Season of the Witch

Part 3

The afternoon and evening had been interesting to say the least. Once you'd arrived back to your apartment, Samuel took it upon himself to roam around the small layout. He seemed particularly keen to study your bookshelf, gingerly touching the spines of the books there as he glanced at them. Not knowing what to do with yourself, you plopped onto your couch, watching him as he moved about.

The way he moved was interesting. Sam didn't walk, his limbs moved too fluidly to count it as walking. Instead he glided, damn near floated as he made his way through your belongings. Had you had the same body height and wingspan he did, you'd have been a bull in a china shop, constantly knocking things over, tripping over your own feet. Yet Sam maneuvered himself with an otherworldly grace, something that couldn't be taught or learned.

"Who is this?" snapping you out of your thoughts, Sam tapped the glass on a picture frame that rested on your bookshelf. He recognized a slightly younger version of yourself, though the wide, happy grin on your face was unfamiliar to him at this point in your...whatever this was.

You stood up, moving over to where he stood and lifting the photo. Next to you, arm slung around your shoulders, was your mother. Her smile was just as big, if not more captivating. You recalled the memory of the day, and suddenly the words were spilling from your mouth.

"That's my mom," you smiled softly, though you felt your stomach twist slightly. "This was a few years ago, we took a trip to this gorgeous little cabin, it was surrounded by lilacs, and we had booked just at the right time. They were all blooming. We kept the windows open all day and night just inhaling the scent. It was so beautiful." you felt your smile fall as you remembered what followed that trip, and set the photo back on the shelf.

"Is it not a happy memory?" Sam's dark eyes were locked on you, studying you.

"It is," you avoided his gaze best you could, shoving your hands into the front pockets of your pants. "One of my favorites."

"Then why-"

"She's gone." you cut him off. Ripping the bandaid off the wound, still raw and irritated from your own refusal to deal with it. "She passed away a year ago." Sam stiffened, straightening up as he glanced over at the photo.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. After a few moments of silence, he spoke again. You assumed it would be a half assed condolence, and in a way it was, though it didn't feel as empty as you thought it would. "She was very beautiful...you look a lot like her." You didn't reply, just gazed at the light reflecting off the red satin that adorned his legs.

"We should get you some clothes, since you'll be hanging around for a while." you turned, glad you kept your shoes on for the few minutes you were home. Grabbing your bag from your spot on the couch, you slung the strap over your shoulder. Sam stayed in place at the bookshelf, and you turned, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Are you coming with, or are you trusting me to pick out your clothes?"

"I'm coming," he moved to follow you, once again taking up residence in your passenger seat. The air was heavy in the car, more so than it had been earlier when you'd been on your way to find a way to get rid of him.

"How did she die?" Sam broke the tension. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes, heat prickling your neck at his audacity.

"I don't want to talk about it." you shook your head, flicking up the turn signal and checking traffic to pull onto another street.

"Where's your dad?" Sam, instead of dropping the subject, decided to change the question.

"Sam," a soft warning.

"Do you have any brothers? Sisters?"

"Sam!" You nearly slammed the brakes at a red light, the force tossing both your bodies forward as much as it could with your seatbelts, anything to stop his prying. "I told you I don't want to talk about it." Sam stared at you.