Speak Now

XV

When I was a kid, whenever my mum would tell me to do something, I dug my heels in and steadfastly refused to do whatever she was telling me to do. She called is defiance behaviour, a term she probably picked up from one too many Googling sessions after downing a couple of glasses of wine at one am. I don't think I was being defiant, per se; I simply wanted to be my own person, make up my own rules in life, and try to work out what I wanted instead of just adopting the ideas and opinions of others. How can you be your own person when you're constantly doing what people are telling you to do? 

I guess that's why I'm currently at breaking point. All I've had for the past two weeks is people telling me that I should give Sam another chance. Another chance at what, exactly, breaking my heart? Yeah, thank you, next. Everyone seemed to have an opinion and didn't mind sharing it with me; I could only wonder if they were giving Sam the same lectures as they were giving me. It was their constant interference and unsolicited advice that was making me want to stay in my room and hide for the rest of the day but I knew I had things to do. 

Number one on my list: speak to Sam. Number two: ... Okay, so it's a very short list. 

Before the crack of dawn, I slipped out of bed, showered and dressed while the others slept soundly. Creeping out of my room, taking care to avoid the creaking points of the hardwood floor, I walk across the hall and softly knock on Sam's bedroom door. When I don't hear him move, I turn the handle and hear the door click open. He's very trusting not to lock it behind him. Looking around to see if anyone had heard, I quickly slip through the doorway and fumble around in the darkness for the lamp switch, turning it on so that the room is softly illuminated from the corner nearest the window. Sam was still sound asleep, his gentle breathing filling the silence. Tiptoeing over to the edge of the bed, I can't help but smile when I see how he sleeps. 

When we were together and I practically lived at his house, Sam sacrificed his side of the bed for me and begrudgingly only had about two feet of space to sleep whereas I'd take up the rest of the King Size bed, starfishing in the centre. It was amusing to see that he still slept on the same side, with the same amount of room, and in the same shooting star sleeping position. He's one of those freaks that can sleep on his back and be comfortable all night. 

Snapping out of my stalker stare, I reach out a hand and gently push his shoulder. He doesn't stir. I do it again, only this time, I whisper his name as well. Nothing. Straightening up, I plant my hands on my hips and sigh. There's only one thing for it. 

I reach up my foot to his thigh and nudge harshly, snapping, "Sammy!" at him. He bolts upright and looks around the room with utter panic. I hear him hurriedly say my name, despite the sleep haze of his voice, as his eyes seek me out. "Yeah?"

"What happened? Are you alright? You were..." He abruptly stops and clamps his lips shut. He brings his hands up to his eyes and rubs them, wiping the sleep away. When he moves his hands, I see his green glare fix on me. "Shit, Martha, I thought something was wrong. In my dream you were... and then you shouted my name and I thought... Urgh, never mind. Why are you in my room?"