She laughs as she brings the bottles to the table with the cups and makes us both a drink. We sit up against the headboard in silence and sip our drinks. We’re halfway through when we start to talk again.
“How about you go on one of those sites I mentioned. Make an anonymous profile. Check it out. Play around. Ask some questions. Being around people who do this safely, know what’s right and not abusive, maybe it’ll help you feel more comfortable with it all because it seems you haven't accepted this part of you yet.” She’s right about that. “I can give you all the advice in the world, but I don’t know a damn thing about this. If you are still confused after you talk to the professionals, then maybe it really isn’t meant to be. But if they can help you, let them.” She takes my hand again and sips her drink before saying, “You’re my best friend. We haven’t known each other long, but I love you. I want you to be happy.”
I smile, my eyes watering. “Thanks, Amelia. That means a lot to me.”
Even if it’s alcohol-induced, I know she means it.
Chapter Twelve
Sailor
The air is tense when I get back to Sam’s Sunday night. He’s sitting at the small dining table, eating something from a bowl. I smile and wave, which he returns, but it feels off.
When Amelia came to visit, I wasn’t sure I’d stay with her, but then I got there and I didn’t want to leave. I hadn’t realized how hard it was to breathe while being in Sam’s place—and it feels even worse now.
I don’t get it. He used to be such a kind person. He was sweet and understanding, and now… he’s scaring me more than Jaxon ever did. But that doesn’t mean I should run back to Jaxon. Just because he may be the lesser of two evils, doesn’t make it right. There are other options—like handling this myself.
I bring my things to my room, then come back out to smooth things over with Sam.
“Hey,” I say, running my hands over my jean-covered thighs. “How was your weekend?”
He shrugs, picking up the bowl to drink from it. Soup or cereal, I guess.
“Fine. Yours?” The chair scrapes along the floor as he gets up to drop his bowl into the sink.
“It was great. It was nice seeing Amelia.”
“Glad you had fun with your friend.” His tone is hollow as he moves past me like a zombie.
“Sam,” I try, turning to follow after him. “Can we talk?”
“About what?” he asks as he drops onto the couch.
I’m not stupid. I can tell he’s giving me the cold shoulder. His smooth and emotionless quick answers. The no eye contact.
“Us. What’s going on?” I sit beside him.
“Nothing is going on.”
The TV turns on, the sound of whatever show playing through the air. I keep my gaze on his profile.
“You’re upset about something. I don’t like this.”
He turns to me, giving me a smile that isn’t happy. It’s only now, with the light of the TV over him, that I notice the dark, heavy bags under his eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.
“Yeah? Well, neither do I.”
“Do… do you want me to leave?”
He stares at me with a dead look in his eyes, almost like he’s seeing right through me.
“What I want is for things to go back the way they were,” he says firmly.
My stomach knots.
“Sam, I told you I only want to be friends.”
“And that’s whatthisis?” he barks. “This is us being friends?”
