If my nightmares were bad before, they're a million times worse now that my relationship with Misha has been exposed to my mom.

JJ has been doing better, which means Misha was right. In spite of this progress, I'm anxious.

I know I have to tell Misha. I can hear his saddened voice in my dreams when he finds out from my mom. So this is what it feels like finding out that someone you love has been keeping something big from you...

I have to call him. 

But I don't want to. I can't bear the thought of what he might say. He could very justifiably call me out on my sloppiness, my stupidity and carelessness. He could argue that I don't take us seriously enough to be careful around my family.

I need to take a break from the mental debate and unwind, so I head down to the stables for the third time this week. I've appropriated it as my getaway in Misha's absence.

Everything is designed in an impressive and professional manner, from the smart setup of the stable block to the neatness of the barns and yard. Huge, leafy trees border the gravel path on both sides of the driveway, leading down to the main yard. A trio of enormous, white-painted barns are situated around the circular yard, and beyond that are endless acres of grazing land. Potted flowers hang from either end of the barn doors, and leafy saplings provide shade on the main yard. Everything is set strategically, and not a wisp of straw is out of place.

I stifle a yawn as I toss the saddle deftly over Scarlet's warm back. It's not particularly early, about nine in the morning.

Dani's gone off to see the doctor again despite my reassurance that she needn't fret so much, and JJ's at school - and I don't particularly fancy the idea of being trapped at home with my parents all day.

The filly paws at the straw with her hoof, eying me sleepily. Through the skylights above, pastel shades of pink, orange and yellow flood the barn with morning light. I pull the headpiece over the filly's ears and tighten the throat latch.

Having fixed the bridle in place, I rub Scarlet's velvety muzzle. I've been riding her ever since we moved to Malibu, enough time to forge some kind of connection. She's a valuable animal, racehorse material, but I prefer to keep her for pleasure riding. I think she's acclimated well to this lifestyle, though, better than to the rigorous demands of the track.

The big black horse rustles across the straw and rests her nose gently against my shoulder.

Clicking softly to her, I walk her into the least crowded training ring. She jogs excitedly under the saddle as I mount her and lead her in after a teenaged boy astride a striking chestnut.

The track is oval-shaped, sort of like a squashed doughnut, with an inside rail and white-painted lanes dividing the ring into speed zones. Neon orange cones are set up along the tracks, marking the distance in furlongs.

As I settle into the black's long, fluid strides, I delight in the keen vigor with which the horse's muscles seem to work.

Instructors call out from their position, perched on the top fence rail.

"Warm him up with a canter along the outside rail, moving in a clockwise direction," one calls to a sandy-haired woman riding a grey stallion.

The stallion skitters sideways from the rail and makes a lunge for another horse galloping along the centre. His rider's foot slides out of the iron and she grasps the  grey's mane in a desperate attempt to stay on.

"Easy, boy," I hear her murmur, regaining her position and tightening the reins slightly.

I squeeze Scarlet's sides with my calves. With a snort, the filly bursts into a high-stepping gait, her neck straining at the bit. Powerful hindquarters drive forward with each stride, true to her Thoroughbred ancestry of power and grace.

Leaning intently over the horse's neck, I signal for a quicker pace. I can almost sense a gear shifting in her stride as the horse springs into a sprightly canter. I feel myself slowly begin to relax as the horse beneath me canters fluidly along the outside rail.

My thoughts drift to Misha, and I wonder if he's taking advantage of the holidays to sleep in. He likes to sleep naked, sometimes in one sock, occasionally two. Which means I could have my arms around his bare torso right now, getting up close and personal with Jen and Sen. I could wedge my thigh between his and pull him flush against my chest and nuzzle my face in the crook of his sweet-smelling neck. I could hold him close to me and whisper sweet nothings in his ear until the sun rises in the sky tomorrow morning.

Scarlet senses my distraction and snaps at the bit, trying to make a dash for the inside rail, but I'm quick to bring her around with my legs and seat.

Keeping the Thoroughbred at a collected canter and tightening the reigns, I complete a few circuits around the outside rail before moving in and upping the pace. I lean forward in the saddle and knead the reins along the filly's neck, breathless as the horse springs forward into a gallop, mane whipping out behind her and stinging my face.

As I maintain pressure around the horse's sides, I feel a surge of relief well up inside me at the prospect a good, hard gallop. I need this.

The orange cones fly by in a blur as the powerful horse beneath me rushes forward, muscles rippling through her well-conditioned coat. I feel the wind drag tears from my eyes as we gallop along the inside rail.

Despite her training, Scarlet occasionally snatches at the bit and springs towards the outside of the track, nearly unseating me. "Whoa there," I murmur, pulling her around again and struggling to regain my position.

The spry horse gallops easily, stretching her neck out on the bit. I keep her going for another round or two before slowing her at the gate in a clatter of hooves.

When I arrive back home, I waste no time ringing Misha up.

"Hey, Jensen," he greets. "What've you been up to?"

"Not much," I return, heart drumming inside my chest. "Did a little horseback riding."

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy," Misha sings flippantly. "Oh - shit - you know what that reminds me of? That Houston Convention where I-"

"I know," I mutter drily. "My mother showed me a clip yesterday."

I can hear Misha gulp on the other end; the line goes otherwise silent. "She knows," I confess, defeated. "Mish, she knows."

I slide down the wall of my office, landing in a weary heap on the floor. I card a hand through my hair, feeling the bags beneath my eyes grow with my emotional and physical fatigue.

"Fuck."

"She wants us - she thinks we should-" my breath catches in my throat. I squeeze my eyes desperately shut. But I fight to keep the tremble out of my lip, my voice. I have to be strong for Misha. I don't want to let on how weak I feel right now.

"She has a point." I hear Misha swallow, know it's with difficulty. An eternity passes.

"W-what do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Misha whispers, and my blood runs cold. "We're hurting so many people..."

"Don't give me that needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few crap!"

"But it makes sense, Jensen." Misha's voice wavers, and I'm glad I'm sitting down because my knees buckle. "The happiness of two people isn't worth hurting everyone in our immediate families - plus all the other casualties like our friends and our parents and the fans. It's irresponsible. It's childish. I should've known better than to let it go this far."

"What's gotten into you? Damnit Misha, listen to yourself-"

"No, you listen to yourself, Jensen. Do you hear what you're asking me to do? You're proposing that we keep lying, forever, to everyone we love, for what? For a relationship that was doomed from the start. Never mind me, what about you, and what's healthy for you? How can you stand to do this to yourself? The heartbreak and pain-"

"The only heartbreak and pain I've felt in all this time we've been together is right now because of your bullshit words, Misha. Don't do this. You're making a mistake."

"No, Jensen," he says softly. "We're both making a mistake. A big one, and it started in that hotel. We shouldn't have had sex, we should've have confessed our feelings. They might've passed. Even if they never do, they aren't enough, Jensen-"

"So you don't care that you're hurting me. Because it's just a feeling, right? Not important enough?"

"Jensen, it'll only hurt more the longer we go on and you know it. I'm just trying to be the reasonable one here-"

"You want to break up."

"I hate this just as much as you do, you have to believe me, but please don't make it even harder by being stubborn and grouchy-"

"Is that what you think? Misha, I'm heartbroken not stubborn or grouchy. And quit trying to act like my fucking mother, telling me to stop being fucking grouchy when-"

"Well, you quit acting like a child."

"How the hell am I acting like a child?"

"By being short-sighted, not thinking about consequences, wanting to carry on with trickery and deceit and not taking into consideration the people we're hurting; it's immature-"

"I'm hurting, Misha. I'm sorry if I can't see past that at the moment. It feels like you've plucked my heart out from my chest and dunked it in saltwater. You have a little consideration for how I feel! Where is this coming from, anyway? This is so sudden-"

"You're really asking me this right now? Jensen, your mom knows. She'll insist on telling Dani. Everything is falling apart. We're about to be caught with our hands in the cookie jar and we're lucky enough to have some warning. We should smarten up and take that warning. It hurts like hell but it'll hurt a lot worse if we're split apart and the world finds out about us on top of the fact. At least this way we keep our families, reputations, lives-"

"When did any of that ever matter to me as much as you do?"

"Jensen, don't guilt-trip me; this is hard enough as it is, but it's the smart thing to do. I have to do this. For you - because I love you."

He's doing this over the fucking phone.

"No, no you don't." I shake my head in violent protest, though he can't see it.

"Jensen-"

"If you did you wouldn't be doing this."

"Jensen, please."

"Okay, Misha, you wanna break up? I'm game, but I'm not doing this on your cowardly terms. I'm not breaking up with you because I'm afraid of losing everything. I'm breaking up because I just realized you don't love me."

"That's complete bullshit-"

"No, what's bullshit is you saying you love me but not being willing to fight to be with me."

"Jensen, what more do you suggest I do? Tell me; I'll do anything. But you and I both know there is nothing. Nothing. There's no chance for us and there never was."

"Love doesn't give up, damnit. I wouldn't have given up. But now I see there's nothing to fight for."

"I do love you, Jensen; I always will-"

"No. You only thought you did. Then the going got rough and instead of toughing it out together you want to cut your losses and split. Fine by me. I don't need a dangerous affair with someone who doesn't even love me. That's the only thing that kept me going, the thought that you loved me-"

"Jensen, don't end it like this - please. I'm so sorry it has to be this way; I love you, I really do, but-"

"Just stop. I don't want to hear any more lies. You've said enough. I get it. It's over. Have a nice life."

"Jensen, we still have to work together; you can't leave things like this - it'll make filming impossible-"

"You're right. This is why I'm going to talk to the writers and producers. Destiel will never air."

"What-"

"It's not going forward or I quit the show. Simple as that."

"Jensen. Fuck. Will you calm down and take a moment to listen to yourself? Shit, Jensen, you're being so unreasonable-"

"Actually, I'm pretty calm. I'll be calm when I give Singer the ultimatum. And calm when he gives in. And calmer still when that stupid couple is erased from the show and I can have a bit of normalcy in my life again."

"Jensen, that stupid couple is the reason we got together! It's the reason for so much love and happiness and all the beautiful time we spent together-"

"No! No, fuck, Misha - don't you get it? You're so fucking stupid, I can't believe it. I loved you way before Destiel. From the moment I met you. Damnit Misha, I loved you. You'll never...ever hear me say that again-"

"Jensen, please, stop-"

"No! No, I wore my stupid fucking heart on my sleeve for you, like a complete fool. I sank way too low. I did things for you I would never do for another man. I gave myself completely to you for fucking free and you're tossing me away bloodied and bruised-"

"Jensen-"

"Really, Misha, is that all you've got to say? My name?"

"Don't do this, please, think about all the good memories, everything we said and did for each other-"

"I don't want memories. I want - I wanted you. But I see that you don't want me. We've wasted enough time. Back to our wives, okay? Yeah, tell Vicki I said hi after you screw her tonight. Like I said before, have a nice life."

"Well, I want the memories. I'm choosing to remember the beautiful-"

"Oh yeah? You want to remember me? Okay, let's hold hands and sing Wildest Dreams and then split a cookie and walk away from this relationship with nothing but good, happy, sparkly memories and go about our lives with a positive mindset and maybe open a few orphanages just to give back for all the good memories we're blessed with-"

"Stop. Just stop. You're making fun of some of the best months of my life. I don't know what you think I've been playing at, but I did love you and I still do and I always will. And I won't forget. I won't forget any of it. I don't want to, Jensen. It's all I have now."

And goddammit but his voice cracks. I need a gun. "I don't care what you say," he sobs. "I don't regret making those memories with you. I don't regret any of it."

No regrets.

That gun? Any time now, please.

"Mish-" Oh my fuck, I made him cry. I can't believe I made him cry. He's the last person I wanted to hurt. It's like I'm finally waking up now, realizing all the horrible shit I've said and it's too late now to take any of it back. "Mish-"

"Goodbye, Jensen."

Click.

Just. Like. That.

So that's all it takes to break me.

I sit back on the couch in a daze, eyes staring unseeingly straight ahead of me.

I don't realize my mom has entered the room until she clears her throat.

"Je-"

"It's over," I say robotically.

"Jensen..."

I blink, unfazed, not looking at her.

"It's over."

"You mean your relationship with Misha? What happened to talking with Dani-"

"It's over. There's no need to tell her anything."

My mother peers at me with concern, her face looking more drawn and wrinkled than ever before. She's my mother; I know on an intellectual level that she loves me and wants what's best for me. But right now, all I can't think about is how she ruined my life. She's the reason Misha is out of the picture. She's the reason our relationship failed.

"I'll never forgive you," I breathe, still staring directly ahead of me at nothing in particular.

My mother covers her mouth with her hand, sagging against the doorframe. "You'd better not tell Dani anything. Don't you dare breathe a word of this to anyone, mother. I fixed it. It's over. It never happened." I continue to stare ahead in a trance, my hands coming up to clasp my legs and my chin resting on my knees. "It's over," I murmur. Then again, "it's over." I repeat it like a mantra, like it will help, change, fix, reverse something, anything. It won't. It's pointless. But then, it seems like there isn't much of a point to anything anymore.

I can't be weak. I have a family to support and a job to do, babies on the way. I have to wash and shave and face the world with optimism and strength. I can't let this crush me, defeat my motivation to go on. No. In the morning I'll have to wake up and help Dani look after the house. I'll take JJ to school and do the dishes and mow the lawn and email my agent.

But right now, only for a little tiny while, I'm going to indulge myself in something I haven't done since childhood and cry like I've never cried before in my life.