I have already made it through three whole days of shooting of the fourth episode of season twelve.

It would be as fun as I thought, if it were not for my quiet, nervous attitude. Although, according to everyone who has seen my performance, I have been doing pretty well.

All those things that Jason said to me at dinner the other night have been on replay since I got back home that night. I am still in shock, I think, and disbelief. How could Jason love me?

I don't know, I suppose that there is a very slim possibility that he sees something in me that I don't. Still, he is kind of insane for developing feelings for me.

"Hey," Jared says from behind me, surprising me. I turn around, expecting him to be looking for someone else, but he is looking at me. I nod in his direction as he approaches me and sits in the chair next to mine.

"Long day," I say, trying not to be so quiet so I don't make him suspicious. I take a sip from my water bottle.

"Yeah," Jared replies. "Don't worry, it'll be over before you know it." He pats me on the shoulder. "You've been doing pretty good here." I quirk an eyebrow but don't say anything.

The stress of something bad happening keeps weighing down on my shoulders, but it kind of disappears when the camera is on me. I suppose I sort of get sucked into the Supernatural world and forget about the real one.

But off camera, I have been staying to myself, barely talking to other people, except when I have to.

The day progresses awfully slowly, and I am kind of surprised to learn that we are going a little faster than we are supposed to. It feels like we have been working on the same scene all day.

"Charlie," a voice says to me a lot later that day. This time it is definitely not Jared. I turn around and smile at Misha as he approaches me. He seems tired, too, despite his blunt enthusiasm.

"Hi," I say in response, expecting him to sit down next to me, but he just stays standing.

"Hi," he repeats, "You want to go with us to get pizza?" He offers, adjusting the watch on his wrist. I shake my head.

"Uh, I'm not really hungry," I lie. "But thanks anyways." I lift my leg up and set my foot down on the chair in front of me, leaning forward to tie my combat boots. To my surprise, Misha is still here.

"Charlie, you haven't ate a thing all day," he argues, however, he doesn't push. I raise my eyebrows, and he continues. "Look, please come with us. We're paying." I chuckle a little.

"Relax, Misha," I say. "I had a burger during lunch. I'll be fine." I move my other foot up onto the chair and tie my other boot. "I'll give you a ring when I get home, 'kay?" He hesitates before nodding.

"Alright," he eventually gives in, and I almost sigh in relief as he walks away. As I make my way back to my truck, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Seeing that it's Teresa, Mason's little sister, I quickly answer it. I still remember that last conversation I had with her, and how scared she sounded.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hey, Charlie. It's Teresa."

I stay silent for a moment. She sounds okay, just sleepy. "Hi. How are you doing?" I hear her sigh.

"I'm..." she starts, her voice straining a little. I furrow my eyebrows, heart racing in fear. What if she hurt herself more? "I'm really good, Charlie. I...I told Mason, and she called a doctor for me."

I let out a huge sigh of relief and a smile lights up my face. She did it. Teresa is going to get better, before she gets worse. This is amazing.

"That's great, Teresa," I answer. "I'm really proud of you." I can almost her the smile in her voice as she replies.

"Thanks."

"I think it's really great that you are getting better," I add. What she says next almost makes me faint in shock.

"Are you getting help yet?"

I freeze. How does she know that I need help? Mason doesn't know, so she didn't tell her. Unless she is just really intuitive, there is really no way she can know this.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on. It's so obvious. Everyone can see it. Mason knows."

At hearing this, I close my eyes and cringe. I must have made a terrible mistake somewhere, because I do not recall telling anybody. Jared knows, but he would not tell them.

"See what?" I ask, my voice shaky and nervous with fear.

"How broken you are," she says, and I almost have to pinch myself to see if this is a terrible dream, because it can't possibly be real. She cannot know this.

"You really are crazy, huh?" I say, chuckling slightly and hoping that maybe Teresa will say she is joking.

"Maybe," she answers. "You need to call a doctor, Charlie, or tell Jared at least. They'll help you with your problems."

"I don't have a problem," I say with a certain edge to my voice. Already, I am getting defensive, even though everything that she is saying is correct. "Don't worry about me, Teresa, okay? Tell mason not to, either, alright?"

Teresa laughs. "We always worry about you. I bet Jared does, too. I bet you sulk around the house, with your wrists loosely bandaged up—"

I pull my phone away from my ear and end the call.

Teresa is right. About every single thing she just said. But does she really have a right to call me out on all of that?