“What would you do if you could do anything?”
She snorts. “I’d work. Believe it or not, I love what I do.”
“But you do that all day. Don’t you have other things you love? Like friends?”
“You mean like those people you bus with that are currently giving you the cold shoulder for associating with me?”
“I mean, like people you go out with.”
“I’m a homebody.”
“All right. What about someone who would throw you a baby shower.”
“Why would I need one when I have more than enough already?”
“Because it gives our friends a chance to celebrate the happy occasion with us.”
Her throat jumps as she swallows, and I suddenly regret the direction I took the conversation, because it’s now apparent that Samantha isn’t just a lone wolf. She’s an outcast.
Which makes little sense. Sure, she’s rough around the edges, but she’s not a ‘mean girl’, as they typically have cliques with a hierarchy. Samantha is just…difficult.
Not that I can blame her for being so when Natasha has gone on the offensive. Samantha’s little threat was defensive, which makes me damn proud because I don’t want little droid’s momma to be helpless.
Still, I don’t like that she feels so alone in this world, and I can only hope that as time passes, she’ll open up to me about her life.
With only a few weak lights to guide us, we walk onto a footbridge overlooking a shallow trench used to redirect water, stopping at its center. Samantha leans into the rail as she looks down at the dark stream, her face solemn.
“Tox, I need you to make me a promise,” she says in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Whatever you want from me, it’s yours.”
“I need you to promise that no matter what, you’ll stick around, even if we aren’t together. Even if little droid is as ornery as I am, you won’t leave them, and you’ll do your best to guide them and give them what they need.”
“I’ll do you one better: no matter what happens between us, if either of you needs me, I’ll be there in the blink of an eye. Hell itself couldn’t keep me from you. That’s a damn fact.”
TWENTY-TWO
Samantha
What has gotten into me?
I’m not acting like myself.
I’m acting…giddy. Too fucking optimistic.
My goddamn brother told me I’m not allowed back home, and I’m laying in a crammed bunk, basking in the heat of a man who strips for a living.
And loving every moment of it.
For the first time in over a decade, I allow myself to look back at a time I’ve tried so desperately to forget.
I was two when my mother was pushed aside by my stepmother, though she remained in my life for a while longer, living with us for a few more years. Those moments I saw her were precious, but over time, the memories became toxic as my anger steeped.
You have to understand. I never wanted this…
In the end, I was as forgettable to my mother as she was to my father. It’s a lesson that came to me when I was just eight, watching my friend Ruby’s parents go through a divorce. Theyfought for her savagely, refusing to give up even a single holiday with their daughter.
I suppose you could say that’s where my villain arc started. I pushed everyone away out of jealousy and rage and feelings of unworthiness that can only be understood by those rejected by their very blood. I hardened my armor, sharpened my blades, and I never let anyone see my pain.
