The Last of the Pure

Nine

“What is that?” Samuel nodded toward the open notebook in my lap.

I shrugged, “Just a notebook.’

“It’s not just a notebook. You always have that thing. What do you write in it?”

“I don’t always have it.”

“You do, I don’t think I’ve ever been around you when that thing isn’t around,” he chuckled, but continued to stare at me.

We were still driving. We’d been on the road for a little over an hour, but I had no clue where we were heading.

“I thought you said you were starving,” I said, attempting to change the subject. “Where the hell are we going?”

There was something playing softly in his Jeep, but I couldn’t make it out.

He sort of shrugged, turning my way and smiling wide.

“I honestly have no idea,” he admitted. “I’m just driving until we spot something good.”

“You’re what?”

“I do that sometimes,” he said. “I’ll just take a drive until I see something interesting or somewhere I’d like to go. I’ll stop and check it out, then turn around and go home.”

“You’re alone too much,” I laughed, looking away from my tree doodle and up at him. He was smiling, looking back at the road now. I tried not to think about how striking he was, but I know I slipped up.

He turned to look at me, smiling a little more, and I couldn’t help but blush. As much as I didn’t mind him knowing my thoughts for the most part, some things would be better left private.

“Do you ever get sick of it?” I found myself saying.

“Of what?”

“Hearing everyone’s thoughts,” I don’t know why I continued. I should have told him to forget it. It was stupid now that I was saying it out loud, making more sense in my head.

“I do,” he said. “Especially when people know about it. It’s worse than people actually lying, because with almost everyone, I can tell they’re concealing what they’re really thinking or trying not to actually think at all. My brother would get so mad about it.”

“Your brother?”

“Thomas didn’t tell you?”

“Thomas didn’t tell me what?”

“He’s my brother,” he looked a little sad then, but I knew why. I’d seen the interaction between him and Thomas. Mostly it was uncomfortable.

“Why would he get so mad?” I asked, my voice soft as I looked at him.

“He said he couldn’t even be around me,” he shrugged. “He always put up a block, but it wasn’t like I was trying to get in his head all of the time. He was always just—I don’t know—uneasy around me.”

“I forget most of the time,” I laughed.

“I know,” he smiled ruefully at me, not taking his eyes away for a few seconds.

I turned away, not knowing how to react and when I glanced at the road, we were barreling toward something ahead.

“Sam, look out!” I screeched, grabbing hold of his forearm that was resting on the console. My nails were probably digging into his skin, but I didn’t care. There was a deer ahead, loping right in front of us, and we were about to crash.

I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing for the collision, but after about five seconds too long of waiting, I opened my eyes. The car was stopped, frozen actually, as was the deer, the surrounding traffic, and the wind-swept trees.