hear a knock at my door. Furrowing my eyebrows, I walk over, and check the peep hole. There, standing on the other side, is the mechanic. My heart skips a beat, but my mind groans. I could just ignore him and pretend I went to sleep, but I doubt he'd fall for that. No one goes to sleep at 8:00 anymore.
I open the door, and he looks up from a plastic container filled with something. He smiles, and I smile apprehensively back.
"Hi?" I say in a questioning tone, raising my eyebrows as I lean against my doorway.
"Uh, I have some leftover chicken pot pie. I figured that since I haven't seen you here before, that must have meant you just moved here. And that means you probably didn't but any food, so I thought I'd offer it to you," He babbles, and I nod, pursing my lips. He winces. "That was not the way to go about that, was it?"
"Nope," I say, laughing and shaking his head. He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. He holds it out and shrugs.
"Well, I mean, it's good food. If you want it, that is," He adds, and K furrow my eyebrows at him.
"So I'm just going to take food from a man I don't even know the name of?" I question, and I can see him freeze. He then holds his hand out, smiling.
"Sorry, the name's Dean," He says, and I shake his hand.
"Nice to meet you Dean," I reply, smiling back. I close my eyes, holding up my hand. "I'm sorry for how I acted earlier, that carburetor has been jingling for a long time, and I just got really angry at it this morning, and it kind of came out on you."
He waves his hand in dismissal. "You're fine," He replies, but then he thrusts the chicken pot pie towards me again. Since it's closer, it's scent hits my nose, making my mouth water and my stomach growl. "But the only way I'll forgive you is if you take the pot pie," He adds, and I sigh, rolling my eyes and taking the container. He smiles.
"Fine, I'll wash the dish and out it by your door in the morning," I sigh, and begin to close the door. He puts his foot in to stop it. I open the door so I don't squish his foot, and raise my eyebrows at him, smilingly smally at him.
"Actually, the landlord doesn't like things laying around the hall. Could you drop it off at the shop tomorrow when you're done work?" He suggests, and I nod, secretly knowing what he's doing.
"I think I could," I say with a nod, and he smiles.
This time when I shut the door, he doesn't do anything to stop it. I look down at the plastic container with the green cover, the name Dean scrawled messily on a piece of masking tape across the top. I chuckle to myself, shaking my head, leaning against the door. Closing my eyes, I curse the boy named Dean for making me feel this way.
I take it into my kitchen, moving boxes around so I can get to my microwave. I uncover the dish and stick it in for a minute and a half, proceeding to dig for silverware, until I find a fork. I find it just as the microwave beeps, and as I take it out, I scout the main room for some place to sit. Directly in front of me is a breakfast bar, but it's completely covered with boxes. Just beyond that, to the left, is a living room, the couches covered with furniture as well. On the left is a dining table, and I walk over, managing to move enough boxes to get myself the slightest bit of eating room.
As I begin eating the food, I become fully aware that Dean the mechanic did not cook this. This stuff is home made, and while the man may know his way around cars, cooking does not seem like his area of expertise. I begin to wonder who did make this, and if I could get the recipe. Maybe Dean's a momma' boy and got the food from her....probably not.
I wonder what Dean's like outside of his sarcastic, jerk-ish behaviour. Underneath, I could picture him being half a softie, but never admitting to it. He seems like the type that if you complimented him, he'd put his fingers in his ears, close his eyes, and start going "I can't hear you!" because he's too humble to admit that he's a good person. On the other hand, I can see him being the exact opposite.
Maybe Dean Something is a complete jerk, who gets in bar fights and normally comes home stumbling drink. Maybe Dean Something is just playing me like a fiddle, and I'm falling right into his trap. However, maybe Dean Something kicks puppies and beats kittens. I don't know anything about Dean Something, who am I to judge?
Picking up the dishes, I maneuver my way through the boxes until I reach my sink. I turn it on, washing the dishes with the sponge I had to dig for when I moved in this morning and had to look for mugs and my coffee maker. If this girl loves anything, it's coffee. Caffeine is my life. As a wonderful Lorelei Gilmore once said, "I only like my coffee with my oxygen."
Once the dishes are washed, I place the container in my bag so I'm guaranteed not to forget it. I sigh, scratching my head at the mass amount of boxes that litters my apartment, causing my place to look like what the FedEx building looks like post-apocalypse. I put my hands on my hips, scan the area, and decide to go with my bedroom and bathroom. It's only a one bed, two bath, and full kitchenette apartment, but I'm only one person and I don't take up much space. Or at least that's what I thought, until I packed all of my belongings up and moved.
I start by putting my clothes away, just to have that ready for tomorrow. My bed is right in front of you when you walk in, and on the wall by the foot of the bed is my dresser. On that same wall on the dresser's right is my bathroom, and on the wall opposite of the door, there's three large windows that look over an expansive view of other roof tops, and a Wal-Mart. I sigh at the view, deciding I probably won't be spending much time looking up my window anyways.
Once my clothes are away, I flatten out the boxes and shove them in a corner. Next, I start with all of my makeup and hair supplies. A small vanity sits beside my dresser, which just so happens to have a TV over it. I begin putting my makeup and stuff in the drawers of the vanity, all of my hair stuff in a spare drawer in my dresser besides all of of my hairs prays and such, which sits on top of the dresser.
Since that basically covers the bedroom, I head into the bathroom. On my right, is a large jacuzzi style tub, and beside that is a stand up shower. On my left is a vanity style sink, and beside that is a toilet. I empty out the one box in the bathroom, putting away different facial care products, hair care products, and other things. In the shower, I put shampoo, conditioner, that kind of things, and bubble bath beside the tub because of the five year old that resides deep inside of me.
By the time the bathroom and bedroom both are unpacked, it's around 2:00 in the morning. I groan, washing my face and shutting out the bathroom lights, walking through the rest of the house and shutting off it's lights as well. Once all of the lights are shut off, I climb into my bed, feeling weird not in my old bed back in Maine. But, surely enough, I drift off to sleep.
* * * *
"What do you mean, he's a jerk but you love him?"
My coworker, who's much too happy for 10:00 in the morning, chirps at me. I sigh, putting my face in my hands.
"I don't know, I wish I could explain it better," I reply, sweeping up a client's hair into a dust pan and throwing it out.
"What's his name?" My coworker, Chloe's client asks.
I huff, cleaning up my station. "Dean," I answer, raising my eyebrows at her. She furrows her eyebrows.
"Not Dean Winchester, is he?" She asks, casting me an anxious glance. I shrug.
"I don't know, he never gave me a last name. He works down at the auto shop down on fifth," I say, and she gasps. I raise my eyebrows at her.
"Oh, honey," The middle aged woman says, disgust slicked through her voice. "You'll want to stay away from him. He drops girls like a tree drops it's leaves in the fall," She hisses, curling up her nose at the sound of his name. I chuckle, smiling at her.
"I'm not with him, I just met him yesterday," I say, and she shakes her head as Lily cleans off her scissors.
"You watch your back honey, he's sneaky I've heard," She whispers, looking around hesitantly. "He'll get you wrapped around your finger, and bam!" She says louder than before, causing me to jump. "You wake up with your clothes across the room, with him shoving you out of his apartment and ordering for you to never speak to him again."
I nod. So, Dean Winchester has a reputation.
* * * *
After work, I say goodbye to Chloe and hop into my car. On my way to the auto shop, I grab a cup of coffee, sipping on the bitter sweet liquid like my life depends on it. Sometimes I wonder why I have a hard time sleeping at night, but then I realize I had a caffeinated drink two hours previous and it's just starting to kick in.
Pulling into the auto shop, I watch as one of the other guys walks out. Seth, I think his name was. I ignore him, grabbing the container from my purse and heading inside. I hear a wolf whistle from behind me, and I look towards the over confident man with his huge ego, thinking he can just whistle at everyone. He winks at me when he catches me staring, and I just hold his gaze, watching as he keeps backing up, until he slips over the curb and lands on his butt. I throw my head back in laughter, shaking my head and going the rest of the way inside.
The familiar smell of car grease and antifreeze hits me in the face like a brick wall. I push past it to the sound of laughter and the cranking of wrenches, where three guys sit, none of them Dean. I sigh, putting my hand on my hip, cleaning my throat. My hey all turn to me, frozen in their spots. I roll my eyes.
"Have any of you seen Dean?" I ask, and one guy stands up from his bent over position in the hood of the car. He smacks his head on the hood, and all the others laugh at him while he glares at them.
"Hey Madelyn," I hear his deep and husky voice behind me, and my heart skips a beat. All day, despite numerous customer's warnings, I've been excited to see him, to possibly learn more about the man who has a reputation for dropping girls like a cloud drops rain.
I turn around, smiling. "Hey," I greet him, holding out the container. He nods, taking it. "I just came to bring that to you."
He smirks. "You mean you didn't come here just to see me?" Pretty much, yeah.
"No," I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "The chicken pot pie was good. Thanks, for that."
He waves his hand in dismissal, placing the container with the green lid on one of the tool carts. "Anytime. Hey, my friend Cass is coming over tonight for supper. You can come over if you'd like," He offers, and I can hear the guys snickering from behind me. I glare at them quickly, shutting them up, and then turn back to Dean with a small smile.
"I'll see. I've got a lot of unpacking to do," I explain, and he nods. He raises his eyebrows as though an idea springs in his head.
"Want any help unpacking?" He offers, and I shrug.
"If you really want to help, you shuffle your way on over. Knock yourself out. If you don't, I probably won't even realize," Yeah right.
He smiles. "Sounds good."
I smile back. "Yeah, sounds good.".
The rest of the day is spent waiting in anticipation to see if the infamous Dean Winchester is actually going to help me unpack boxes, and actually unpacking boxes. One by one, I sort through them, putting whatever objects I find in their rightful place.
When 6:00 comes around, I begin to feel skeptical as to whether or not Dean is actually coming. Accepting the fact he was probably just trying to impress his friends, I continue unpacking without an extra thought of the man with the sandy blonde hair and the candy apple green eyes, that is until my stomach starts growling, and I begin praying that he'll show up at my door with another container holding more food.
I look at my newly unpacked living room, and while the boxes are all unfolded and placed off in the corner, the place still looks like a mess. Newspapers are askew all over the place, making it look like a new episode of Hoarders: Buried Alive. Just as I'm about to start picking up, there's a knock at my door.
I freeze, looking down at myself. When K decided that Dean probably wasn't showing up, I changed into jogging pants and an old hoodie, and I took off all my makeup, throwing my hair up in the messiest bun I've ever seen. I curse under my breath, calling out to the door for the person to just wait one second.
Making my way through boxes and newspapers serves to be a difficult endeavor. More than I once, I trip on a box or slip on a newspaper as I skitter towards the door, attempting to keep my movements as silent as possible.
I try to flatten down my hair as I walk to the door, tucking stray pieces behind my ears. When I open the door though, it's not Dean. It's simply the grungy landlord.
"Can I help you?" I sigh, running a hand down my face. Don't expect him to show.
"Water will be shut down tomorrow between 10:00 and 3:00," He says in an unbelievably monotone voice. I nod. "Have a nice night."
I shut the door, cursing myself under my breath for being hopeful. I begin picking up newspapers, when I hear a second knock at the door. My heart jumps, and I make my way briskly to the door, again fixing down my stray hairs. Opening the door, I stop myself from groaning when I see it's the landlord, once again.
"Yes?" I huff, crossing my arms.
"The water company just called. The water will be shut off between 9:00 and 3:00 now," He states, his voice as bland as plain stone. I nod. "Have a nice night."
"You too, grungy," I whisper to myself as I shut the door.
I resume picking up newspapers, jamming them into a garbage bag. I'm not upset that Dean didn't come, I wasn't really expecting him to. Pretty boy probably has much better things to do with his time than help some girl unpack her stuff across the hall. He probably found a girl to hang out with, and they're probably at her house right now.
I huff, swinging the bag across my shoulder and moving into my bedroom, cleaning up the papers in there as well. I groan as I hear a knock at the door again. Can't a girl unpack in peace?
I stomp over to the door, whipping it over and glaring at the person on the other side, muscles tense.
"What?!" I demand, and my eyes pop open wide when I see that it's not grungy. It's definitely not grungy.
He stands there with his emerald green eyes, freckles, and lightly sun kissed skin, looking like something out of a magazine. I gulp as he looks taken aback, literally taking one step backwards.
"Oh my lord..." I whisper under my breath, and he smiles, cocking his head to the side.
"Am I not who you expected to see?" He questions, a sarcastic smirk plastered across that beautiful mouth of his. I shake my head.
"No..." I drift off, trying to comprehend the fact that I just snapped at him, and he wasn't even expecting it.
He jabs his thumb behind him, in the direction of his apartment. "I can go, if you want..." He says suggestively, slowly backing up. I shake my head, grabbing his arm and hauling him inside. He laughs. "Ooh, she's feisty. I can dig feisty."
I glare at him, shutting the door once he's inside of my apartment. He chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets, walking around and observing my place. I stand in the background, arms crossed uneasily across my chest as he looks around, nodding in approval. He looks at my record player, and points at it, raising his eyebrows.
"Do you have any of your records unpacked?" He asks. I nod.
I make my way over to the stray, wooden and rustic looking box, filled with records. I twist my mouth and furrow my eyebrows as I look through them, finally deciding on the Eagles, Seven Bridges Road still stuck in my head. I pop the record on the play, lift the needle just above the point where the song starts based off of memory. I turn the record player on and drop the needle, the song playing through my apartment.
When I turn around, Dean is kneeling down in front of my box, thumbing through all of the records with a look of approval. I ask him if he wants anything to eat, to which he reminds me that his friend is coming over for supper tonight.
"Are you coming?" He asks as I walk into the dining room, opening a couple of boxes to see what's in them.
"It all depends on how much I get done here," I answer simply, lifting the box up and placing it down on the floor, mentally deciding that's the pile that needs to go down to storage. Dean nods, standing up from his place on the floor, coming over clapping his hands together.
"Tell me what to do," He states, raising his eyebrows and smiling cheekily at me. I purse my lips and look around, pointing to the stack of unfolded boxes on the corner.
"Those can go to the garbage shoot," I instruct. He nods, lifting them up and walking over to the door. I run over and open it for him, flipping out the latch so he can come back in once I shut the door.
I move back over to the dining room table, taking out a box filled with pots and pans. I hold it from the bottom so nothing falls through, and move the box tot the kitchen where it should have been placed. Dean comes in at that moment, and I point to another box on the dining room table.
"Can you bring that to me?" I ask him as I rifle through another box in the kitchen, putting the different little things away. Dish cloths, dish towels, pot holders, that kind of thing. The green eyed man nods, carrying the box over and setting it beside me.
The evening goes on like that, with us occasionally switching records. We ask each other different little questions throughout the night. He asks me why I moved, and I just say that I wanted a change of scenery. That's a bold faced lie, but he doesn't have to know. I ask him who actually made the chicken pot pie, explaining that I know full well that he didn't make it. He chuckles, running a hand down his face.
"This is going to sound stupid, but my mom made it," He says sheepishly. I squint my eyes at him, leaning against the counter as he sits at the breakfast bar.
"Really?" I say, shocked. He nods, smiling, only his mouth showing because he covers his eyes with his hand. He looks cute all flustered, making me smile at him.
He has a warm smile, and a laughter that could warm the coldest of hearts. He could melt a heart of stone, could make the most miserable person smile, just with the way he looked at you. While on the outside, he appears as a tough, rough and tumble kind of guy who has a player label written blatantly across his forehead and the way he winks at every human with breasts. But on the inside, he's the guy who will give you his mother's leftovers because he knew you didn't have anything to eat. He's the guy who helps you unpack your house, even if he only knows your name and that you live across the hall.
I fear I haven't made a suitable reputation in this town, or more importantly, to Dean. I feel like I've come off as some out of town, snappy brat, who daddy bought everything for. Of course, that's not nearly how I am. Your dad would have to be alive for that to be the case. I don't mean to come off as rude or snappy, I just...I'm not good with new people, per se.
When I think about who I want to be thought of in this town, my mind draws a blank. Do I want to be remembered as the selfless girl, the one who gave up her plans to do anything for just about anyone? Or do I want remain a mystery girl, the one everyone wonders about? Or, do I even care what in this town thinks? This place is just where I went when I realized I didn't want to stick around home anymore.
I look back at Dean as he stands up to change the record. The way he furrows his eyebrows a little bit as he flips through the records, and the cheeky grin he gets when he raises a record with the cover for Hot Fuss by the Killers on it. I nod, smiling, and he stands up, quickly taking the old record off and putting it back into it's slip. He puts the new one on, fingers gentle and careful, eyes intent on even the smallest of actions. The sound of Mr. Brightside fills my apartment with a slightly happy feel to it, and I smile, looking as he nods his head to the song.
Still nodding his head, mouthing the words under his breath, he begins picking up newspapers and other things I wrapped fragile objects with, shoving them into garbage bags mindlessly. He seems lost in his mind and the music, a small smile on his face, ignorant to my staring eyes. After a while of picking up newspapers, he lets out a huff, putting down the garbage bag and slicking off his plaid shirt. I bite my tongue to keep myself from licking my lips as his arms come into view, big and muscly, but soft looking as well.
I stand up from leaning position on the counter, and begin helping him shove the newspapers in the bag, unfolding boxes, and getting him to dump them down the shoot. It's around 8:45 when we finish, and we plop down on the couch, the Foo Fighters playing by now. I sigh, propping my feet up on the coffee table in front of me, relaxed into the white leather couch. Dean follows suite, casually draping his arm around the back of the couch, fingers ghosting my shoulder.
I close my eyes, relishing in the thought that everything is unpacked and out away besides the stuff that needs to go down to storage. As I relax, I come into realization that my stomach is growling. My eyes pop open, and I sit up suddenly, staring wide eyed at Dean. He raises his eyebrows at me, giving me a weird look.
"What about your friend, Cas?" I demand, and his eyes pop open.
Three seconds later, we're standing in the hallway, staring down at a black haired and blue eyed man, leaning against Dean's door with his jacket wrapped around himself, playing mindlessly on his phone. He looks up as he stumbles out, eyeing between the two of us with his eyebrows raised.
"You forgot about me Dean," He states simply, groaning as he stands up, dusting himself off. He picks up a duffel bag, then turning to us again, looking."
I snort, quickly covering my mouth with my hand to muffle my laughter. Dean eyes me, looks at Cas, and then back at me.
"You're welcome to come in," Je says, and I shake my head.
"No, it's alright. Your friend just got here, and you're probably sick of me by now," I chuckle, and he looks at me weirdly.
"Sick of you? Hardly," He says, and I can feel my cheeks heating up. "Aw, you're blushing. You should do it more often, it's cute."
His words continue to make me blush harder, but I gather up the courage to clear my throat, putting on a serious face.
"No, I think I'll just head to my place. It's been a long night, and I promised my mother I'd call her," I lie, and he nods.
Surprising me, he wraps me in a hug. I freeze as he does, but I soon melt into his arms, wrapping my won around his middle. He smells of whiskey and car grease, a distasteful scent to most, but a familiar scent to me. I've spent enough time under the hood of my baby and in swanky bars that the smell is more like home than anything, and being in Dean's arms just adds to the effect.
When we break, despite the hug being much shorter than I'd wish, I wave to him and Cas, stepping back into my apartment and closing the door. I met him yesterday, and already, he's making my head spin and making me blush. Cursing myself, I end up ordering in for food, calling Chloe from my cellphone to talk afterwards.
I fill in on all of the details, despite only meeting her the day before yesterday. For some reason it feels nice to have someone to spill to, to have a friend who's willing to listen to every word I say and not interrupt, unless it's to ask another question. She shows genuine interest, being a good friend for someone who's only met me the once.
Once I hang up with her, I hear a knock at the door. I grab the money from the counter, pay the Chines food guy, and come back in. I sit in front of my TV, shovelling food into my mouth with my legs curled up underneath of me as I watch the Walking Dead. Once my dinner is all done, I go ahead and shower, knowing the water won't be on until 9:00 and 3:00, as Grungy put it.
I dry myself off once I'm out, brushing my teeth and changing into pyjama shorts and a loose t-shirt. As I lay in bed, desperately willing sleep to come to me, my mind drifts to Dean for the billionth time today. His smile is like a sunny day, where the birds fly high in the sky and the grass is green, and only a few foully white clouds can be seen in the brilliant blue above. His laughter is like water, trickling easily from him, sometimes flowing heavier depending on how much feeling he puts into it. Sometimes, his head arches back and he closes his eyes, hand on his stomach as he back bends backwards a little bit, his whole body thrown into the one movement. And his laughter is like the summer breeze, easy and calm, relieving you of whatever pain you may be feeling.
I think of his emerald green eyes, and hold they purely resemble gems mined from underground that have been polished and shine so they're smooth and bright. They hold a certain light in them one that's hard to describe. How do you describe something that in its self is so simple, when underneath it's so complex? Because underneath the light, there's a hidden darkness that only people with a tattered, torn, and tortured soul carry. It's very hard to notice in his eyes and in him, from years of practice of convincing people's fine and dandy, when on the inside, his mind is screaming at him.
And as I lay in bed, I begin to wonder if love at first sight is possible. When I first saw him, the way he laughed so easily amongst his friends, how carefree he seemed yet mysterious behind those green eyes, something inside of me stirred. Something I hadn't felt in a long time. And now, every time I look at him, I get flustered. And every time I think about him, my heart skips a beat and I become overwhelmed by the memory of his smile and the laughter of his I can still hear as clear as day. I've heard about true love in stories and movies, and he concept is beautiful, but I've always doubted that it exists.
But now, I find myself quite simply, falling in love with Dean Winchester.
*
A.N. So how was the first chapter? I just thought I'd mention that Madelyn is portrayed by Ashley Greene, if you want to loo up images on what she looks like.
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