Chapter 42- Comfort
In the dimly lit confines of a richly decorated bedroom, Sam shivered under the silk sheets. A coldness clung to her that the plush blankets couldn't ward off, the chill of dread. Across the room, Scarlett was busy at a desk littered with photographs and letters, each bearing Sam's name. Her back was to Sam, but the mirror on the wall betrayed her intent focus, and every so often, she'd hold up a photo, studying it with a manic gleam in her eyes.
"Scarlett?" Sam's voice was tentative, barely more than a whisper as she clutched Mr. Pickles to her chest.
Scarlett turned suddenly, her smile a flash of white in the murky light. She approached the bed, eyes softening as she saw Sam hugging the stuffed dog. "Yes, my love?"
"I... I was thinking about what you said. About how you... you've loved me since second grade." Sam chose each word carefully, her heart throbbing painfully against her ribs.
"Oh, Sam." Scarlett's voice dripped with warmth as she sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke Sam's hair. "It's been a lifelong journey for me, really. Loving you, wanting you. Even when I made you cry... it was all just a way to connect. To feel you close."
Sam tensed under her touch but fought to maintain composure. "All the bullying, the fear you put me through... that was love?"
Scarlett nodded, her gaze distant and dreamy. "Strange, isn't it? How deeply one can love and yet show it in such a twisted way. I just wanted your attention, needed you to notice me, even if it was through tears."
"And now?" Sam's voice cracked, betraying her fear.
"Now, I have you all to myself. No more need for tears unless they're from overwhelming joy," Scarlett said, cupping Sam's face. "Don't you see how perfect it is?"
Sam shifted uncomfortably. "But, Scarlett, isn't love about respecting each other's freedom? How can this be love if I'm always scared... if I always feel trapped?"
Scarlett's hand paused mid-air, and a shadow flickered across her face. "Trapped? No, darling, this isn't about trapping you. It's about protecting you. From the world, from pain, from loneliness. Here, you have me, you have everything."
"But love shouldn't feel like this..." Sam breathed out, her eyes flickering to the door as if contemplating the impossible.
"You'll understand in time. I'll help you see," Scarlett whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss on Sam's forehead. "Let me show you how good we can be together."
Sam felt the weight of Scarlett's words like a physical chain, binding. Yet, a part of her—the part that had been worn down, softened by relentless proximity and complex emotions—melted slightly under Scarlett's gentle gestures.
As Scarlett pulled back to look at her, the room's stifling ambiance transformed momentarily into something resembling the homespun warmth of a deranged love nest. Scarlett reached for an old photo album from the bedside table, flipping it open to a page showing a picture of a young Scarlett at a school carnival, looking lonely amidst the festive chaos.
"See this?" she pointed. "I was there, watching you having fun. I've always been there, in the background. And now, we don't have anything separating us."
Sam's gaze hovered on the photo, the image a stark reminder of her current reality. "Was it always just about having me to yourself, Scarlett? Is that what love is to you?"
"It's not just about possession," Scarlett responded, her tone defensive. "It's about depth. I feel things deeply, Sam. Maybe more deeply than others. My feelings for you... they're profound, overpowering. They make me do things I'm not proud of."
Sam processed her words, the confusion evident in her eyes. "Do you ever wonder if there's a different path? One where love doesn't hurt?"
Scarlett looked taken aback, as if the thought had never crossed her mind. The silence stretched between them, filled with unsaid words and stifled dreams.
"How can there be any other way when I feel this much?" Scarlett finally said, reaching out to trace the contour of Sam's lips. "This intensity... it's rare, Sam. It's precious."
"But it's built on my pain," Sam countered softly, her voice steadying with a newfound resolve. "Real love shouldn't feed on fear."
Scarlett's face hardened momentarily before softening. "Perhaps... perhaps I need to think about this," she admitted, standing up and walking back to her desk, her back once again turned to Sam.
Left alone with her thoughts, Sam clutched Mr. Pickles tighter. The room felt smaller, the walls inching closer with every breath she took. The complexities of her feelings for Scarlett tangled inside her like the vines of a relentless weed—hard to eradicate despite knowing their destructive nature.
Outside, the wind howled, a freedom cry that Sam felt deep in her soul. One day, she told herself. One day, she'd understand what real love was meant to be—and it wouldn't look anything like this.
