Dear Elise

Chapter 12

I never go first when things are in alphabetical order. Neither does Sam, I'm guessing, because she's standing next to me at the edge of the room, testing me on the facts from our history lesson yesterday.
Well, Whisks and Lowell aren't that soon on the list, so why not?
The snap of the camera echoes through the room as Prince Maxon takes pictures with yet another girl. Well, it's only been three, but it already feels like an eternity.
"What interrupted the American State of China's plans to fight back against China?"
I pause, pretending to think. Really, I'd just forgotten.
"Come on, Silvia asked us this yesterday."
Sam's grin annoys me slightly. In a good way, but still...
"Okay fine, I don't know. Can we take a break?"

Sam laughs at me, seeming far too happy to end our impromptu study session.
"I thought you'd never ask. I hate history."
I roll my eyes at her. So that was why she was giving me all the most difficult questions. I let out an irritated huff, tugging at the sash that's already slipping from my shoulders. Sam seems to have lost hers already- she also doesn't seem like she cares.
I'm distracted by that hateful sash, which finally slips off my shoulders entirely. I struggle to keep it on, but it's much heavier than I thought, the thick crimson material slipping every which way as I try my best to rearrange it with dignity.

Just as I feel myself beginning to fail miserably, the weight is lifted off my shoulders.
"Here, let me help you with that."
And then the weight is back, but stable. Sam's hands trail across the edge of my sash, straightening it and adjusting where it needs to be adjusted. Even the whisper of a touch that graces my shoulder and collarbone sends a shiver down my spine, and I feel my face heating up again.
I stop.
What's going on? Did I just feel that?
It must just be the nerves.

We wait quietly for a while, our silence broken only by Sam's grumbles as a maid brings over the sash that she 'forgot' in her room, until it's Sam's turn for a photo.
Most girls who haven't had much time with Maxon dragged out their photo session for as long as possible but, strangely, Sam seems like she doesn't want to be there at all. The first chance she gets, she hurries back over to me.
It's strange, but I'm so glad for the company that I don't question it. And before I know it, the session is suddenly over, and all the girls are hurrying back to their rooms. The chatter washes over me in a wave of noise, and I'm just thinking about what might be for dinner later, when-

A hand grabs my arm, pulling me into a small room.
I whirl around, ready to defend myself- and realise that Sam is flopped on an old, ripped couch that's obviously being stored here.
She's taken her hair down, and her sash has once more been cast aside. Her makeup is smudged where she's rubbed her eyes without noticing and her eyes sparkle, her face dusted with a pretty shade of pink.
She's gorgeous.
"Thought you could use some time to be quiet before getting back to your maids."
God, is she right. How is it she always seems to know exactly what I need? I sit next to her and we sit there in comfortable silence for what feels like an eternity.

Her hand rests on my shoulder, playing with the strands of my hair that have come undone, falling out of their pins and tickling my neck.
Eventually, her hands shift to my horrid sash, gently pulling it off. I sigh in relief as the weight is removed from my shoulders, and her hands rest there instead.
I turn to look at her, and all of a sudden her face seems at the same time too close to and too far away from mine. I know my face must be just as pink as hers by now, and all I seem to be able to feel is the warmth of her hands on my shoulders.

And then, before I know it, her lips are on mine. Everything around us seems to fade. Sounds are dulled, I can't see anything, feel anything, except her.
I feel her arms slide around my shoulders, pulling me ever closer, and I feel that sense of comfort come back. Nothing has ever felt this right, this perfect-
It's only after a minute that it hits me, what this warmth on my lips and in my chest means. Sam, my friend, a girl, she's kissing me.
And I don't pull away, I don't shout at her to stop, in fact I find myself kissing her back, because, oh, because-
I like it. I like the kiss.
I like Sam.
The realisation hits me like a ton of bricks, and the weight that seems to dissipate when I'm close to her is back, crushing me, and I have to pull away, no matter how good it feels, I have to get away as fast as I can.

But something deep in my chest twists painfully as the feeling of her arms around me is replaced by the now all too familiar warmth of tears sliding down my face.