I simply stood there completely flabergasted while gaping at my phone. Any person who walked into the room probably would have mistaken me for an overgrown fish. Eyes wide, mouth continuously opening then shutting. Somebody might as well grab a glass bowl and box of feed.

I mean, really! The sheer amount of gall he must have to rush me into coming to the gym -in FIFTEEN MINUTES may I add- is mindblowing.

And here I am, the dummy who's actually going to do as he says.

"Desperate times, desperate measures..." I sigh to myself. For the second time today I find myself peeking at the clock to count the hours until Jack gets home. Hopefully, all this won't take too long.

I quickly strip off my clothes and search through the pile on my floor. I toss on a loose fitting navy blue t-shirt with a pair of grey sweat pants. Like last time, I'm keeping my hair drawn down over my neck.

It really does kill me to face the fact that I have to constantly do this. I haven't put in a single ponytail since the night Jack sprung loose on me.

In truth, I don't actually have to keep it down while at home, but then again; what would you do?

Walk around with a hideous scar on full display for your abuser? Let him sit there, snicker proudly of practically branding you for life? Or maybe even torture yourself with seeing that same god forsaken scar whenever and where ever you make the mistake of turning your back near a mirror? I may sound like a sob story, but I still have my pride. And I'm not letting my uncle take away anymore of it than he already has.

I once again gaze at myself in the mirror but instead of turning away, I brought a hand up to knead the back of my neck. My index finger found its way to the bottom of my scar, and I began tracing the length of it.

The inevitable wave of emotion struck me the moment my hand came in contact with the scar. Next thing I knew, angry tears threatened to fall.

"Well don't I look like a million bucks." I chuckled cynically as the mirror revealed my reddened, glassy eyes. Feeling a little too exposed sitting in the middle of my own room, I turned away and began to continue dressing.

I was sitting on the edge of my bed pulling on a pair of white sneakers when my phone rang for a second time. And surprise, surprise, it's the same number that plagued my phone five minutes ago.

"Dean?" I answered quizzically.

"Princess, what's your address?", he asked swiftly cutting to the chase. The question took me back a bit.

"I'm sorry...what?" I inquire slowly, thinking that I need to clean my ears.

"Your address," he repeats. It's weird, but I just know he's smirking right now. "What is-" he continues but I interrupt his sentence.

"Are you smirking right now?" I chime while raising an eyebrow. I wasn't expecting to say that, but now that it's out, I might as well go with it.

"W-what?" he scoffs, him too not expecting my sudden randomness. An amused grin spreads across my face at his reaction. It feels nice to do something Dean doesn't expect for once, even if it wasn't fully intentional.

"I bet you're grinning like the Cheshire cat right now, enjoying your chance to tease me." I openly wonder into the phone.

"And what if I am?"

"Well, are you?"

The other end goes dead for a second and it seems as if he's weighing his next words.

"What can I say? You are fun to harass, Patience." He states, his voice reflecting his emotions.

"I thought you had so graciously dubbed my name as Princess."

"Yeah well..." He trailed off not really meaning to actually finish the sentence. "Hey, you know your fifteen minute window is still going, right? Unless of course, you give me an address so I can pick you up? I'm pretty sure you don't want to grab a taxi, and I'm not exactly in the mood to stand outside a gym."

"Your at the gym already?" I say in disbelief.

"I was going anyway, plus I knew you wouldn't turn down practice."

"And what makes you think that?"

"I know desperation when I see it. A princess like your self doesn't just start fighting for no reason..." He says it as if it's the most openly know fact in the world. Am I that bad at hiding it?

"Well why offer me a ride? That's unlike you." I say trying to protect my pride.

"Because I'm a gentleman." Only silence is on my end if the phone, patiently waiting for him to tell me his real reason. Dean chuckles at my reaction. "I figured you just can't use your car right now.", he responds.

Is anyone else creeped out that his answer was right on the nose?

"How did you-" I begin to ask but a impatient sigh on Dean's part stops me.

"One, you willingly let that lunatic driving friend of yours take you to school," he begins. I held in a snicker at his uses of the word lunatic for Faye, the same word I coincidentally used to describe her earlier. "Two, rode a taxi to the gym last time. And three, despite all that, you had a car the night you played nurse on me. All those things put together means that you have a car to use, but for some reason, your not using it."

At least he didn't end all that with "Any questions?". That would have been the icing on the already ridiculously condescending cake.

"Does that wit of yours ever get mistaken for cockiness?" I say more as a statement than a question.

"I'm not rude and cocky, I'm blunt and sarcastic. There's a line." He interjects with moderate amusement. "Not that I really care what anyone thinks of me. People either get used to it and live with it, or they get ticked off and I have to tell them to mind their own freaking business." Somehow I detected a hint of irritation in his voice, but I get the feeling I'm not the one its directed at.

Whomever it is directed to, I feel bad for. What is Dean like when he's genuinely mad? After all, he is an illegal fighter. Has he ever sent someone to the hospital....or worse? I remember hearing about all those fights at school. I know they weren't made up, but were they all exaggerated? A large part of me hopes they were, and that the boy I've now attached myself to isn't a young Jack in the making.

He may be a condescending jerk, but something about him feels different to me than Jack.

"I can hear those thoughts churning around in your head, Princess. Relax, if your going to be around me, just don't get too nosy and we should be fine. Now, do you want the ride or not? My offer is only going to last as long as my patience does. So that's really not long at all." Dean said, cutting in and dominating my thoughts.

I contemplate my next actions very carefully. Do I really want to give Dean my address? Or the bigger question is, can I risk him ever coming to the house? Dean is a loose cannon, and giving him information like that could trigger one of two events:

1) He has or will have dishonest intentions now or in the future, and I get screwed over.

2) He has honest intentions (well, as honest as Dean's intentions could be) and he drops by to harass me one day and unintentionally tips Jack off. And again, I get screwed over.

They are both long shots, but my paranoia is talking the loudest right now.

What do I have left to loose, right? Well, other than a few limbs of course. Against my better judgement, I push the words out.

"My address is 681 Cinder Drive," I say hesitantly. "Do not make me regret telling you that Dean..." I add on with a warning tone. Dean actually laughs in response.

"You do know that telling me not to make you regret something, is just more incentive for me to do the opposite, right?" He says, and with that disturbing fact he hangs up.

I hum softly to myself in thought. I guess I should have expected saying something like that to him would be like dangling yarn in front of a cat. He can't help but sink his claws into the opportunity.

Unfortunately for Dean, I don't exactly trust him yet. And for good reason. So the day I believe I do trust him, will be the day I actually give Dean my real address. For now, he's just going to have to be satisfied with my neighbor's.

»»----- - -----««

I sat outside on the curb to wait for Dean to come. In order to keep up with the lie I told, I had to sit in front of my neighbor's house, which is literally the house directly to the right of mine.

I know, it's not exactly a genius move but I figure there is more of a chance that if he comes to harass me he will figure I gave him the wrong address and just leave, instead of going down the block checking every house.

I shouldn't have lied, but a girl has to take precautions. At least I have some peace of mind, since the man that lives here is a compulsive gambler with an extreme perving problem. He always gives me creepy looks, and even tried to hit on me a few months ago. To make things worse, the guy is like thirty two years old. Someone really may have to report him someday.

Anyway, it's better to lie about living at this house, than any other house around here. Especially not the woman that lives across the street.

Clara Winchester, or Whirlwind Clara, as I like to call her.

She's a seventy year old widow who's sweet one minute then sharp tongued the next. Almost like the old lady from Madagascar movies, who always felt the need to beat up Alex the lion. And unlike the other people of our block, she actually cares.

Almost everyone sees Jack and his lifestyle, and automatically connects me as problem child. But not Ms. Clara, she genuinely sees me as a person. She doesn't pity me, just let's me see that she has empathy for my situation, and she does what she can for me. Like everyone else in my life, she has no idea how abusive my uncle is and simply thinks he's extremely strict. But even so, she still has....expressed shall we call it, her very strong feelings on how harsh he is with me.

When I was a bit younger, she would make quick visits to the house to chat and give me fresh batches of cookies she had baked. That is until, Jack chased her out one day, telling her to stay off his property. But being the hard headed Whirlwind Clara, she still sneaks me a few of her delicious baking creations whenever she sees me outside.

However bad my life may be, her and her heavenly made sweets are still at least one good side to it.

I smiled to myself, remembering the taste of a small bag of snicker doodles she had given me a few weeks ago. The mouth watering thought was actually beginning to rise my hunger until a load of thunderous bellows snatched me back into reality.

I looked up to see what the commotion was when my eyes found themselves staring back into those of Dean as he pulled up on his motorcycle.

Let me repeat: ON HIS MOTORCYCLE.

I sprung to my feet and backed up a few yards.

"Scared of a little bike?" Dean yelled over the loud screams of the monstrous contraption.

I was still frozen in the spot as I stared at what I thought was a behemoth on tires.

The funny thing is, Dean is perceiving this situation backwards. He sees a look of terror on my face, when in actuality it's really a odd mixture of slight fear, excitement and awe.

It may be dumb of me at the moment, but the thought of riding on Dean's motorcycle -or any motorcycle for the matter- had never actually occurred to me. Yes, I always knew he had one, Faye almost mowed it down with him on it, but sitting here right now about to go rampaging through the streets with the thing made the fact fully sink in.

The longer I stared at the sleek, black, death machine the more it seemed to empower me with confidence to the point where it coursed through every vein in my body. The bike radiated power and fit perfectly for a guy like Dean. It looked like it held a massive amount of weight in itself and rode low to the ground. The bulkiness and shape of the bike gave it a very classic biker gang feel. Almost like one of those Harley Davison's. It also had a large exhaust pipe spanning from the side of the motorcycle to the back.

Just looking at the death on wheels machine had me wanting to do something totally stupid and irrational. Something without fear and reservation, where I can just throw up both hands and say "screw it".

I wanted to hop onto the seat of that cycle and ride it until it's wheels decided to concave. If I had to push Dean off the bike and do it myself, then so be it.

But either way: This is happening.

"Are you really going to sit and stare? It's a bike Patience, it's not going to eat-", Dean totally dropped his sentence when I came pivoting toward him in a heartbeat and latched onto the rear of his bike.

A bit too eagerly, I situated myself as best I could and warped both arms around his stomach. At this point I looked like a giggling school girl who just disobeyed daddy and snuck out with her boyfriend. Dean though, just sat there dumbfounded with his eyes still locked in on the same spot I was a second ago.

Those eyebrows hovering over icy blue eyes slowly furrowed together while his head began to tilt ever so slightly to the left. Overall, it was just a look of utter confusion.

"What?" He absently asked to the open air. It wasn't the kind of question that actually called for an answer.

I was quickly beginning to realize that most of the time Dean's face was an open book. And right now this said book has "What the heck just happened?" splayed across its pages in bold letters.

"I'm sorry, are you waiting for a Christmas card? Cause I don't see any other reason to sit here." I stated impatiently over the ear popping hums of the cycle. I was eager to get moving and the smell of gasoline was beginning to make me act crazy. Dean's astonished gaze held for a minute longer before he snapped out of it.

In his defense, I can probably understand Deans reaction. My excitement right now is somewhat aggressive.

But hey, I can't help it! This is probably a once in a lifetime chance and I was so ready.

Before we drove off, Dean mumbled under his breath. I sheepishly peeked around his shoulder to read the motions of his mouth. I always did have a talent for lip reading, which gives me an advantage since the motorcycle is beginning to make things inaudible.

I tucked my head back behind his back. And despite all my efforts to fight the sheepish smile creeping onto my face, it still forced its way through when I understood what his words were: "She's going to be the death of me".