MESSIAH

Remembering

Chapter 21

You know that odd feeling of self deprecation and self love at the same time? It's quite weird and oddly satisfying. One minute I think that I am not good enough, I remember that I killed a woman, I always think of myself as too weak for Nathan. The next, I believe in myself, in my strength and in Nathan's love for me; platonic or not.

I do believe I have gone through so much more than others and through what most could not handle, but my own previous expectations of my strength, before getting into such situations, was much higher. I guess it might have been because I was never a part of such situations exactly. I could only imagine what it feels like and never really feel it. This thought then strengthens my confidence because I am living through something old me couldn't imagine, something a lot of others could not as well.

I could never really fathom how mental pain turns into physical pain. How it's not the running making my legs sore but the idea that I still am in this race. My head doesn't only hurt from the hits and falls, but the constant belief that I am a criminal and a sinner.

I realize the looks of admiration Abud gives me and I feel, well simply put admired. I see the way Nathan looks at me too and I wonder what it means. I see admiration, warmth, but also pity.

I saw Nathan realize my love for the unknown while sticking my head out the taxi door window in Vegas mesmerized by the lights. I noticed when he saw the possible glow on my face watching the city become smaller when we took off since he is so uncomfortable on planes and I am not. Then, there are times when I am getting ready to fall asleep, he lays a kiss on my forehead as if he were nothing but a brother and gives me a look of love so pitiful, so sad, that I don't know what to believe.

"Sam? Are you okay?" Nathan asks me closing the glass door of the fridge.

I turn my head away from the row of bags of chips in this dilapidated convenience store and answer, "yeah, I'm fine."

I continue nodding as I were convincing myself that I am fine.

"I know you're not, so when you want to talk about it, let me know, " he says tossing a bottle of ginger ale.

"You're getting good at the people reading thing."

He laughs. I walk up behind Nathan and put the two bags of chips; original without ever forgetting sour cream and onion, my favourite, beside his two bottles of Gatorade and the one ginger ale.

"Sour cream and onion?" he asks with a grimace.

"What? You don't like them?"

"They're actually my favourite. I'm just surprised you do. You don't seem like the type."

"There are types of people for different chip flavours?" I ask as he pays the man behind the counter working the unfortunate night shift.

"Thank you," I continue, nodding at the man, in his late 20's I'd say, with caramel coloured skin and an undeniably groovy afro.

"Of course there are," Nathan adds pushing on the door which makes the old chime sing.

"You seem like the type to eat olive or mustard flavoured chips, cause you're so bitter."

He says the last word with a slight British accent and a scrunched up nose. I sarcastically scoff.

"Bitter you say," I repeat ready to throw back an insult as I sit in the passenger seat. Abud clearly seems confused. Nathan starts the engine.

"Well, you probably like pickle flavoured because you are so sour. "

I don't deny the fact that the insult was absolutely horrible.