Jack of Clubs (BxB)

26: Stained By His Own Blood

"See you." Sam nodded to his friends, watching as they walked over to Brian's car. Everything he did seemed absent and automatic, like Sam was lost on an island entirely alone. I wanted to meet him halfway, to drag him back into reality so that he would remain at my side. But I wasn't sure if that was a good thing to do or not. What if I only ended up destroying him more? He looked so lost and helpless, and I wasn't sure that he even wanted to be around me right then.

I sat down inside of his Mercedes Benz, Sam joining me after a long, hushed pause of brief isolation. Unlike on our way here, I didn't even think about touching the radio. It felt wrong, and Sam didn't seem to notice either way. He wasn't looking at me, just putting the car into drive and heading out to the road.

I wanted to reach out and touch him. To brush off the blood drying to his chin from his broken lip. I wanted to grab his hand and feel the familiar weight of it in my palm. Dennis, Caden, and Brian had all insisted upon going back to his house with us. But Sam just told them that it was fine. Until they were forced to let it go and part ways. It left me with the awful feeling that Sam just wanted to be left alone. And that I was included in that.

The drive felt painfully stretched out. My head was aching persistently, and there was some blood on the collar of my sweatshirt which left me wondering just how much was on my face. Did I look disgusting? Did Sam see the druggies every time he looked at me? Was that why he wouldn't meet my gaze? My chest was heavy from the recent return of my asthma, and the cuts in my skin burned from all of the dirt inside of my open wounds.

It took a lot to keep from crying during the whole drive. Even if I wasn't entirely sure what I wanted to cry about. Maybe for the fact that we were all so fucking screwed. Or because everything hurt so damn much — my lungs, my back, my head. Or it could have been the space between Sam and I that wasn't there just this morning. What was I supposed to do? I never felt so fucking useless before.

An eternity seemed to go by before he finally reached his driveway. He parked the car, and I walked on wobbly legs beside him up to the front door. Just as he always did, he locked it behind us once we were safely inside.

Sam leaned back against the door a bit, as if he was fighting to not just fall apart right then. His eyes were closed, a large red spot slowly turning purple on his jaw. His lip was bloody and raw. He was so still, and I started to wonder if he even remembered that I was there. I knew I should leave him alone, but I had nowhere to go.

My hand betrayed me, moving from my side and lightly touching his arm. He stiffened beneath my touch, and it hurt. Was that how he felt when I was so hesitant about his affection? He opened his eyes and looked at me, at first almost gazing through me. Then finally, he seemed to focus, brow furrowed only slightly as though he was actually seeing me for the first time since everything happened.

Then he came to life all at once, moving towards me. His hand raised to my cheek, fingertips hovering over the damage. It was all he was focused on, as though he simply couldn't look away from what happened. I wished that he would just say what he was thinking instead of drowning himself in his thoughts alone.

"Come here." Sam said quietly after a few minutes, grabbing my hand and guiding me away from the door. It was an oddly familiar experience, a strange sense of déjà vu cast over the moment. Strange, because the last time this happened I was the one helping him. And yet here we were, weeks later, my face the one with the most gruesome outcome.

He took me to his bathroom, where I automatically sat down on the closed toilet lid. Just like he had. I wanted to get up and take care of myself, because I wasn't incapable or anything. But I could tell that Sam needed the small distraction. Something to keep his hands moving so that he wasn't just instantly drowning in his twisted realization of the sick world we lived in. I always knew that he was willfully ignorant to the danger we were a part of, but I could tell that it finally sunk in. For whatever reason, this was the moment that broke him. Not a gun pointed to his head, nor me getting asphyxiated in front of him. Maybe those had contributed, but this was the day that ripped him out of his hopeful mentality.