Life Finds Death - Chapter 2: 5 months

My fingers drummed against the little pop under my jacket and I squinted out over the never ending sea. The wind blew against my face, stinging my cheeks as it wipped my hair around me. It was just a month ago when Dean had died, and every day since I've  found myself in this very spot. Our spot. My mind efortlessly ran through the memories of Dean's strong, sure arms around me. Protecting me, holdin---

"Hello?" My thoughts were adruptly cut off by a man's husky dry voice, "Ma'am?" Slowly I turned to face him, greeting him with a tired smile.

"Yes?" I asked, loud enough to be heard over the harsh wind that seemed determined to carry my voice away.

"Are..." For a moment his gaze turned away, out to the veiw that I had just been admiring, "Are you okay?"

All I could do was hold my forced smile and to blink back my trears of pain. Stiffly I nodded my head and quickly looked back out to the sea, the mist from the ocean once again stinging my face. The next thing I felt was a hand touching my shoulder. Whiriling around swiftly I grabbed onto his hand tightly. 'Dean!'...that's who I wanted it to be, that's what my mind screamed. Somehow, in that short time I had turned away from the stranger I had forgotten he was there. Still, his hand was clutched tightly in both of mine against my chest.

"Sorry, Miss," His smile was kind and he did not pull his hand away from me as I stared up at him, unmoving. My eyes slipped closed as I silently gave into myself. Dean stood infront of me now, giving me the very same smile this stranger was and the warm hand was still craddled against me. Moving it to my cheek I breath deeply, remembering that distinctive sweet smell of Dean.

"My Dean is dead," I gasp as my eyes pop open and, again I stare at this strangers face. Slowly his features come into veiw and Dean disappears. Instead of the unmerciful curly black hair, a mass of hair thats spiked in every direction took its place. It seemed as if the man had rolled out of bed without bothering to even run his  hands through the tangled mess. The blue eyes I had just seen so clearly faded away into ivy green. A person of around 6 feet took the place of the 5 feet 6 inches I had wished I could hold in my arms for just one more moment. Where my Dean had been almost 300 pounds with all muscle, this man was thin with hardly any meat on his bones. My Dean was dead. Thats when the tears somehow found me after a month of withholding all signs of pain from everyone since that night I was taken by surprise. Why would they suddenly start to fall now?

"Oh..oh...wait a sec..." The man's voice caught me mid-sob as he shoved a kleenex into my hand and gently pushed it up to my blush stained cheeks. His hand wrapped around mine as together we wipped at the salty tears. "This is no time for a pregnant gal to be crying these sad tears." My free hand instantly flew to my lump of a stomach. Pushing my jacket aside I started to draw little cirlces on my belly.

"No, no it isn't," I sighed my reply, "My darling little boy." My voice was only a quiet whisper as I spoke to the child that still grew inside of me. On their own, my eyes sought out the strangers face, his hand still clamped over mine.

"It's okay...you know. It hurts now, but at least you've got a peice of your man still," He said in a silky voice as his eyes moved down to where my taunt shirt was stretched to its limit.

"I'd have a piece of him either way..." I answer, referring to Deans love; my voice husky from trying to withhold my tears that had finally stopped flowing down my cheeks.

"When my wife passed away three years ago, people always told me to cry, remember, forget and then move on...Obviously I wasn't in your postition; which makes it a tad harder to move on, but I'm sure you've heard it," He shrugged lightly, his thumb now starting to skim my cheek. It seemed more of an habit then anything else and I didn't mind, so I pressed my lips together not saying anything. "Anyway, I could relate to you, more than a lot of people. You'll WANT to talk about it...you'll NEED to really," His eyes were distant, as if he was in a different place, but his words made sense as he spoke. People did keep telling me to move on when I didn't want to move on....I just want to love my baby boy, remember, and be a mother to my dead boyfriends child. Was that too much to ask? He drew me out of my inward rambling by pulling his warm hand away and the cool air peirced my skin.

"Here," He was pulling out a paper of some sort and gently tugging on the hand he had been clutching to shove it into my hand, "Call me anytime you just need to talk to someone who gets it." I blinked at him a few minutes as my hair kept whipping me in the face. Of course, I didn't put it up this morning and let it dangle down to my waist; leaving the wind to do what it wanted with the mass of curls. The smile that tugged at my lips was completely unfamiliar to me from the last few months of unhappy thoughts and haunting nightmares. Over and over.

"Thank you...." I trailed off and raised my eyebrows in question.

"Oh, um, Jonathan Dumble," He said with a soft chuckle and shrug of his shoulders as he stuck his hands into his jean pockets. Slowly, I held my left hand out to him while my right arm wrapped around my belly.

"I'm Bunny Jons," I introduce myself, shrugging my shoulders just to mimic him. He laughed, and my smile fadded instantly. He had Dean's laugh. Jonathan gave a crooked smile, completely unaware of my sudden tension and gave a two finger salute, one hand still shoved in his pocket, as he turned to leave.

Once he was out of sight I looked down to the card that had been pressed into my hand. His name, number were on it and for some reason I felt comforted by just this small peice of paper. Someone knew what this felt like. That this didn't just go away.

Sticking the paper into my maternity pants my eyes drifted back out to the sea and filling my lungs with the salty air. Suddenly, my baby felt the need to kick and try to wiggle in me. Laughing I ran my fingers across my belly, "Yeah, I like it here too. The perfect bithday party, right?" I ask to him. Today, I turned sixteen. My unborn son and I spent it at this cliff, remembering his daddy, but only because everyone forgot. No one remembers a pregnant 15 year-olds birthday. They'd all just rather forget.