And Then We Fell Apart (18+)

chapter 11

The next morning, I dont hurry into my bathing suit.

I don't run down the stairs in an excited frenzy.

I don't tell my mom to have a good day at work before whisking through the back door before heading over to see Sam.

I stay in my bed. In last night's clothes. My body feels like it's been hit by a semi-truck trailer. My throat is dry and so are my eyes from crying so hard and from the lack of sleep.

All night, I stay up and replay Sam's words in my head. It's torturous. It's like self harm. I need to feel him hurting me so I can just move on. It'll make me get over it, and this silly crush will all go away and I won't even remember it years from now. But I just can't stop hearing the way he said it again and again, I can't stop picturing the way he looked when he said it again and again. Every single time, it's another stab to the back. A twisting of the knife.

The landline on my bedside table rings around noon that day. I don't have caller ID yet, but I know it's Sam. I know he's probably wondering why I haven't come over, because I'm usually there by ten.

I pick up and hang it back up immediately.

But it rings again.

"What, Sam?" I seethe when I decide to answer. I have no problem showing him that what he did upset me. It was wrong.

He's quiet at first. It only makes me angrier.

"Okay. I'm hanging up," I mutter.

Before I can, he stops me. "No, wait. Chandler, stop. Can't you talk to me?"

"About what?"

"About last night," he sighs.

Last night. Those words make me feel physically ill the second I hear them. They'll be a constant reminder of what happened, though my brain is already doing a good job of not letting me forget.

"I don't know what you want me to say," I feel tears pricking my eyes again. But I swallow them away. I can't let him know that I'm crying. That I did cry all night.

"I want you to talk to me. Please."

"There's nothing to talk about."

Again he exhales in defeat. "Can you just come over? It feels weird without you here."

"I don't want to right now. Maybe later or—"

"Please?" he begs. I know it's genuine and though it makes my chest ache, I secretly like it. I want him to feel sorry for what he did. All of it.

But again, I'm the victim of his persuasive nature. I drag myself from my bed and do what I can to get ready with the little energy I have. I pull my swimsuit on but then a pair of cotton shorts too in case we stay in the house longer. I remember a sweatshirt this time too.

I'm not as quick as I usually am to push through the back door, but I eventually do and I see Sam waiting for me at the counter like he always does. He looks up, and I can see the regret wash over his face the second he sees me. He knows I'm hurt.

Good.

He's about to say something until we hear Stella coming down the stairs. This time, he chooses to save me from her and he pulls me through the back door before she can sniff me out and ask me about Alex.

With his hand around my wrist he pulls me through his backyard, through the brush, then onto the sand. We find our normal spot on the beach. He lays his towel down and so do I, but the difference is in our body language. While he appears more worried and nervous about my frustration, I stay cold and still. I don't even look at him, not even when I sit down and stare ahead at the ocean.