Keeping the Bad Boy

Chapter 13

When I get to school that cold December morning, I rest my forehead on the steering wheel, letting my wavy hair fall down around my face. Sam had only seen my hair down once and he had said that he liked it better like that. That didn't keep me from putting it up everyday though. I am way to lazy to fix it everyday. Even so, I merely ran a brush through it today. I have been so confused with him lately. He never shows any affection toward me besides a kiss on the forehead and an occasional hug. He is constantly playing with and holding my hands though. As soon as the song Heartless by IM5 comes on I bolt up. "Dammit. You've got to be kidding me," I say and pull the key from the ignition, making the radio go silent. That song made me think to much of Sam. Come to think of it, every song I listen to reminds me of Sam in some way. I rub me eyes with the back of my hands and grab my backpack. I open the door when I hear a motorcycle engine in the distance. My heart flutters and my stomach rises into my throat. I take a deep breath and try to remember the rehearsed lines I spent so long practicing last night. I had to make him believe that he really was special. I had to make him believe in me enough to hold out through Christmas break. I shut the car door and lean on it, waiting. I come back to life as Sam roars into his parking space. When he pulls off his helmet, he smiles at me. His black hair is ruffled and he runs his hand through it. The sky was a dark gray, thick black clouds showing signs of rain coming soon. It made Sam's golden eyes stand out even brighter against his black hair and fair skin. He rolls his head slightly as he rises from his bike, the smile still plastered on his face. "Hey," I say, taking a step toward him, making sure that he still has enough room to swing his long leg over the side. He hangs the helmet on the handlebar and wraps his strong arms around me. "Hey," he whispers into my hair. He runs his gloved fingers through it and lets it rest on my cheek as he pulls away. Slowly, reluctantly, he drops his hand and twines his fingers in with mine. The bell rings as we walk into the building, signaling the start of what is sure to be the longest day of my life.

When school is over, I walk outside. Delicate white flakes float to ground, coating everything in a fluffy white sheet. I gasp and put my arms out and twirl around. It had snowed a lot since school had started. I walk over to the tree where we first met and sit down to wait for him. The snow makes my jeans and converse wet and cold, but I don't care. My heart is beating fast enough to keep me warm. Sam emerges from the building, throwing on his worn leather jacket as he gracefully runs down the steps. He slows as he reaches me. He smiles and reaches into his coat pocket. He pulls out a silver chain. He lets it dangle from his fingers. "Merry Christmas," he says, his deep voice barely above a whisper. I take the delicate necklace from him. "I told you not to get me anything!" I say, meeting his eyes. They were a little darker than they were earlier. He shrugs and flops to the ground where I was sitting moments earlier. He pats the snow beside him with his bare hand. I sit down beside him and study the necklace. Hanging in the middle was a silver anchor, on one side-holding the chain together-was an infinity sign, and on the other side was a cross. It was a beautiful necklace, but I couldn't keep it. I take his hand, put the necklace in it, and fold his fingers around it. "Keep it," I whisper, inches from his face. He smiles and slides the necklace back into his pocket. He sighs and takes my hand in his-which was freezing cold I might add. "Woah, your hands are freezing," I say, clasping my other hand over it, making an attempt-and failing-to warm them up. He chuckles deep in his throat. "Yeah. They stay cold. Even in the summer. The same genetic mutation that makes my eyes golden is what keeps my hand cold and under-oxygenated," he says, putting an arm around my shoulders and pulling me down so my head lays on his chest. I can hear his heart beating beneath my ear. "That's my excuse, now why are your hands so cold?" I laugh out loud. "It's cold out here!" He took my small wrists in his hand and lifted up the hem of his shirt with the other, revealing a sliver of skin between his belt and bellybutton. He lays my palms flat on his hard, muscled stomach and covers them with his thick t-shirt. He puts a hand over my covered hands and cups my face with the other. As he sat there holding me the way he was, a Henry Wadsworth Longfellow quote came to mind, Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad. "You know," he whispers, "Maybe it's true. Maybe we don't know what we have until we lose it. But, maybe it is also true that we don't know what we're missing until we find it." I close my eyes as my heart clenches. You know what else, I think, it would hurt less if you just would've stabbed me instead of saying that. As if he had read my mind, he said, "Then again, some of the things we love the most can cause us the most pain." I open my eyes as a tear streams down my face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," he says, moving quickly to wipe the tear from my cheek. "The epic goodbye I had planned in my head isn't turning out so epic." I smile, "Neither is mine." He returns my smile. After a moment of silence he rises and extends a hand to help me up. I take it and he swiftly pulls me up. Once we have reached our vehicles and I begin to climb into my jeep, he says, "Just remember if you're ever alone, I'll be your shadow. If you ever want to cry, I'll be your shoulder. If you're ever unhappy, I'll be your smile. If you ever need me, I'll always be there." I smile. "You must read a lot because you are making a surprisingly novelistic departure," I say and throw my bag into the passenger seat. He shrugs and the wind blows a piece of hair into his eyes. He pushes it away and smiles. "Do you not remember the wall of books in my bedroom?" I try to remember how his bedroom looked but I had only been in it twice. I was paying too much attention to him to take in the details of his room. "Can't say I do," I say, putting genuine amusement into my voice. "I have that full bookshelf that take up the whole wall. You can't miss it. But somehow you of all people missed it." "'Me of all people,' meaning what?" "People like you. People like me." He drops his voice to a whisper. "I know what they call people like you. I know what you are." I smile at his closeness. "Oh really? Then what am I?" He presses his forehead to mine and whispers, "A fangirl." I laugh and turn to start my jeep, knowing that my mom would have enough questions already. "Text me when you get home Sam," I say with a smile and shut the car door. He puts his hand on the window and presses down, turning his palm white against the glass. I start my jeep and begin to slowly back up. He lifts his hand, his smile slowly fading. His fingers trailed the hood of my car as his expression changed into a strained look of loss and longing. Though we weren't even out of each other's sight yet, I felt this tearing feeling inside my chest. And as I waved goodbye, I was sure that my expression mirrored his.