Sam
When Will calls for her that night, Sam rises automatically and heads to his house. She has been anticipating him all day, desperately looking forward to the act of forgetting. When she arrives, his door is unlocked and slightly ajar, and when she heads inside, he is leaning against the kitchen counter with his sleeves rolled up, mixing his usual drink. He doesn’t even greet her; she just waits in silence. All he does is head into the bedroom without looking back, and she follows him without a word.
When he’s on top of her, she doesn’t have to think. She memorizes the lines of his silhouette and the whisper of his commands. She takes pleasure in testing his patience. When he ties her down and pushes her to the brink, she tilts her head back and lets the world go white. When he grips her hips from behind, she buries her face into the pillows and screams. When he gags her, she bites so hard into the cloth that her jaw aches. He is always merciless with her, and she doesn’t care; it forces her to concentrate on nothing else. She pulls him down to her when he shudders, digging her nails into his back until she knows they hurt, cherishing the brief moment when he breaks, when she is more powerful than him. He reminds her of men in paintings by the European masters, a work of chiaroscuro, his presence both brightly illuminated and shrouded in darkness, brows furrowed in unholy thought.
There is nothing about Will that reminds her of Ari, and nothing about Ari that reminds her of Will. They are the branches of a fork in the road, one leading down a path that was once open to her, the other the path she chose instead, each with no return. There is no way to loop around, no way back that can lead to another way forward.
Afterward, when their breathing has steadied and their bodies have cooled, she lies beside Will and stares out at the night. His room has a sliding door that opens the entire wall of glass to the world outside, beyond which she can see a cobbled courtyard lined with cypress leading out to an illuminated pool.It overlooks the entire expanse of the city, a million twinkling lights spread out in all directions. In the darkness, no one can see them, but she imagines they can anyway, wonders if the world would judge her.
The wind is whispering through the trees tonight, and the sliver of a moon casts faint hints of silver against their blankets. Somewhere in the distance, she can hear a symphony of crickets. Will is gentle now, serene in a way that is unfamiliar to her. She lies in the crook of his arm as he idly strokes her hair, and studies the way his eyes follow the quivering shadows that the trees cast against the ceiling.
“Why are you sad, Sam?” he says after a while, without turning his eyes to her.
She’s silent for a moment. Nothing about her escapes Will. “My mother,” she replies softly. “We’ll be fine.”
Will’s hand combs through the locks of her hair. “You’ve been talking to her often lately.”
“I try. But we don’t have that kind of understanding.”
He nods once. “I don’t think we ever really know our mothers,” he says.
Sam thinks of the way he sometimes trades barbs with Diamond, the curious contrast between their distance and their undeniable bond. “You seem to know yours,” she answers.
“Do I?” He smiles wryly without looking at her.
Sam hesitates, thinking back to Diamond’s weakening form. “Will,” she decides to ask, “what’s wrong with Diamond’s health?”
He doesn’t look at her, and for a moment, Sam is sorry she asked.
“Cancer,” he says at last. “Pancreatic. She’s had it for over a decade, so I suppose she’s lucky, in some ways. Most don’t live that long.”
Cancer. Sam swallows hard, picturing Diamond’s glittering eyes, still as sharp as ever in her thinning face. “Not even alchiatry can reverse it?” she asks, knowing the answer.
“Oh, Amerson has definitely slowed its progress. But we’re talking millions of cells, Sam, all choosing to misfire. When your body’s that determined to kill you, not even alchemy can transmute it quickly enough. She has about a year.”
Sam stares at Will’s empty drinking glass on his nightstand, condensation still beading against its surface. “I didn’t know,” she whispers apologetically.
Will doesn’t react. “It’s the way of things.”
“She told you all this?”
“Of course not. As you say, we don’t have that kind of understanding. Amerson keeps me up to date.”
Sam is quiet for a moment, understanding him. “Is that how it is? When you grow up like this?”
“Like what?”
“Living in a place like this. Not talking to each other. Getting information through assistants instead.”
“I didn’t grow up here.”
“Oh.” She looks at him. “I assumed you did.”
“No.” Will glances at her. “Diamond didn’t come from wealth.”
Sam returns his look. “I assumed, based on the way she carries herself—”
“—like old money? Everyone assumes it. I guess it must seem impossible that she was ever a member of the herd.” His gaze returns to the ceiling. “No, she was the daughter of a trucker. Never knew a mother, although she did know a rotation of my grandfather’s girlfriends. Born into dirt and sweat, like everyone else.”
