I awoke before him. I didn’t know where my phone was, but my clock across the room read that it was just after six in the morning. I didn’t know how long I’d slept, but I knew that my head hurt like I’d boiled my brains. Light was faintly coming through the blinds, thankfully, and I stood from the bed on shaky feet, glancing back at Sam to ensure he was still asleep.

Without alcohol as a buffer, that insecurity crept back in so I grabbed a fresh pair of knickers and a regular bra, sliding both on as quietly as possible. I put on the outfit I’d laid out for traveling—black leggings, white tee, and left the black sweater alone for the moment.

I chugged the water that remained in Sam’s cup, my eyes gliding over my itinerary. Bianca’s words from the day before flashed in my mind.

I’m fairly certain that if he came to you and told you he loved you, you’d tear up that plane ticket and stay.

I looked back at the sleeping Sam, asking myself if last night was enough to change my mind about leaving. It sounded absurd, even cowardly, to consider backing out now. But last night was not expected, for either of us, and I was still trying to process it.

I needed tea, quite desperately. I debated between waking him up and going to get tea for us both, deciding on the latter fairly quickly, given the size of my headache.

The flat was blessedly quiet. I realized, as I tiptoed past Ames and Mila’s room, that I hadn’t said a word to anyone before leaving my own party last night. I winced a little as I poured water into the kettle, wondering if Ames and Mila had seen the kiss, or seen me sneak off with Sam. We hadn’t even talked about the fact that Ames and Sam were best mates, and what that would mean.

The water was boiling when I heard Mila in the doorway.

“You’re up early!” she exclaimed cheerfully, breezing in with her silk teal robe over her black and white pajamas. “Oh, thank God, you’ve got water for tea.”

She was acting totally normal. This could be a good thing, I realized.

I pulled out one tea cup, not sure how to explain two tea cups to Mila. Whatever Samson wanted to, I would do, because if anyone was going to explain to Ames that Samson and I were … whatever we were, it should come from his best mate and not his fiancée.

“How’s the head?” She tapped on her own and gave me a sympathetic smile.

“I got so rat arsed last night.” I rubbed my forehead, but it did nothing to soothe the deep ache that beat there. “Those shots aren’t a joke.”

“They’re not. But at least you got it over with here.” She opened the cupboard and pulled down a teacup. “Safer here, than over in the States.”

I paused bouncing my tea bag in the water. Last night certainly hadn’t been safe. “Right. Well, I’m not planning on getting pissed in the states.”

“You say that now.” She wagged a finger at me. “But all it takes is a few shots and a mild flirtation before…” Lifting a tea bag to her face, she looked at me with knowledge in her eyes. “And then, things go to a place you can’t take back.”

I dropped the tea bag, splattering hot water on my wrist. Hissing, I hurriedly set my teacup onto the counter and ran cold water from the tap. She knew. “Have you told Ames?” I asked, my back to her until my warm cheeks had cooled.

“No. I debated it, briefly. But it’s not his business to know, unless…”

I turned around. “Unless what?”

She bit her lip and released it. “Did he … hurt you?”

I scoffed. “No. Not in the slightest.” I pulled my tea bag out and dumped it into the rubbish bin, leaving my tea barely darker than before I’d put the bag in. “I’m fine.”

“He’s still here?”

I nodded slowly.

“Well, he better figure out what he’s going to do. Ames will be up soon, and he’d probably rather find out about,” she lowered her voice, “that in a way that doesn’t involve his best friend sneaking out of his sister’s room.”

I sighed. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. If this is a thing, or what. It was one night, that’s as much as I know right now.”

“You best get back in there and sort it out. I expect Ames will want to finish last night’s cleanup before too long.”

I nodded again before dipping out of the room. I crept into my room, and nearly dropped my teacup seeing Sam, dressed, sitting on my bed.

“You made the bed,” I said, as if that was the most appropriate thing to say at that moment.

“Uh,” he turned around and looked at it, “yeah, I did.” He spied the teacup in my hand.

“Want some?” I asked him, holding it out. God, this was terribly awkward.

“No, I—I should get going.” He gave me a smile but it appeared pained. He stood and moved toward me. “Sorry.”

“For what?” I was in the way of the door, but I didn’t move. Something about his demeanor gave me pause.

“For…” He ran a hand through his hair and glanced back at the bed. “Last night.”

I didn’t know my hands were trembling until I felt the drops from my tea splattering my hands. “Which part?” I asked, the words thick in my throat.

“Ahh…” He heaved a sigh. “Shiiiiit,” he hissed. “I feel like a real wanker right now.”

I set the tea down on my vanity. “Why?” I was grateful my voice was stronger than my spine. I sank, ever so imperceptibly, against the wall behind me. “Why do you feel like a wanker?”

“Because, Lots,” he said, and I wished he didn’t use my nickname. “I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

“What you did? That wasn’t sole participation, Samson.” Sweat prickled my brow and I trampled on the urge to touch my hair.

“I know that, but you know what I mean.”

“Clearly I don’t.” I crossed my arms over my chest and my nails dug into the soft tissue of my forearms.

“It was a mistake,” he said, his voice a bit louder this time. Softer, then, he added, “Okay? Right?”

Was he asking me to agree with him? Would I agree, if only to spare my own pride? It was hard for me to believe I could. “Why?” It was all I could come up with.

“You were drunk … I was…” He ran a hand through his hair, which looked stupidly perfect even after he’d just woken up. It angered me so, that he could stand in front of me and call last night, that stupid memory I’d seared into my mind, a mistake.

“I wasn’t that drunk. I remember it.” Vividly, I added to myself.

“You’re Ames’ sister, for Christ’s sakes. You’re leaving today, last night shouldn’t have happened.”

“Is that what you really feel?” My left eye blurred from the unspent tear and I blinked it away.

“It’s what it is.”

“You’re right, you are a wanker.” I wanted to throw something. Not necessarily at him, but sort of.

“I’m so sorry, Lotte.” Without waiting for me to say no, he pulled me into his arms and hugged me tight.

And it made it so much worse. The tears bubbled over, my throat clenched like I was choking, and I was enveloped in his damn scent. The sun poured in through the window, music from my father’s room switched on down the hall, and Sam kissed the top of my head. This moment, the moment my heart broke, was much more profoundly cemented into my memory than anything that had happened the night before. Why was it easier to remember heartbreak than the happy? I knew I’d punish myself with this memory for long to come.

I couldn’t be in his arms anymore. I pushed against him until he let me breathe and turned around so my back was to him. “Go,” I whispered. “Ames will be up soon.” The tears rained down my cheeks and my nails dug into my skin as I waited for him to leave so I could be safe again.

“Lotte,” he said softly behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“A second time,” I said mostly to myself. I’d let this happen again, but this time it’d wreak much more havoc on my soul than that one kiss years ago had done.

“What did you say?”

“Get out,” I whispered, diving my hands into my hair. I wrenched my shoulder so his hand dropped, and seconds later I heard the creak by my door and the soft click of it shutting closed and grief closed in on me.

 Grief is what happens when love doesn’t have a soft place to land. I didn’t have a soft place to land with Sam.

I pulled, coming away with too many hairs for me to count in the blur of tears falling from my eyes. What was I supposed to do with all these feelings? How was I supposed to move on from this?

From this mistake, in his words.

God, that word was among the worst in the English language. It would be forever colored by this moment, by the feel of my heart shattering in my chest.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Red, puffy eyes, disheveled hair. I looked absolutely horrible. I felt much, much worse.

I snatched up my brush and ran it through my hair, pressing the bristles hard against my scalp. I needed the pain in order to have the relief. I took great satisfaction in the hairs that hung from my brush and plucked out each one, wrapping it around my finger until I threw it away.

And then, I sunk to the floor, in front of my suitcases, and let my cry really come.

When I finally emerged from my room after Mila’s repeated prodding to come downstairs for my farewell brunch, my face was back to some semblance of composure. Eye drops had erased the strain, and two layers of under eye concealer had hidden most of the swelling. The only thing that I couldn’t disguise was how hoarse my throat sounded.

At the bottom of the stairs, just inside the kitchen, I could hear raucous laughter from the pub. I had the memory of the night before, when I’d run up these stairs to my room, awaiting Sam. Would he be at brunch? I hoped not.

Slowly, I made my way to the door of the pub and peeked through the porthole window. Ames and Mila had shoved up a couple tables and my dad was seated at one of them, flanked by Mila and Ames. He was currently regaled by some tale Mila was spinning, his head back in laughter. Ames was serving mounds of French toast onto plates. Beside him was Sam’s mum, Bronwen, who I genuinely loved. While good to see her, her connection to the person responsible for my heart’s status made her almost unwelcome.

But Sam was nowhere to be seen. I breathed a sigh of relief and pushed through the doors, giving hugs to my dad and Bronwen as I made my way to the empty seat beside her.

Seconds after I noticed the empty seat across from me, something out of the corner of my eye caused me to turn.

Sam.

He was holding a pitcher of water in one hand and a tray with glasses in the other. Upon seeing me, he slowed, and searched my face.

I looked away quickly, and sat on my chair.

This was going to be fucking torture.