Will We Talk?

61- Recovery

"Seriously, Evelyn, you're hurting yourself." an irritated Sam spoke through the phone.

He and I had been texting frequently and calling each other for hours on end, until he fell asleep and I had no comfort anymore. Sleeping only came in small waves for me, which was tricky considering I work with kids, so my energy was at an all-time low. On the bright side, I was beginning to get used to using a moon-boot so it was easier to navigate my way around place to place.

"Sam, its fine, honestly." I laughed it off, "I'm gan be tired anyways, so what's less kip gonna do?"

"Doesn't stop it from hurting you, though." he grumbled. I could just see the huffy little face he'd have on him in person, mad that I'd proved him wrong once again.

"How was work then?" I swiftly changed the topic of choice, knowing I could listen to his sweet voice. Once you got him talking about music, he won't shut up.

"Alreet, nowt new today." he sighed, which was unusual.

"Sam?" he hummed, "You're alright, aren't you? Taking care of yourself?"

"'Course I am." he coughed as though he was taken aback.

"Don't lie to me, Sammy." I warned, turning onto my stomach with my feet crossed in the air, "Sam?"

I could hear muffled sniffs through the phone, which was odd as Sam never cried- not in my presence anyways. It broke my heart to hear him crying.

"That's it, I'm coming over." I precautioned, sliding out of bed and putting my moon-boot on my foot, "Whether you want is there or not."

"I'm sorry, Evie." he sniffed, "I didn't mean to make it about me again."

That hit me like a bullet through the heart. The colour from my face flooded out as I remembered my words from the day we were arguing in the waiting room: 'Not everything I do is related to you' I foolishly said. And I regretted everything I said to him that week.

I guess it was my fault for painting a false reality in my head and just damaging it- like I had between Joseph and I. Maybe I was the common trend of causing the breakup, and I'd surrounded myself with people equally as delusional as me to convince myself that wasn't the case.

"Don't say that word right now, Sam. Stay put." I eventually spoke, grabbing my keys and phone and heading to his mam's house.

Something I hated myself for was the fact I was the reason why he lived with his mam again. I was the one putting him under more pressure between his busy schedule and private life. I don't pride myself on that.

After limping for ten minutes to Shirley's, I was grateful to be greeted by the silhouette of Sam's embrace and his tears streaming through my shirt. It was lush to know he still trusted me enough to see him in such a vulnerable position. But then its the least that I could do after unleashing all of my trauma onto him these past days. I was still shaken up with it all, but a decision to see Cassie a few times was all it took to get me back into the swing of things. I'm getting used to this coping thing now- no alcohol included.

"Howay in." he greeted after a canny few moments.

The flat hadn't changed since the last time I was in here; the smell remained, the position of furniture was the same, the overall homeliness was just still here. The only thing it lacked was a Shirley and Ronnie, who seemed to be out and about more frequently nowadays, which is why I was so conscious about Sam taking time for himself. Sometimes, he'll just overload himself with work and make music his top priority, without considering his stress levels.

The second I walked into his room, my hand grasping his, I could tell that he wasn't taking care of himself. Dirty washing was strewn across the floor, his guitar was placed sloppily on the floor, dishes were stacked on every flat surface, his bed wasn't made: it was the definition of a depression room. And that frustrated me, because I made him that way, but he made me a similar way, I just happened to recover quicker from it. However, I was here for him and not to worry about myself.

"Come on, let's get you a bath ran in, eh?" I led him towards the bathroom, busying myself with making the bath for him.

He sat on the toilet with the lid closed as I perched on the side of the bath, mixing the hot and cold water to the perfect temperature with my hand. It wasn't my first rendezvous with this type of business, having to pick up and take care of my drunken brothers from time to time, when I was younger. But Sam wasn't drunk; entirely sober, actually. Instead, he was struggling and I couldn't let that happen to him.

"Wanna check that before you get in?" I questioned softly, pulling him from the seat.

He dipped his hand in and held it for a few moments, wiggling his fingers around, "Aye, feels alreet."

"Mint, I'll gan busy mesel' and you can have a dip. G'is a shout if you want owt." I explained, closing the door slightly on my way out.

Time to conquer this room and get him some comfy clothes to lounge around in. After all these 24 years, I've realised I'm quite a maternal figure- looking out for everyone and willingly taking care of them- and I honestly love it.

There was a few last bits and bobs to be put away when I heard Sam's voice from the bathroom, but it wasn't his normal voice, it was his singing voice. The angelic words of 'All Is On My Side' echoed around the flat like a peacock spreading its feathers, luring others in: and that's exactly what Sam's singing did to me. I slid myself down the wall next to the bathroom and lowly hummed the harmony so that he didn't hear. This was one of the songs Sam and I had worked on together in the studio a few times, and the lyrics say it all really.

"I know you're there, Evie." his words were laced with a mix of seduction and sarcasm.

"Caught red handed." I called from outside, ears tinging a scarlet from the embarrassment, "Yee alreet in there, aye?"

"Kushty, yeah." he replied.

"Sam, its been almost an hour, are you sure you don't want to be out?" I requested, "You'll look like a fucking prune if you stay in there any longer."

I heard the splashing of water against the floor and sides of the bath, alerting me that he was out and drying himself now. Once I'd confirmed that, I went to retrieve his pyjamas that I got out before and bring them to him.

Subtly, I knocked on the door again, "You decent? I've got your jarmas."

"Aye, come in."

As I walked in, my eyes lay upon his form that had a wrapped and fluffy grey towel around his waist, that previously lay on the radiator. He smiled at me, arms out for the pyjamas but I was slightly awestruck by the sight before me when I handed him them. And he clocked on.

"Like what you see?" he chuckled, tossing his shirt overhead.

I turned around to face outside the door, absolutely mortified at how I felt about Sam. Those feelings I felt almost a year ago were beginning to flood back to me, but I couldn't go back to square one where I'd sleep with him every-so-often. As much as he was great, I think it'd tire the two of us out again and just overall be a terrible way to get back together- which I think was gradually making its way to being back on the table.

The two of us lay in his childhood bed, him nuzzled into my side and sleeping while I watched the telly in front of me. He'd forced me to watch Star Wars for the past few hours, which was obviously his choice. There was no way I was missing EastEnders, though, no matter how much I loved my time with Sam. It was fading into night as the sky dimmed and the only light was the screen, so I was understandably quite scared when the echoes of a door opening bounced around the otherwise silent home. The best thing would've been to move Sam away to avoid suspicion, but I didn't want to and, nor do I expect myself to explain what's going on.