The Night We Met by Ruero

chapter 21: The Confessions

I couldn't sleep all night. My mind kept racing, replaying the conversation with Angelica. How could Sam ask her out, knowing full well how I felt about her? It was like a knife in the back, twisting deeper with every thought. I knew I had to confront him, to get to the bottom of this and make things right.

The next morning, I woke up early, my head buzzing with anger and frustration. I found the address Angelica had given me and headed there, determination pushing me forward despite the nervous flutter in my stomach. When I arrived, I hesitated for a moment before ringing the doorbell. My heart pounded as I heard shuffling from inside, followed by a weak, sleepy voice. "Coming," Sam called out.

He opened the door, and the moment he saw me, his expression hardened. He was about to close the door in my face, but I pushed it open and stepped inside, my anger boiling over. "What the fuck is your problem, dude?" I shouted, unable to hold back any longer. The force of my shove knocked Sam off balance, and he fell to the floor.

As I looked down at him, my anger momentarily subsided. Sam looked different—pale, weak, like he hadn't slept in days. "What's wrong with you?" I asked, my voice softer now, tinged with concern.

Sam struggled to his feet, grabbing onto a shelf for support. "I'm fine," he muttered, avoiding my eyes. "You should go."

His room was a mess. The bed was unmade, with crumpled sheets tangled up and medicine bottles scattered across the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed, clearly exhausted. "Sam, I'm sorry for anything that happened," I said, my frustration giving way to worry.

"You have no fault, Ethan," he replied, his voice hollow.

"Then why the hell are you not talking to me? Do you still think I'm the reason for your breakup?"

"No, I'm not," he said quietly, avoiding my gaze.

"Do you want to be alone?" I asked, the tension in the room thickening.

He lay back on his bed, his movements slow and deliberate, as if every action required immense effort. "Listen, I feel sick, so we should talk later," he mumbled.

"What happened to you?" I asked, my concern growing.

"I don't know, man. Can you leave me alone now?"

"No, I won't," I insisted.

Suddenly, Sam started coughing violently. I rushed to the kitchen to get him some water. The kitchen was in the same state as the rest of the apartment—dirty dishes piled up, a sink full of grime. I handed him the glass of water, watching as he took small sips.

"Sam, tell me what's wrong," I urged.

He drank the water slowly, his hands trembling slightly. "I just feel sick, that's all," he said weakly. "It's been a few days now."

"You don't look like you've been eating well. Are you still upset because of Alex?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm not thinking about her anymore. I realized she was only with me for fun. In her heart, she always wanted to be with Derek. It's better for her to be with him than with me."

"Then why are you still mad at me? And why did you ask Angelica to dance?" I pressed, needing answers.

"I asked her a long time ago, just because I was mad at you," Sam admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But now, I don't care about any dance or party. You can go with her."

"Are you hiding something?" I asked, suspicion creeping into my voice.

Sam looked at me, his eyes filled with a sadness I hadn't seen before. "Ethan, you've been a good friend to me, okay? But I'm not a good friend to you."