Recalled

Come Inside

Ambrosia drove her car up to Sam Donahue's driveway and parked. She saw Sam's car and just had to touch it. Her top favorite sports car had always been a lamborghini. Her hand brushed across the hood, appreciating the glossy bodywork against her skin. After she relished in that glorious moment, she carried her backpack full of paperwork and books up to the entrance door. She pushed the doorbell. Five minutes later, her eyes meet the the beautiful blue eyes belonging to Sam. She could get lost in those eyes, just like every other girl in school could. But she refused to, those set of eyes belonged to 'Handra, only she could get lost into them. They looked so cute and happy together anyways. Who in their right mind would want to ruin that? She smiled thinking about how perfect Sam and his girlfriend made each other. Sam looked tired, he had purple patches underneath his eyes. Like he had been skipping several nights of sleep, instead of his usual bronze glow, he looked as pale as a deceased individual in a morgue. His hair had grown out, his face covered with a five o' clock aftershave. He had a beard that hung one inch from his chin. The blond hair on his head seemed to have grown five inches longer, and dried out, dull. Honestly Sam Donahue at that moment looked like a homeless, mid-thirty year old man. The blue friendly eyes that once held so much life, happiness, and excitement... 

.....Appeared empty somehow...Aged; and sad. As if they had seen more than they should have in life. Overall, Ambrosia was highly taken aback and her jaw had dropped without even realizing it. How could he look this far gone in only a week? Strange as it was, she still found him beautiful, and pitied how how ragged he looked and must have felt. It wasn't like Sam to have himself look poorly maintained. He was always well-kept and clean. She didn't mean he was one of those, "prissy," or, "preppy," sort. Just always knew how to look good, maybe he was born and destined to be.

"Hey 'bro," Sam greeted, smiling. *"My God, even his voice sounds dried out and scruffy." -Ambrosia thought. Ambrosia smiled at the silly nickname he had made for her a few years earlier. "Sup Sam? How's it hanging dude?" "Eh, SSDD." "That can't be fully true." "Well, it is. Why would you say that?" He asked, leaning on the doorway smirking yet smiling at her. "Well, you wouldn't be here sick for a week if everything was all good now would you?" She teased, feeling a little warmer that even though he may look terrible, his sense of humor was still as strong as it could be. "Okay so I've been better....So what brings you to my neck of the woods 'bro? This is a pretty good drive from your neighborhood. Is everything okay dude?" "I have some oh-so lovely homework for you!" Ambrosia replies, throwing her hand back and pointing to her backpack with her thumb. "Oh, joy. I thought I was lucky enough to escape the troubles of homework." He chuckled. 

"Well, I am the lucky one to tell you that isn't the case." She laughed. "Would you like to come in and show me everything then? It looks like I apparently have a lot of catching up to do." Ambrosia seemed a bit hesitant. Yes, her and Sam were good friends but stepping into his home may be pressing her luck. She had many guy friends, possibly too many in fact. And few girl friends. Girls just were usually too snobby, rude, arrogant, and insecure about themselves or their partners. It irritated her greatly when she was younger when dumb girls would walk up to her and confront her about flirting or sleeping with with their boyfriends. It wasn't her fault that guys were attracted to her. It's not like she wore provocative clothes on a daily basis. She was a diehard, yet attractive, tomboy. She always wore baggy jeans, or sweats. Seldom did she ever wear shorts or skirts. She was ashamed of her legs. It wasn't like she was highly obese or anything, it was just that she didn't like her thighs were toned enough to do so. Or her legs were too scarred from sports and crazy dares. Plus she hated shaving and waxing her legs too often. "Sure," Ambrosia responded hesitantly. If Sam noticed her discomfort, he must have ignored it. Because he opened up the door all of the way, gesturing for her to walk inside.