Ten
I wake with a start, convinced someone is watching me.
Jolting upright, my foggy brain takes a moment to process where I am. The familiar surroundings calm my racing heart and I groggily remember falling asleep while watching my home movies. Brushing the hair from my face, I see that it’s peaking on dusk and the room is lit up by the gentle glow coming from the TV.
I rub the sleep from my eyes with the heels of my hands, but screech when the light flicks on, startling me.
“You do realize you snore like a freight train, right?”
“Saxon?” I almost tumble off the couch when I see him leaning against the doorjamb, arms and ankles crossed.
He pushes off the frame with a lopsided smirk. “Don’t look so surprised. I told you I’d be back. I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”
I dig at my eyes one more time just in case they deceive me, but nope, there he is, standing in my living room, all six foot four of him. Taking in his dusty jeans and boots, and windswept hair, I dare say he just rode in.
“It’s okay that I came back, right?” Saxon asks, breaking my impolite gawking.
“Yes, yes, sorry, Saxon.” I leap up, straightening out my clothes sheepishly. “I’m not a morning person.”
Looking down at his watch, he smirks. “It’s 6:07p.m.” I can’t help but smile. It’s good to have him back.
Judging by the large duffle strapped to his back, I dare say he’ll be staying a while. A sense of comfort wraps around me and I suddenly feel more optimistic than I did earlier. I don’t know why, but Saxon, he levels me.
I know how that sounds, considering I barely know him, but he feels so familiar. Even though he annoys the living hell out of me at times, I like that he challenges me and I can be myself around him.
“I haven’t even thought about food. Is there anything you’d like to eat?” I reply, addressing his earlier question as I’m still staring at him from across the room.
“Pizza,” a voice announces from behind Saxon.
Sam.
When he comes into view, bumping Saxon with his shoulder playfully as he walks past. I can’t help but smile at his sleep riddled hair and crumpled clothes. He looks adorable. Sadly, when he fixes his eyes on the TV and sees footage of us swimming in Bali, he turns from cuddly to killer in seconds.
“What’s this?”
“It’s us on our five year anniversary,” I explain, twisting my hands in front of me as his face falls blank. “We’re in Bali.”
“Bali? Why the hell were we there?” he asks, not hiding his disgust as he watches us frolic happily in the crystal blue waters. Unlike now.
I meet Saxon’s aggravated stare over Sam’s shoulder. He folds his arms over his chest, unimpressed. “I was over there for work, and after I was done, you flew over. It was your idea to celebrate our anniversary over there.”
He scoffs. “I doubt I would ever suggest going over to that poor, filthy shithole.”
I take great offense, as Bali is one of my favorite places in the world. The people over there are so generous, so happy, and yes, it may be a third world country, but it’s a beautiful country nonetheless.
Sam slumps onto the sofa and watches the plasma intently while I repress my anger. He may not remember it, but this did happen—the proof is right in front of him. And he had fun. We both did. We all watch in silence, our eyes fixated on the TV.
“And what work?” Sam asks a moment later, turning to look at me smugly. “Please don’t tell me you’re a mail order bride. That explains a lot if you are.” He turns back around, an arrogant smirk on his cheeks.
My mouth pops open. “Excuse me?”
“I’m kidding,” he amends, but I don’t actually know if he is.
“Lucy, can you help me unpack?” Saxon says, breaking through the palpable tension. I wordlessly nod, not sure what to do or say.
Saxon huffs angrily, glaring at Samuel before walking out of the room. I stand miserably, looking at the man I love more than life itself. But that man no longer exists. I leave Sam sitting happily alone on the couch as he perches his feet onto the coffee table.
I’m moving on autopilot as I ramble down the hallway and into the guest bedroom. The moment I see Saxon standing by the bed, his hands interlaced behind his neck, I burst into tears. I need to stop crying, I especially need to stop crying in front of Saxon, who no doubt is questioning his decision to return.
He makes a pained face. “Lucy, please don’t cry.”
I hide my tears behind my palms, attempting to mute my sobs. “I’m s-s-sorry.” The action only makes me cry harder. I feel weak, silly, and embarrassed that I can’t hold it together for more than five seconds, but these tears, they’re laced with anger, frustration.
“It’s okay, don’t apologize.” The floorboards creak as he steps towards me and rubs my upper arm. “He’s just lashing out. He used to do it all the time when we were growing up. He’s frustrated and annoyed, that’s all.”
“But he’s b-being such an asshole,” I stutter, choking on my sniffles. “He was never this mean before. It’s like he’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” The fact Saxon isn’t jumping to his defense makes me think he doesn’t entirely disagree with me.
My ugly sobs eventually die down and silent tears rack my body as I try and pull it together. I need to stop this emotional diarrhea. It isn’t helping the situation one iota and it just makes me feel worse. When I think I can speak without choking, I pull my hands away, embarrassed to face Saxon after yet another breakdown. But what I see surprises me. He looks completely and utterly saddened. I was expecting maybe annoyance, not sadness.
“Are you okay?” he asks, dipping down to meet me at eye level. “I hate seeing you cry.”
“I’m sorry.” I quickly wipe away my tears, not wanting to upset him further. But he reaches out and gently secures my wrist. Looking down at our connection, I feel a strange sense of security seeing his strong fingers fixed firmly around me.
“I meant, I can’t stand to see you cry. It tears me up inside.”
My mouth pops open for the second time tonight.
He lets go of my wrist, shaking his head. “You don’t deserve to be treated this way. It appears Sam’s also forgotten his manners. But that doesn’t surprise me. Decorum was never his strong suit.”
I know Saxon doesn’t want to hear this, considering he’s still bitter towards Sam, but he’s the only person who understands. He’s the only person who can explain to me why Sam is being this way. “What does that say about me? About us? About our entire relationship, if he doesn’t remember who I am?”
He looks torn, appearing to weigh up what to say. “Lucy, I wish I had the answers. At the risk of sounding like a complete asshole, Sam’s behavior doesn’t surprise me.”
I cock a brow, intrigued.
“Samuel has always been a spoiled brat. He always got what he wanted. And now that he’s being told what to do, he’s acting out. I can feel his isolation,” he reveals, pulling at his white t-shirt as if it’s suffocating him. “He feels like he’s drowning, and the old Sam, the Sam that I know, hates not having the upper hand.”
I shake my head, jumping to Sam’s defense. “That’s not true. That’s not Sam. I don’t know what happened between you two, but—”
“That’s right,” he interrupts, angrily. “You don’t know. So don’t start making excuses for him. He may or may not remember, but I do, and I’ll never forget it.”
“He’s your brother, Saxon.” I keep my tone light, not wanting to wave a red flag in front of an already angry bull.
“I know who he is. I don’t need reminding.”
“What did he do that’s so bad?”
“What didn’t he do?” is his bitter reply.
I remain silent, hoping he’ll at least share a small snippet of their past.
“It’s all the small things, Lucy, that amount to the bigger picture. Like him organizing that party the weekend my parents went away. He used my cell, without me knowing, of course, because if my parents ever found out, all they had to do was check the phone bill and see that it was my phone the calls were made from.”
My mouth pops open. “It was Sam who organized the party that Fourth of July weekend?”
Saxon nods. “Yes. I tried telling my parents it wasn’t me, but like Samuel predicted, they checked the phone bill and then there was no point arguing. I was grounded for a month because Kellie’s precious crystal ornaments got used as bowling balls.”
I always thought it was out of character for Saxon to throw such a huge party. But I never doubted Sam when he told me it was Saxon’s idea.
“Or how about the time Sam thought it would be fun to get a fake I.D. in my name and then go out and buy beer.”
“He didn’t?” I shake my head, incredulous.
“Yes, he did,” he confirms. “He was hanging out with his stoner friends and they had a bright idea to kill even more brain cells by getting wasted. Samuel paid that math nerd, Gordon, twenty bucks to make him a fake I.D. As it turns out, Gordon should have stuck to algebra because the I.D. may as well have come out of a cereal box. The clerk called my parents when Sam ran off, totally busted. I got grounded yet again because Sam was too chicken shit to own up and take the blame.”
“Why didn’t you tell your parents?”
“I did. When I told Kellie what Sam was doing, she would reprimand me for being a tattle tale,” he states. “Not to mention, Sam was smart. He knew how to play my parents. Play the baby of the family card. He had them fooled. These examples are just a few in a long line of many. After a while, I just stopped explaining because they didn’t believe me anyway. Sam transformed into the good kid, while I was the troublemaker. I was the older brother who should know better. Whenever a mess was made, it was always my name they called, not Sam’s.”
“You were only kids.” I know it sounds like I’m making excuses for Sam’s vindictive behavior, but surely Saxon can forgive something that happened years ago.
He indicates this conversation is over with by practically tearing the zipper off his bag. “You sound just like my parents.” He yanks out handfuls of clothes and storms over to the walk-in closet, where he throws whatever he has in his palms onto the shelf.
I still don’t know why he’s so angry at Sam, but I do know now is not the time to ask. He stands in the closet, hands on hips, exhaling deeply. I don’t say a word. I simply stand, chewing my lip, avoiding his annoyed glare.
If I want Saxon to stick around, I’m going to have to attempt to stop making him mad. And that’s all I seem to be doing lately, as it appears we have a love-hate relationship. He presses all my buttons and it seems I do the same to him.
He steps out, taking one final breath. His presence is almost suffocating. “Lucy, I’m…”
But whatever Saxon is, I’ll never know because we both pause when the sound of an engine roars to life. It takes us all of three seconds to realize it’s my Jeep.
“No,” I gasp, shaking my head, eyes wide. “He wouldn’t?”
When the distinct sound of tires skidding over gravel pierces the air, we both know it is what we think it is.
“Motherfucker!” Saxon is out the door in seconds, charging down the hallway, fists clenched by his side. I chase after him because he’s running towards the front door.
When he yanks open the door and bounds down the steps, screaming, “Sam! Stop!” I know it can’t be good.
The cool breeze has goose bumps buttering my skin, but I ignore the bitter weather and spring down the steps, waving for Sam to stop. But he doesn’t. My appearance only makes him drive faster as he fishtails down our driveway, flicking up stones and pebbles in his wake.
“Sam! No!” I scream, my shrill voice sending birds from their perches. “You’re going to get hurt!” My advice falls on deaf ears as he accelerates and takes off faster than a cannonball on steroids.
I run after him, pushing forward with all my might, but as Saxon and I see the taillights grow smaller and smaller, we slow down our dead sprint and finally give up. We’ll never catch up to him on foot.
I’m puffed and winded, but Saxon doesn’t look like he’s broken a sweat as he storms past me and charges into the house. Leaning over and placing my hands on my knees, I attempt to catch my breath, but the moment I hear a holler, adrenalin sings through my veins and I run faster than I ever have before.
“What?” I shriek breathlessly when I see Saxon standing in the hallway, pacing furiously.
“He took my fucking keys! That son of a bitch,” he pushes out through clenched teeth.
A sense of dread passes over me when I realize Sam has no idea where he is. He may be able to distinguish some familiar places, but overall, he’s literally driving blind. “Saxon, he doesn’t know where he is! He’ll get lost.”
“I know,” he barks, shaking his head. “This is so typical of him. This—this is Sam. This vindictive, selfish behavior is exactly who he is.” He points towards the door as if to prove his earlier point that this current a-hole Sam is the true Sam.
But I refuse to believe it. He may have been that way with Saxon, but he never was with me. He treated me like a princess, like I was the only thing that mattered.
My sorrow is reflected on my face because Saxon’s demeanor instantly changes and he takes a deep breath. “Let him blow off some steam,” he states. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. If he’s not back soon, I’ll call my father and go look for him.”
“What set him off?” I ask, as his episode was definitely brought on by something. I see the change on Saxon’s face immediately.
I follow as he walks into the living room, stopping in the center of the room. His eyes are riveted to the TV, suggesting my answer lies within what is paused on the screen. When I see the still image of Sam at graduation, draped in his cap and gown, I understand why he had the outburst.
Sam remembered Paulo’s and then in turn, he remembered being the captain of the basketball team. Is it possible he remembered he was offered a basketball scholarship, but was forced to turn it down because his future was mapped out for him by his parents? Does he remember the disappointment and regret?
Yes, he graduated from college, but in marketing, a course he enrolled in to help grow his father’s business. He told me it didn’t matter, that this was his future, but I know that it did. I know turning down that scholarship was like turning his back on his dreams.
“He remembers,” I gasp, unable to tear my gaze from the screen.
“It appears so.”
I should be happy that memories are floating to the surface, but what if those memories are ones he wished stayed submerged?
* * * * *
It’s now 11:30 p.m., and there’s still no sign of Samuel.
Saxon is sitting calmly in the rocking chair, sipping his beer, while I’m pacing the deck, about certain I’ve worn a hole in the ground. Everyone has decided to be unreachable tonight, as I haven’t been able to get a hold of anyone. Perhaps they’re all trying to give us our space, but little do they know how much space is literally between us, seeing as I have no idea where Sam is.
“Should we call the police?” I ask for the tenth time.
“And tell them what? He’s a grown man,” Saxon responds, the same reply as five minutes ago.
“He’s a grown man with amnesia,” I correct, mid-pace. “I bet if I told them that they’d see how important this is.”
Saxon doesn’t reply.
I’m riddled with guilt for playing those stupid movies. It was too much, too fast. It was too overwhelming. Saxon said so himself. Sam feels as if he’s drowning. And what do I do—throw him in the deep end.
“What do you do for work?”
I stop pacing and turn to look at Saxon, confused. “What?”
He smirks, a laidback, carefree smile as he rocks in his chair. “You said you were over in Bali for work. What do you do?”
Is he really trying to make conversation? When he continues staring at me, waiting for a response, I know the answer is yes. “Human aid,” I reply. “Well, I actually graduated with a masters in human rights. I work for PFP—People for People. My role is to advise on human rights and enforce international humanitarian law and protection of civilians.”
“In English, please,” Saxon teases, sipping his beer.
Looking at the empty chair next to him, I give in. Taking a seat, I explain, “For my internship, I went to Ghana. I also went to Sudan for six weeks. My experiences have given me knowledge of the history of conflicts, and those presently arising within African countries. The time away was remarkable, as I met so many wonderful people. I made friends with many international militaries and UN peacekeeping operators. PFP works alongside WFP. WFP is the largest humanitarian agency fighting hunger worldwide. In a year, we reach ninety million people with food assistance in eighty countries. It’s unbelievable.”
When Saxon nods, remaining mute and picking at the label on his beer, I figure I’m probably boring him to death. I know Sam could only take so much before the subject was changed. “Sorry to bore you.” I tuck my leg beneath me, rocking gently on the wooden chair.
But Saxon surprises me as he shakes his head. “You’re not. I’m happy to hear you’ve stuck to what you love.”
I purse my lips, not following.
“When you were like sixteen,” he says, as if recalling the memory, “you kept talking about the Japanese hunting whales. You gave me that flyer with all that gruesome shit they do. Made me turn vegetarian for a month. I always thought I’d see you on the news, hijacking one of those ships. Looks like I wasn’t too far off the mark.” He smirks playfully.
“I can’t believe you remember that,” I disclose, unable to keep the surprise from my voice. Thanks to Sam’s temper tantrums, and being stuck at the hospital for hours, Saxon and I haven’t really had the chance to have normal a conversation.
“Yeah, I do. I remember a lot of things.” He scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. Did he reveal something he wasn’t supposed to?
“I remember too.” I want him to know that even though we didn’t share many moments together growing up, I recall fondly the few times we did. “I remember the time you took the blame for drinking your mom’s last Diet Coke.”
He chuckles, leaning back in his seat. “Never mess with Kellie’s Diet Cokes.”
“I’d just started dating Sam and I didn’t know the protocols. Who knew she felt so passionately about soda.” Saxon’s gruff laugh shoots a tingle down my spine. “I don’t think I ever thanked you properly.”
“It’s fine.” He waves me off. “Annoying her is a favorite pastime of mine, so it’s my pleasure.”
Talks of Kellie give me the in I’ve been looking for. “Has she always been…”
“A bitch?” He fills in the blanks while I bite my lip. “Yes, she has. I learned early on that Samuel was the favorite. He was always the obedient one, while I—” he pauses, gauging the right word to use “—I’ve just been me. Too bad that was never good enough for Kellie.”
I suddenly feel sorry for him, but I don’t let it show, as I know that’s not the reason why he shared this snippet of information with me. “I’m sorry I was so…absorbed with Sam,” I settle with, thinking back to the video of Sam’s basketball finals. I didn’t even acknowledge his presence.
The twenty-six-year-old me is kicking my seventeen-year-old butt.
“Don’t worry about it. You were in love,” he quips, drawing out the word love. But I sense he’s hiding beneath his humor.
“Maybe we can make up for lost time now?” I suggest, nervously tugging at the loose strands of my hair draped over my shoulder. I have no idea why I’m so nervy, so I stop fiddling.
When he shakes his head, I feel disheartened—like he’s snapping my olive branch once again. However, I’m relieved moments later. “How about we just start fresh?”
“I’d like that.” Feeling a surge of confidence sweep over me, I lean over the armrest and extend my hand. “Hi.” Saxon looks down at the gesture, curling his lip in humor. I ignore him and continue. “My name is Lucy. Lucy Tucker.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Saxon Stone.” When his warm palm swallows mine whole, an unforeseen, invisible charge coils around my arm and doesn’t let go. The zap is so unexpected, I yank my hand away, a startled gasp escaping me.
I know Saxon felt it too because the hand I just shook sits bunched in a fist by his side. I suddenly feel my cheeks heat and I don’t know why. I’m embarrassed, confused, and I think, a little flustered.
Saxon lifts the bottle to his lips, throwing back the contents quickly.
Before I have time to process what the hell just happened, red and blue lights flash across my front yard. It appears this night has just gone from bad to worse.
Saxon stands, shaking his head. “Looks like we know where Sam is.” Offering me his hand, I accept, afraid my jelly legs won’t hold me up without the support.
I want to run down there, hug, scream, and slap him, but I don’t. Both Saxon and I watch the burly police officer get out of the patrol car and open the door for Sam. Sam exits, and the way he wavers on his feet hints that he’s drunk. He looks dirty and disheveled.
“Great,” I mumble under my breath. “His first day out of the hospital and he gets wasted.” Saxon sighs. He takes the stairs and meets the officer in the middle of the yard.
I walk towards the railing and lean on it, watching rather than interfering. I seem to make things worse, so I decide standing this one out may be best for everyone. Samuel tries to high five Saxon, but Saxon doesn’t humor him one iota.
“It would be pointless asking if you know this man because I can see that you do,” the officer says to Saxon. “He was up at the Pink Cat causing trouble with the girls. They aren’t going to press any charges.”
My stomach turns for so many reasons. At the forefront is the fact my fiancé was at a strip club. I’m not uptight, and under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t care, but what I’m faced with is so far from normal that I do care—very much.
“Thank you for bringing him home, Officer.” Saxon makes no excuse for Samuel’s lewd behavior. “Did you happen to see a silver Jeep at the premises?”
“No, I did not.” The officer passes Saxon Sam’s wallet. “Your parents are good folks, son. If this were anyone else’s son, I would have hauled his ass in and let him sleep off his drunkenness in a cell. You,” the officer turns to look at Sam, who is peering up into the night sky, stumbling on his feet. “Don’t let it happen again.”
“Look at the Big Dipper!” Samuel cries, pointing to the heavens. He obviously doesn’t appreciate the seriousness of the situation. The officer and Saxon shake hands, while Sam ambles off, oblivious to how lucky he is.
He wanders around the yard with his arms outstretched, his fingers brushing against theshrubbery as he chuckles happily. He stops occasionally to smell the flowers. Once the police car is down the driveway, Saxon storms over and yanks him around to face him. I push off the railing and stand at the top step, watching anxiously.
“Are you fucking high?” He doesn’t remove his hand from Sam’s forearm.
Samuel laughs manically. “Yes, I am. And very, very drunk,” he slurs.
High? Samuel never smoked weed. But it appears I’m wrong. How did I miss this? Saxon’s comment about Samuel fooling his parents sounds loudly in my ears.
“There was a time when you liked to smoke with Jonno and me. Remember?”
Jonno? As in Jonathan Whelan, his best friend from high school?
“We were sixteen, Sam. We were kids. We’re now adults. How about you start acting like one?”
“Fuck you, man,” Sam scowls, jerking his arm out from Saxon’s grip.
“You can’t just take off like that. Lucy was freaking out.” He points at me. I appreciate his concern.
“What about you, Sax? Were you freaking out?” he asks disdainfully. Jealousy seeps from Sam whenever Saxon comes to my aid. That could be another reason why he sees me as the enemy.
The rage emanates off Saxon. “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass where you go. Your temper tantrums are old news to me. Get inside.”
Sam sneers. “You’re not Dad. You can’t tell me what to do.”
“No one can tell you what to do, Sam, that’s the problem.” Saxon’s tone is resolute, but Samuel doesn’t seem to care.
“What happened to you? You used to be so fun. I hardly recognize you anymore.” He shakes his head, appearing disgusted.
Saxon glares at him. “I grew up. Unlike you, Sam, I left this shithole and made a life for myself outside Mom’s pussy!”
“Fuck you, you asshole! You’re just jealous that Mom likes me better than you.” Sam shoves at Saxon’s chest, but thanks to his drunken state, he almost falls on his ass.
I run down the stairs, sensing a fight about to erupt. “Stop!” My demand is ignored.
Saxon snickers. “Jealous? Please. I like that my balls aren’t rolling around in her purse.”
Samuel’s eyes narrow and he attempts to lunge at Saxon once again. He’s too fast however, and Samuel ends up tripping over and falling face first.
Saxon laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe Mommy can help you up.”
“Stop it! Both of you!” I attempt to help Sam up, but he shrugs me off and stands on his own.
He’s still unsteady on his feet, but his anger appears to have sobered him up some. “Fuck you both.”
“Sam,” I gasp, not understanding his constant anger towards me. “Stop being such a fucking jerk!” I’m seconds away from bellowing out in rage, but keep my cool.
“I’ll be sleeping in the barn,” he declares, staggering towards it.
“What? Why?” I chase after him, demanding answers.
All I get is indifference. “Because the farm animals don’t talk back.” He storms off.
I stop chasing someone who doesn’t want to be caught. “You know what, fine, go! Screw you!” My temper finally boils over.
I feel Saxon at my back moments later. I shouldn’t be upset at him, but I am. “Lucy…”
“No, don’t.” I spin around, glaring at him. “Thanks for making a messed up situation even worse.”
“How am I the bad guy?” he rebukes heatedly, but he tersely backs down. “I’m sorry, all right?”
“Save your apologies, Saxon. I’m not the one who needs to hear them.” My anger is misdirected, but he’s the only one here. He’s the only one who can handle it. “Samuel needs you right now. How about you stop being such an asshole and be the big brother he needs?”
“He needs a good slap in the face. How can you defend him right now?” He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling at the roots.
“Because that’s not Sam!” I reply, feeling like a broken record. “He needs us to support him. To show him who he is. And you being a sarcastic jerk is not helping. I can’t give up on him because he’s never given up on me!”
He huffs, his chest expanding. This fight is one I feel has only just begun.
“I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” I push past him, a swirl of emotions rattling inside my head. I’m thankful when he doesn’t follow, as I need time to digest what just went down.
As I stomp down the hallway, I’m saddened that the happiness and laughs that once reflected off these walls are now replaced with anger and tears. My happy place has just turned to shit.
Closing the door behind me, I crawl onto the duvet and tuck myself into a ball as I lay on my side. Things were going well this morning and I thought that maybe the old Sam was slowly reemerging—but it was premature.
I refuse to believe Saxon. This new Sam is not my fiancé. I know Sam, and he would never speak to me the way he has. I’m trying to put myself in his shoes, endeavoring to understand how frustrating and scary it must be for him to only remember pieces of who he was.
Anyone looking in would probably think I’m a fool for staying with Sam after the way he’s treated me, but love, it isn’t easy. What kind of a person would that make me, what would it say about my character and my love for Sam, if I deserted him when he needed me the most?
Love hurts.
Reaching out, I search the nightstand blindly, retrieving the journal from the top of the pile. I need these memories to help me remember. But most importantly, I need these memories to make me forget.
* * * * *
February 14th 2005
Dear diary,
I feel stupid.
Today is Valentine’s Day and I totally screwed it up.
Samuel and I have been dating for about five months. He’s been a complete gentleman, but tonight when things got a little heated in his pickup, I freaked out.
We were making out and it was nice. I love kissing Sam—I’d even go so far to say that he’s the best kisser in the world. Not that I have anything to compare it to. But either way, I never feel more cherished than I do when I’m in his arms.
He had his hand up my top and down my pants, which was okay, but when he tried slipping off my t-shirt, that’s when things were no longer okay. I haven’t told Sam about my scars. I’m embarrassed he’ll stop looking at me like I’m the most beautiful girl in the world.
I know that’s silly—Sam isn’t superficial that way, but I guess in a way, I am. I hate that those scars still have an impact on me. They remind me of everything I’m trying so hard to forget.
11:46 p.m.
I’m utterly in love with Samuel Stone. And it’s now official!
I’ve just crept back upstairs after Sam texted me and asked I meet him around the corner from my house. Mom and Dad were asleep, so I snuck out, risking them waking, as opposed to me wondering why Sam wanted to meet in the dead of night.
I was so frightened he was going to call it off, but he surprised me when he pulled me into his arms and apologized for being so pushy. I explained there were things about my past which I wasn’t ready to deal with, and he didn’t push. He told me that whenever I was ready to talk, he was ready to listen.
A surge of confidence enveloped me and I reached for Sam’s hand, allowing him to feel, rather than me telling him why I was so afraid. His eyes widened and for a moment, I was terrified he was repulsed by my deformity. But seconds later, as his fingers rubbed over the ridges, he declared, “I love you, Lucy, scars and all.”
It was the first time he told me he loved me, and it was the best feeling in the world.