Drop Dead | Sam Fender

Chapter Fifty Eight

Aurora

After having all my friends around a couple of weeks ago, I had made a promise to myself not to go without seeing them for so long ever again. Not if I could help it anyway. I realised how much I had missed them and how much they helped settle my mental health. It was like my problems just disappeared when they were around.

Don't get me wrong, I knew it didn't solve them completely but it helped lessen their weight and with the biweekly therapy sessions my dad had been forcing me into, I was slowly starting to reach a point where my mental health wasn't overwhelming.

I felt suffocated though. By my dad, by Sam, by my therapist and by my doctors. There was only so much prying that I could take and I was reaching my boiling point. My dad and Sam were walking on eggshells around me, even though it was nearing two months since my trip to the hospital. As much as I loved them both, I didn't know how much more I could take of them doubting me being okay. Because they never did believe me.

And if I thought Sam was closed off about his feelings before, it was like he was a whole different person now. Not in a good way either. He constantly plastered on a facade but I could see right through it. Anytime I would ask him about it, he would brush it off as nothing, which irritated me to no end. It was as though he thought that if I knew he wasn't alright that I would have a mental breakdown.

It was only what you did for months, my mind screamed bitterly.

No, this was different, I thought to myself, suppressing the subconscious guilt I was feeling.

I had gone around Sam's that day, recalling how he had greeted me with a smile that was larger than life but I saw right through it. I knew something was troubling him, but any inquiries I made were instantly brushed off as nothing and somehow had been turned on me.

"I'm fine," he told me with a shrug as he packed his guitar into its case, ready for him to take down to the Low Lights later that evening. "It's you I'm worried about."

"Me? I'm fine," I frowned. I was sitting cross-legged on his bed with my arms wrapped around my knees, watching him with cautious eyes.

"Ya sure? You're awful quiet," he asked, looking over at me briefly.

"I'm just thinking," I assured him. It wasn't a lie, I couldn't help but focus my thoughts on his well-being. It was like instinct to be concerned for him.

"About what?" he inquired as he paused his doings.

"It's nowt, babe," I smiled gently, eyeing him as he strode over to me and took a seat by my side.

"It might help if ya talk about it. Maybe-"

"Sam, stop," I huffed, cutting him off, recoiling from his touch when he tried to wrap an arm around my shoulders.

"What?" he frowned innocently. "I'm just trying to help, Scarlett. It's not good to bottle your feelings up."

"Ya can't be serious," I scoffed. I pushed myself off the bed and made my way over to his bedroom window that overlooked the council estate he lived on, my back turned to him.

"Deadly," he muttered. "Scarl, please tell me what's gan on with ya. I'm worried."

"You!" I snapped, whirling around to face him, hating myself for the way he flinched.

"Me?" he asked quietly.

"Yes! I need ya to stop asking me if I'm alreet, it's fuckin' annoying! I'm not a piece of glass!" I hissed. "You're suffocating me."

"I-I'm just worried about ya," he mumbled in deflation. He had almost curled into himself, staring at me with guilty eyes. I immediately felt awful.

"I know," I sighed regretfully. I shuffled towards him and crawled into his lap, pulling his head into my chest and resting my face in his hair. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't've snapped at ya."

"It's alreet," he whispered as his arms curled around my waist.

"No, it's not," I told him. "I know I haven't been the easiest to deal with these past couple of months."

"You're worth it," he smiled softly, lifting his head from my chest and holding my face in his hand so he could look at me. "I'm sorry for being so overbearing."

"You're just concerned about me," I muttered as I began chewing on my bottom lip.

"There's better ways to go about it," he admitted, pulling my lip from between my teeth. "I'm just scared 'cause the last time ya wouldn't tell me what was wrong... well..."

I felt like an idiot. Here I was getting annoyed at Sam for constantly asking if I was alright whilst he was petrified I was going to relapse. My feelings suddenly felt insignificant and petty. "Shit, Sam-"

"No, no, it's fine," he assured me. "I know you're doing better."

"Hey, don't be so silly. You're allowed to feel scared," I frowned. I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I snorted, "In the words of my therapist, 'your feelings are valid'."

"Shut up," he chuckled, pushing me off of his lap so I was sprawled out on the bed next to him. He rolled onto his side to lie beside me, the palm of his hand propping him up as he stared down at me.

"I'm serious, though," I told him, reaching up to rest my hand against his cheek. "Don't think you aren't allowed feelings because of me."

"Okay," he smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against my lips, his free hand draped against my waist.

"Promise me one thing, though?" I asked.

"What's that?" he inquired.

"Please, stop acting like everything's fine for my sake," I muttered.

"I don't know what you're on about," he frowned.

"Ya forget, I can read ya like a book," I spoke softly as he hovered above me. He let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders dropping slightly in defeat. "Sam, you not being okay don't mean I won't be."

"I can deal with my own problems, Scarl," he mumbled.

"Maybe, but it don't mean ya have to do it alone," I told him, smoothing my thumb against his cheekbone.

"I've been thinking about dropping oot of school," he muttered under his breath after a few moments.

"What?" I gasped softly. "But you're so close to finishing."

"I'm gan fail either way," he laughed bitterly. "Least if I drop oot, I can work more hours. Earn of bit more like."

"If that's what ya think is best," I whispered. "Ya know I'll support ya, whatever ya do."

"I know," he smiled, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

"Have ya spoke to your mam about it?" I asked.

He shook his head no. "She's gan be so disappointed."

"She could never be," I assured him. "Your mam loves ya. She would want ya to do what's best for ya."

"Maybe I'll tell her tomorrow," he murmured.

"We're gan be alreet," I spoke optimistically.

"We're gan be alreet," Sam repeated, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.