Page 46 of Surviving the Merge
She trailed off. Walking through the opened doors of the terrace, coming to a stop in front of me. “You have me on your visitors list, so they sent me up. Your door was unlocked. So, here I am.” She raised her voice to be heard over the storm.
She watched me like I was something to be handled with care. I took pity on her. “How much do you know?” I looked past her and into the downpour.
“A lot. Not nearly enough.” As tenderly as she could, she said, “You look like shit, sweetie. Kind of... smell like it too.”
My laughter started out small. Faint. Seen but unheard. It grew, approaching hysteria. This worried Sam, but she tried to hide it by letting loose a nervous chuckle.
Something still standing broke within me, my heart wrenched. Sam caught me in her arms. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” She rubbed my back. “Let’s get you cleaned up and fed.”
I showered and managed to eat some of the food that Sam brought over. My stomach couldn’t take much more. She’d brought me drunken noodles from my favorite Thai restaurant. Blake had thought of everything, and it enraged me. I didn’t want him taking care of me.
Other than the bed, the only furniture in the apartment was the table and chairs that came with the balcony. So that’s where we established ourselves, staring into the night. As much of the night that the rain allowed us to see. The storm pelted the front end of the cemented terrace, but we remained dry from our spot close to the door. A shame, really.
“Where are you going?” I asked as Sam got up and rushed into the apartment.
“You’ll see,” she yelled over her shoulder.
I leaned back and closed my eyes. A moment later, I heard… “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” Sam shuffled anxiously from foot to foot, a small cake in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. I blew out the candles and wished for her sake that I could be more excited. But in truth, remembering my birthday only aided in making me inexplicably sadder.
“Blake might have mentioned your birthday, and it’s midnight. I thought maybe you could find a little joy in spite of everything.” She shrugged awkwardly. “Stupid idea, I suppose.”
Her vulnerability moved me. “No, it wasn’t a stupid idea.” Taking both items from her and setting them on the table, I took her hand in mine. I kissed her knuckles and pulled her onto my lap. “It means a lot to me that you tried. I’m glad you’re here. I... needed this. I needed a friend.”
With her arms wrapped around my neck, she leaned forward, placing a kiss on my cheek.
“That’s what friends are for.” She brushed my hair back with her hand. “You’re stuck with me. Stage-five-clinger here.” She pointed to herself. “You should’ve run when you had the chance,” she teased.
Her features began to swim in my vision. “Please don’t cry,” she begged. “Your tears make me violent.” She caught a runaway tear with her thumb, wiping it on her shirt. “You bring out the protective instinct in people, you know.”
My grunt carried a dose of loathing. “Always needing to be saved.” The knowledge made me bitter; it made me feel weak.
She held my chin. “With all that you’ve been through, your eyes still hold an openness. A wonder. So what if you're the damsel in distress that comic books are built on.” She squared her shoulders. “I’ll be your superhero, baby.”
“Really, Sam?” I asked with mock exasperation.
“You’re not weak.” She read my mind. “And I know we haven’t known each other long, but your strength is the most obvious thing about you.” She tilted her head. “Well, maybe your eyes are. And your hair—”
“I get it Sam,” I said shaking my head at her with endearment. “Let’s go inside.”
I sat on the bedroom floor, allowing Sam to braid my hair. It made her feel useful.
“Jesus, your hair is long. You’re like a mix between Tinkerbell and Rapunzel. You’re... Tink-Punzel!”
It nearly touched my waist. “Is that an insult?”
“Nah. We can’t all be mysterious, hulking, Latin sensations like your husbands. You’re just as alluring, but in a more,” she searched for the right word, “ethereal way.” She blabbered on. “He’s all sin and bad-things-ah-coming. You give off a pure and unattainable vibe. I can see how you would make someone want to dirty you up.”
That brought a memory to the surface. “Everything in me wants to wreck you,”Damon had said to me not so long ago.
“This is the longest I’ve ever let it get. I need to cut it.”
“I used to do hair. Went to cosmetology school and all. I can trim it for you.”
“My mom used to braid my hair.” Nostalgia settled over me. “She wanted me to get a haircut. Said it grew too fast and was too thick to manage. It took forever to blow-dry it. Still does.”
Sam finished up and then scooted around me on her knees, settling cross-legged in front of me. “Why didn’t you want to cut it?” Her face scrunched up. “I wouldn’t think most boys would want to bother with their hair.” She paused in adjusting her top. “Oh wait, was it the whole being-gay thing?” She whispered like we weren’t the only ones in the room.
“I have my mother's hair. She wore hers long; I wanted to do the same. I was a bit obsessed with my mother.” I laughed, fighting back tears. “It was torture for her. Taking care of hers and mine. But she did it.” My voice lowered. “She passed away when I was fourteen. Bone cancer. I’ll never cut it off completely.”
