Fucking rain

Faintly, she could see the wind rattling the hanging branches of the
weeping willow. Twilight melted into darkness; drops of rain
pattered against the window in front of her nose. Water melted into
her reflection, artificial tears.

She wore only a flowing white Victorian gown that wrapped itself
about her, caressing her skin like a lover. Barefoot, she padded
across the cool hardwood, switching off the light as she moved
towards the bed. Shivering, she slipped between the sheets, pulling
the coverlet up to her chin.

She listened to the calming rain against the shingles above her,
thankful that she was dry and comfortable.

Maybe the nightmares wouldn't come tonight.


Her fingers wandered over her body. Teasing. Close. Her breathing
increased, nearly to a pant, but not.

Her mind wandered, sometimes listening to the rain, sometimes
listening to the settling of the empty house, sometimes wandering
towards him. Him. Dean.

She wanted him. In the bed. With her. His fingers, not her own.
His breath softly against her neck. The easy weight of his arm
wrapped around her waist as she fell asleep.

But Dean wasn't here. And couldn't be tonight.

With a soft sigh, she forced her fingers from their pleasant
explorations and lay back, closing her eyes. Slowly, her
breathing returned to normal, and the sound of her rapidly
beating heart descended in her ears.

She listened to the rain, the house settling. And tried not to
think about Dean.


Perhaps it was the thunder. Perhaps a nightmare. Perhaps the screaming.

Darkness surrounded her, cloying, close. She forced herself to
breathe and pushed herself up, the covers falling away from her body
to pool in her lap. Her toes curled underneath the remaining covers
until she realised it was her own voice ringing through her ears,
penetrating into her mind. With a tremble, she forced herself to
stop screaming, her voice hoarse.

She never remembered the substance of the nightmares; only the
emotions. As with previous dreams: deep sadness, loss, loneliness.
But there was more this night. So much more. She struggled to
identify what she felt.

Shaking, she wiped at her wet cheeks, looking up to see if the
now pounding rain was leaking through the shingles far above her.
She tasted the moisture with a dart of her tongue: salty. Drawing
a deep breath, she glanced at the clock. Three twenty-four.

A bolt of lightning, worthy of Zeus, flashed and momentarily lit up
her bedroom like a camera flash. Simultaneously, the resulting
thunder rolled over her and she screamed again, hugging herself
close. In one corner of her mind, she briefly wondered if the
weeping willow had been hit by the destruction from the sky and
would weep no more.

Shaking again, she pushed herself out of bed, unsteady on her bare
feet. She reached for the phone, her fingers dialling the number
from muscle memory. At the last digit she hesitated, then
returned the phone to its own bed without allowing it to connect.

Taking deep breaths did nothing to calm her beating heart, or
steady her liquid legs. Thunder crashed above her, like the fury of

Suddenly, she knew.

Sadness. Loss. Loneliness ...


Thunder rolled over her senses again. She ran.


The silver Taurus sat unperturbed by the raging storm. Waiting.

For a moment, she fumbled with the keys in the lock, crying as
the cold rain cascaded over her. Thunder boomed and the freezing
wind tore through the drenched Victorian gown. Beneath her
bare feet, the black asphalt released a fine mist to the

In a remote corner of her mind, she wondered what the hell she
was doing outside at three twenty-four in the morning drenched
to the skin. Dimly, she was aware of the white cloth plastered
across her skin, especially her breasts. Peripherally, she was
aware of her long brunette hair, in contrast to the white gown,
flowing over her shoulders like a shroud. She didn't care.


Finally, the lock released, and she fell into the vehicle with
a sense of triumph and relief. Girl against machine. She
had won.

No time for victory.

She slammed the door, thankful to be out of the gods' fury

She missed the ignition four times before the key finally slipped
into its home like a tiny copulation. She shivered.

Her fingers turned the key, and the engine hummed to life.

She turned the heat up, unaware that she was dripping water into
a small puddle on the floormats. Her bare toes rested against
the pedals. Briefly, she wondered if it was illegal to drive
barefoot. Or half naked. Or without carrying her license.

With a sigh, she pushed the gearshift and the car obediently
descended the driveway.

License? Barefoot? Half-naked?

She laughed uncertainly, somehow sure that these were the least of
the local legalities that were about to be bent.


The Taurus slowed approaching a red traffic signal. Fascinated,
she watched the rain falling past the red glow above her, then
she was through the intersection, no other cars in sight.

She only slowed for two more red lights and four stop signs,
fervently hoping that the police in the small town were either
sleeping or eating doughnuts somewhere safe and dry. No flashing
sirens pursued her. No other living creature braved this
world of moisture and thunder.

There was no understanding. No logic. None that she could see.
Only urgency. Only flight. Only destination.

Still her heart beat in her ears. Still her body ached.

Her toes worked the pedals. Her fingers deftly turned the steering
wheel, guiding the eager Taurus through the wind, through the
rain, through the thunder until at last, she turned into a
driveway. Reluctantly, she switched off the ignition.

The house in front of her was dark, as were all the neighbours.
Only street lamps illuminated the night. For a moment, she watched
the droplets of rain as they fell through the cones of street

Go home? So easy.

She shook her head, aware of her soaked hair against her cheek.
Her body shuddered uncontrollably.

She couldn't return. Not tonight. She couldn't even remember if she'd
locked her home before embarking on this mad flight.

Her fingers reached for the door handle.


She stood uncertainly on the lawn. Blades of wet grass tickled the
bare soles of her feet. On impulse, she uplifted her arms as if
she were supplicating to the gods. In response, a jagged bolt
of lightning descended to the south, striking a hydro-tower in a
spray of sparks.

Water flowed over her body like a river. For a crazy second, she
considered pulling the gown from her, standing naked in the cold
rain, giving herself to the storm.

Instead, she ran through the grass, her feet leaving a momentary
trail of trampled green blades. But the grass didn't mind, and
rebounded as if that were its purpose.


Her fist hurt from knocking, but eventually a light turned on
above her in a room that she knew was where he slept. She'd been
warm and dry in that room many nights. They had not slept apart
for many nights. She stopped knocking and wrapped her arms about
her, shivering, miserable.

He'd hate her for this. How could he understand, when she, herself,
did not?

She nearly turned and fled. Nicky nine doors.

Inside the house, she sensed movement. Unsteady movement.
Frightened movement. Uncertain movement. Her feet refused to move
from the wet porch. Rain continued to pour over her body, through
her hair, over her soul.

Another light turned on, closer. The door opened.


He stood there, confusion, concern, fright plastered across his

"Gwen? What ... ?"

She looked down at herself. Barefoot. Shivering. Nightgown translucent
in the rain. But beautiful. She could see that in his eyes. Somehow.


Thunder rumbled overhead, and she looked up.

"Dean," she whispered.

She rose up on her toes, tilting her face upward into the rain.
Her fingers guided his lips to hers.

"I needed to see you tonight."

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