Scars

Popping the Question

Sam didn't seem to care in the morning that I had snuck out. He acted as almost it had never happened.

By the time he had woken up, I was sitting on the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee getting cold in my hands. I heard the floorboards creak as he got out of bed. I pursed my lips and looked down at my coffee, waiting for him to say something.

He came into the kitchen towards me silently. He reached behind me for a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. He still said nothing. I looked up at him from my mug. He was standing in front of me, sipping his slowly. He smiled down at me and kissed my forehead, making my stomach do somersaults. Sam's hair stood up in all directions and he still was missing a shirt. I tried to keep myself from staring, therefore I just stared at my cold coffee again.

"So what do you want to do today," he asked me in a voice that, if not already obvious, upheld the fact that Sam had just woken up.

I shrugged, "I don't know. I'm up for pretty much whatever." I took one last sip of my cold coffee, regretted it, and put it down on the counter.

Sam thought a moment while he drank his perfectly warm coffee. His face lit up when he found an idea swimming around in his brain. His put his empty mug down next to mine. "I got it. Just get dressed. I'll make breakfast."

I stared at him for a moment. "You're making food again?"

Sam nodded. "It'll be edible. I promise."

I sighed and hopped of the counter. The floor was freezing as I made my way to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I wanted to be as quick as possible with my shower so Sam couldn't burn down the house around me, so I turned on the water and quickly stripped away my obsessive layers. I was sure not to look at myself in the mirror as I stepped into the steaming shower.

The hot water burned my cold feet for a while as I quickly washed my hair. But I didn't sit in the shower and wait to get used to it. I hopped out and wrapped a towel around myself. I got dressed in a bikini, but I put shorts and Sam's sweatshirt over it, unsure of what Sam was planning to do.

I dried my hair and brushed my teeth before I walked out into the kitchen. Sam had gotten dressed while I was taking a shower, and he actually put on a shirt, allowing me to finally concentrate. He smiled when he saw me.

I looked around the kitchen for any sign that he may be cooking something. There was nothing. It was exactly the way I had left it. "Did you give up?"

Sam laughed, "I wasn't even going to try. I was just messing with you. Plus, there literally isn't anything left in the fridge."

"So I guess we need to get food today then?" I asked as my stomach answered my own question, growling furiously at me to hurry up. Sam had heard it.

He gestured to my stomach, "I guess we better."

***

The sand was wet and cold beneath our feet, biting our bones with its frigidness. The wind burned my cheeks to a point where they went numb. The ocean crashed on the beach, threatening to catch us, but we didn't need to be colder than we already were. The only thought repeatedly running through my mind was: I hate this. Nothing else.

My stomach felt like it was churning inside of me. I thought back to what I had eaten earlier. There was a premade sandwich from the market that tasted like Styrofoam for lunch. Before that was an odd tasting breakfast of French toast at a sketchy diner. It was the only thing open in the middle of December.

"Are you okay?" Sam spoke through the wind.

"No." I said shortly.

Sam could tell I was angry by the brevity in my tone. I could tell he desperately wanted to make it all better. "What can I do?" he asked as if he already knew the answer. Nothing.