it echoes through

eight; bury the past

Skyla brought Sam up to her room, told her smart home device to put on her favourite upbeat playlist as the boy grabbed the bag from her hands. They sat themselves down on her carpeted floor, in front of her glass coffee table, and Sam threw the magazines she left there somewhere behind him on the floor.

Sam let himself laugh appropriately at whatever it was Skyla just said, he wasn't entirely listening, as he dumped the whole bag onto the table–the powder spreading around freely. Pulling out his hotel key card from his pocket, Sam divided the powder into thin white lines, as Skyla handed him a red money note, studying his fingers while he rolled it up into a thin tube, handing her one before rolling another tube out of a spare note he had in his pocket.

"Ready?" Sam asked, as they both placed themselves near the five thin lines of coke Sam arranged in front of them. With a small nod and a wink his way, Skyla started counting down.

In a rush, both inhaled the powder as fast as they could, coughing and giggling as they did, Skyla letting out a triumphing cheer as she threw the rolled up note somewhere behind her.

"Told you I'd win, freckles," she said, after she took a moment to breathe in and catch up with the drugs now swimming around her body, nose burning slightly.

"I'm sure you cheated somehow," he giggled at her, before he fell on his back, a small sigh leaving his lips.

"Come on," she said, moving towards him, one hand placed on his chest while she used the other to balance herself, "you know I'm just better than you at everything."

"I'll find something I'm better at, dimples," he promised her with a smirk, before his eyes landed on her body next to him, on the way her long fingernails trailed across his chest, on the way her blonde hair fell effortlessly on her shoulders.

"Shots?" She asked, with a quip of her brow.

"Not a chance, your mouth is huge," he stated, causing both of them to share a wink before bursting into a fit of giggles.

"Fine, fair enough," she decided, before looking right into his eyes. "Piano contest?" She asked with a small voice, to which Sam finally sat back up again.

"You know the answer to that, Sky," he said, a hint of pain in his voice–even with how slurred his words came out.

"Sam, we both know you'd win that contest," she urged him, going as far as shoving his thigh with her knee. "And I'm sure you'd look so good playing the piano, too," she tried, eyebrows raised suggestively towards the boy.

Sam let out a dry chuckle, sniffed loudly before he shook his head. "I don't play the piano, Skyla."

"Yeah, but not for a good reason," she argued.

"Not a good reason?" He nearly yelled, face contorting into itself as he stared at her, shocked. "Fine. Let's go bowling," he dared her.

"Sam, that isn't the same thing," she insisted.

"How is it not the same thing?" He threw his hands around, falling slack by his sides as his eyes locked onto Skyla.

"You know why I can't go to that place," she choked, brown eyes unable to meet his anymore. Sam let out a snicker her way, huffing slightly, as if to dismiss what she was implying. "Don't push me, Holland."

"You push me, I push you, Skyla," he sneered, "How the fuck is that not the same?"

"So you played piano for her, that's not the same as you wanting to go to the exact spot where James died," she let out quickly, glad the snow in her nose was working fast–distracting her from how hard it was to say his name out loud, especially next to Sam.