Sam and I sit down on the stone stairs leading down to the river. It's honestly been pretty damn awkward the entire walk here, with me trying to start conversations despite him being deep in thought. At least I got the opportunity to glance over at him every once in a while, and every time there was one more sign that he was turning more and more okay. Less tense shoulders, hands down in his pockets instead of scratching the stress rashes on his neck, a deep breath.
"I feel a little better," he says.
"I'm glad."
Sam looks over at me, inhaling and then pausing before speaking. "It's not so much the break up, that's relieving if anything. But, the thing is, she spoke to her mom about it, and her mom and my mom share everything with each other, and then they in turn tell us. I know way more things about her than I need to, and she knew about... everything that happened even though I didn't want her to. It never felt like she took it into account, though. Maybe she thought she was helping, but she was making it worse. That might be my fault, for not telling her, but..." He looks away. "Sorry. I'm rambling."
I hop a little closer, silently hoping he'll put his head on my shoulder, and I can put my arm around him, and... yeah, I'll stop that thought there. "Continue."
He huddles together, holding his own hand over his knees. "I can't explain, because that'd require me telling you other things that I don't want to talk about. At least not know."
God, there's something about that honesty. Maybe that's what my friends have always wanted from me when they tell me to talk about shit—not me outright saying what the issue is, but telling them that I'm feeling this or that way and I don't want to talk about it.
Either way, I admire it.
"That's okay," I say.
Sam lets out a sigh. "I'm just scared of being outed to my parents. I don't know how they'll take it. It doesn't really matter, because my mom tells my whole family everything, and..." He swallows, staring blankly out over the water. "Now, with my grandpa dead, and my dad so far away, it feels like I won't have any support at all. I celebrate every tradition with my mom's side of the family unless I have time to make it to my dad, and even when I do, I just..." He licks his lips. "God. I'm sorry, I don't mean to—"
"Sam, seriously, talk as much as you want. I've been talking this entire time, it's pretty nice to hear your voice for a change."
"I feel out of place," he continues. "It never feels like I'm valued as highly as my siblings, or my cousins, or anyone else, not even by my parents. That might be me overthinking it, but..."
"It still matters."
It's first when he looks at me that I realise that, well, I've been staring at him this entire time. "You're the first person after Kell that has made me feel that way."
He's not... he's not confessing, you know, romantic feelings, right? Did he and Kell have a thing? Holy fuck, I cannot imagine Sam ever being with someone like Kell, nonetheless have feelings for someone like me. Still, my heart stars pounding even though I know that's not what he's going to say. "Like what?"
"Like my feelings matter."
Oh. Well, guess it wasn't what I'd hoped for, but it sure as hell wasn't a bad thing. Emotionally, I haven't really accepted the whole thing about him not liking me romantically, but, I mean, he's nice to be around, I want to be his friend, and giving him comfort? That's a pretty damn good achievement.
"They do," I say.
It feels like Sam's eyes grow bleaker and bleaker by the second. He doesn't have the liveliest personality—not that that's a bad thing—but he certainly has some life to him, even though he's calm and not super energetic or anything. "I felt included before. But I suppose that everyone felt the need to choose a side when things happened, and everyone sided with my brother."
I furrow my brows. "Isn't he the one in prison?"
"They think I'm lying," he says. "Maybe it's denial. It could be tough for them to accept that he's not a good person." He breathes. "It still stings."
"Yeah." I pause. "Yeah, I get that."
Do I?
I don't know what the fuck he's talking about, but I guess the part about it being tough for them to accept that he's not a good person hit me. It was never hard for anyone at the compound to realise I was a bad person, nor should it have been because, well, I am a bad person. Tough for them to accept I'm gay? Me forgiving them for that even though they've ruined my life?
Yeah, that's the part I get.
"My dad, and grandfather, and my aunt and her husband never did that," he continues. "My mom and stepdad were probably so convinced I was lying too that they spread that to everyone. He wouldn't be in prison if it wasn't for my dad."
Okay, so what the hell do I answer? I mean, I could probably say something really meaningless like my condolences or whatever the fuck, which probably would've been better than blurting out something unrelated, but... "You sound, like, unused to calling them that. You know, mom, dad, whatever. You speak Mexican with them?"
His face shifts from that almost dead expression to the scrunched up what the fuck Aiden face in a second. Then he laughs, which might've scared me a little if it weren't for the fact that, well, he just seemed all depressed. "Mexican is not a language, Aiden."
I feel my eyes widen a little. "It's not?"
"No. I speak Spanish."
