Page 8 of All In
Chapter four
1995
Maria
As I wait for Sam to arrive for our date, I’m resting on my couch, feeling like I want to vomit. I’ve composed myself after my bathroom meltdown. My knee bobs with nerves as I steal glances at the clock, each passing minute heightening the suspense of his arrival. I’m turning his Dear John letter into my hands. More than likely, this will be the last letter I write to Sam.
Because that’s what Sam and I do. We write letters to each other, and we live only ten minutes apart. There was nothing better than the jolt of excitement that would pierce through me when I would open the mailbox and find one waiting for me. Sam’s words would act like a warm blanket around my heart.
I’ll miss those letters more than anything.
A flash of light streaming in from the window from his headlights breaks up my memories, followed by tires crunching on the driveway. A wave of anxiety washes over me, making my stomach twist and turn as if I could hurl any second.
He’s here.
Standing on shaking legs, I clear my throat, the only sound in the quiet room. The moment he lays eyes on me, he’ll realize something is wrong. My long blonde hair is in a ponytail, I have no makeup on my green eyes, and my tall,slim frame (which has gotten thinner thanks to stress) is in pajamas. Definitely not date-approved attire.
I slide back the curtain that overlooks the front of the house and watch him stride up the walkway to my parents’ split-level home. My heart aches because he looks incredible. The sight of his hopeful smile is like a dagger to my chest, causing a dull pain to spread throughout my whole body.
He has no clue what is about to hit him. And for whatever reason, he looks extra nervous tonight. He keeps running his hand through his hair, and he appears restless.
Strange.
I regain my composure, trying to steady myself. I use my free hand to grasp the cool door handle while keeping the letter hidden behind my back. The door creaks on its hinges as I slowly open it, trying to prolong the inevitable. The cool night air hits me as well as his smile, which was there a moment ago, but vanishes as soon as he sees me.
He lets out a small gasp as his eyebrows pinch together. “Maria, are you okay? Why aren’t you dressed? Are you sick?” His face is a canvas of concern. Concern rooted in nothing but love.
I think I’m going to pass out.
I lay my hand on my stomach and try hard to keep my composure and not cry. “No, I’m not okay, Sam. And I’m not going out tonight.” My voice cracks.
His head cocks to the side as he tries to gather his thoughts. “Wait, what? So, are you sick?” I don’t answer. A few seconds pass. “Maria, you’re scaring me. What is going on?”
God, this is harder than I thought it was going to be.
With a trembling hand and a quivering voice, I pull the letter from behind my back and hold it out as my chest tightens. “I explain everything in here.” The wind picks up slightly, brushing a loose piece of my hair into my eyes.
He takes the letter from my outstretched hand and stares at it, his brows furrowed. “Maria, what is this?” he questions, his eyes narrowing as he examines the envelope. He tears his attention away from the letter and walks up the firststep toward me. My feet have a mind of their own, and I recede backward toward the door, grabbing the handle from behind me.
If I get any closer to him, I’ll collapse. I can already sense my resolve crumbling; the intensity of the moment is overwhelming. Tears are forming in my eyes, and the thick night air is weighing me down. “I’m so sorry, Sam. Please forgive me.” As quickly as I can and without looking at him, I turn and bolt into the house, leaving the love of my life stunned and confused on my front step. As I shut the door, I rest my head against the cool metal. The tears are threatening to spill over, so I close my eyes tightly, trying to hold them back.
Because I can’t lethimknow I care.
“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” The conniving voice cuts through the thick tension. I open my eyes and Chad, my supposed new boyfriend, is on the couch, both arms stretched out on the back cushions, his ankle resting on his knee. He arrived this afternoon and made a point to stay until it unfolded.
My anger is building as I lock eyes with him. The side table lamp casts a glow on his face, revealing a victorious smirk and a menacing stare. I scoff and quickly shift my eyes to the carpet to help quell my anger. Starting an argument right now wouldn’t be the smartest idea.
His footsteps grow closer as he stands and walks toward me, stopping inches from my body, his cheap aftershave assaulting my nose. As he leans into me, his warm breath tickles my shoulder, fueling my anger. He trails soft kisses up my neck until his mouth is right next to my ear, every smack of his lips making my skin crawl. “I can make you so much happier than he ever could,” he says in a low whisper.
Out of nowhere, his grip tightens on my chin, forcefully slamming my head against the door, causing an excruciating pain to shoot through my skull. His face and black rage-filled eyes are mere inches from mine. “You willnotcontact him again, will you, Pookie?” His tone is seething and full of venom. There is no mistaking the threat in his question. For my safety and Sam’s, I give him the answer he wants.
Why, you may ask again? Because it’s complicated.
Taking a moment to compose myself, I prepare to feed him what he wants to hear. “No. Never. It’s over.” His lips crash into mine, and I can taste the turkey sandwich he ate right before Sam arrived. He forcefully breaks our connection and lets go of my face. Then—acting as if he didn’t just assault me—he places a gentle kiss on my forehead.
“That’s my good girl. Now keep being a good girl, and I won’t have to act out again. Understood?”
As his question lingers, a sudden pounding at the door jolts me out of my thoughts, the vibrations reverberating through my body.
