When Samantha James becomes One Direction's personal assistant, she gets more than she bargains for. Falling for Harry Styles is one of them. But things aren't always easy or beautiful, because Sam has secrets--dark ones, and she'll do anything to h...
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I slowly folded Sam's clothes and put them in her suitcase while she stayed in bed and stared at nothing. This was a typical sight when it came to her, at least for the past week. She didn't talk, she barely ate, and she was sleeping constantly. It was terrifying.
Her behavior became so concerning that I found myself in the tour bus bathroom in the middle of the night making a long distance call to my mum on the verge of tears.
"I don't know what to do, Mum," I whispered.
"Oh, honey. She's going through grief, it's... normal to act like this," she replied. There was a hint of exhaustion in her voice. I'd woken her up at about five in the morning on her side of the world.
I ran a hand through my hair. "Mum, she won't talk to me. I try and I get nothing."
Mum sighed on the other end. "Believe me, darling. She'll come around."
I folded the last shirt and carefully laid it on the top of the pile before zipping up the suitcase. "Sam?" I said.
Nothing.
"Sam?" I repeated. "I've packed your stuff up. The car is leaving for the airport soon."
She situated herself in bed and I sighed, crossing my arms and then uncrossing them. I bit my lip and then sighed again, eventually saying, "Sam, please talk to me."
Silence.
My blood began to boil. I needed her to say something. Anything. "Sam," I said through a clenched jaw. "Sam, look at me." I walked around to her and moved her legs over gently before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "God, Sam. I know you're hurting--," I began. She surprised me by cutting me off.
Thank God.
"Do you?" Sam asked sarcastically. "Do you know how I'm feeling?"
I swallowed. "I'm trying, baby, but you won't let me in."
No matter how many times I proved to her that I wasn't going to walk out on her or judge her, she still needed constant reassurance.
She rolled her eyes and situated herself so that she was on her back. It was the most movement and emotion I've seen from her in over a week. "Truth is, I don't know what I'm feeling, Harry. My mind is a fucking mess. You haven't once asked me if I wanted to talk to someone or go back to LA. You've just assumed somehow that you can fix me."
Her words shocked me, and all I could do was stare at her with my mouth open like an idiot. How could she be mad at me? I've tended to her. I've fed her, bathed her, and comforted her. I was trying with no effort from her. So, naturally, I snapped. "How am I supposed to know what you're feeling and what you want when you won't fucking talk to me? It takes two people to have a conversation, Sam. I'm not a mind reader."
