Lost Stars (The Jewel Project #3)

07.1|| Disillusion

The world was black, but black was warmth and he needed it. Except cold and whiteness wouldn't leave him alone. Then water came into the equation and it suddenly made no sense because—

Sam's eyes shot open. The stinging light of the neon above him had him hissing in annoyance, but his brain had finally started working properly again.

"Sam!"

He leaned his head further back and tore his gaze from the neon only to focus on Christine's worried amber eyes. Of course she was worried. He was on the floor, his head in her lap. He twisted to one side and scrambled to his feet. One of his knees ached, but not enough to impede his progress.

"What are you doing? Are you okay?" Christine asked.

Sam didn't answer. He grabbed the sides of the nearest sink and stared into the mirror. He was still pale, had dark rings under his eyes, and his uniform was crumpled, but it was definitely him reflected. Leaning forward, he focused on the color of his eyes. Green; no hint of blue. But the normalcy of his reflection didn't calm his erratic pulse or fill the empty space inside him.

He looked at his hands. They were trembling. They were cold as ice. He was cold as ice.

"Sam?"

A second voice drew his attention. Harry was there too, but Sam had been too caught up in his inner turmoil to notice. He looked into the mirror, from Christine to his best friend and opened his mouth. No words would come out. What was he supposed to say anyway? It sounded crazy inside his own head. But the pain; the pain was real. So real that it cut him open and he half-expected to bleed. Tears filled his eyes.

"Sam, come on." Christine walked to him and turned his face towards her. "What happened?"

"I... He... He's..." He couldn't say it. Saying it out loud would make it real. It's already real, idiot. But how could it be? How could he know? How could he not know when he'd felt Tom's presence even before he knew he had a twin?

Harry walked over and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Come on, let it out. Something's obviously bothering you."

"Bothering me?" Sam turned towards him, sharply, knocking Christine's hand away. "Really now?" The movement was a mistake. It just sent the tears tumbling down his face.

"You're scaring us," Christine whispered.

Sam turned back to the mirror and focused on his scowl and the waterworks dripping down his cheeks. Yes, he did look scary and crazy and what happened was not Christine of Harry's fault.

"I'm sorry. I'm just..." There was no easy way to say this. "Tom's dead."

He shouldn't have said that. Everything inside him seemed to crash, like crumbling ruins falling into a sea of anguish. It made everything worse. It made it real.

He shut his eyes, trying to stop more tears from falling, his hands once again gripping the sink so hard it hurt. And that was when he needed a hand on his shoulder, an embrace, someone telling him it was alright even if it wasn't. There was only silence. Awkward silence. He opened his eyes.

Christine's eyebrows were raised in a skeptical expression. Harry just looked shocked, both of them just staring at him like he was alien. Crazy. Maybe he was.

"Did they call?" Harry finally whispered.

Sam shook his head.

"You can't know, then," Christine said.

Anger tightened his grip on the sink and he gritted his teeth together, fighting the impulse to scream, break something. Logically, Christine was right. Except there was nothing logic about this. Tom would understand. Of course he would, and he'd know just what to say. Except Tom wasn't there anymore and would never be again. Never there to comfort, never there to understand.