Missing Moments

3x08 - Part 2

Warning: Explicit Sexual situation, Strong Language.)
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Romantic love was a peculiar notion, the reality of being in love was more brutal than people liked to acknowledge. Everyone - well, most people - wanted it, sought it, obsessed over it. And then the some that were lucky enough to have obtained it, usually ended up ruing the day they'd found it.

And so that had raised the age-old question, is it better to have loved and lost or to never have loved at at all?

Was there a right answer? Both scenarios sounded incredibly depressing to Samuel.

But Samuel knew that as painful as loving Carla was, it didn't even touch the blissful intoxication she filled him with. Nothing compared to her. Nothing and no one could make him feel this much, this constant rapturous high she had him hooked on. She was addictive.

And Carla saying I love you to him - that was a whole new level of addiction. A dangerous fucking addiction. And Samuel was already a junkie.

I love you, Samuel.

Her words rang and vibrated through the air around them, stifling his ability to breathe, his body was rendered useless, his mouth unable to speak, his mind utterly blank. Samuel was barely aware of the deafening silence that took over. Were there words to describe what he was feeling? Samuel was at a loss. He couldn't find any.

All he could think, hear, feel, was the heart-stopping, mind-bending repetition of her voice in his head. His heart.

I love you, Samuel.

Samuel's heart was going ballistic, thumping and thrashing wildly in its cage, seemingly incapable of comprehending the words.

"Samuel?" Carla's wary voice smashed into his brain, resulting in a sharp inhale to deliver the much needed oxygen into his lungs.

Please, say it again, his greedy heart pounded with an unspoken plea. Say it again. Say it again. Say it again. Just one more time so he could make sure it was real, so it could sink in. So he could believe it and revel in it and never feel hopeless again. Please, Carla, say it again.

But his mouth wasn't cooperating. His still, wide eyes, were probably starting to make Carla uncomfortable.

Speak, you fucking moron, he angrily scolded himself.

"Shit, Samuel, I'm sorry, I - I shouldn't have said that."

The hopeless organ in his chest ceased its incessant, loud beating.

What?

Wait. No. Fuck, no. She was sorry?

And just like that, his world fractured into a humiliated and rigid focus. Carla was sorry.

Why did she say it then? Why the fuck would she do that to him? It didn't make sense. Even if Carla didn't love him, Samuel knew her care for him ran deep and strong. Carla would never say something like that - something she was well aware he unapologetically craved to hear from her - without actually meaning it.

But Samuel's high-strung emotions were in charge and his brain couldn't keep up with them long enough to rationalize Carla's behavior. All Samuel knew in that moment was that he needed to get away, she could explain later. After he recovered from the emotional whiplash she'd just given him.

He was suddenly feeling claustrophobic, her skin on his was scorching and suffocating and as gently as he could, he pried her off, and then he was out of the the bed before either of them could blink, reaching for his boxers and slipping them on quickly.