Page 39 of His Dark Vices

Right?

"Sam?" I call out gently as he starts up the stairs.

He pauses briefly, his hand gripping the wooden handrail, but he doesn't look at me. I stand there silently, waiting for him to go on, but he doesn't, not until I take a step toward him.

"Something's come up. We need to go back to Shade Valley. Pack your things so we can go."

His voice sends a chill through me, so hard and cold. And there's no room for argument. My anxiety only ratchets up higher. I rush up the stairs after him, finding it harder to breathe.

"What's going on?" I plead, but I know from the set of his shoulders, how tense they are, that he's become a wall. Like at the loft that one day, he's gone back inside himself, but this time, I have no idea why.

I watch him disappear into the room we shared, watch him ignore me.

We were on the verge of planning a leisurely day together. What could have happened to make him switch like this?

No matter how I strain my brain to figure out what happened, no answers come. And Sam doesn't offer any insight, either. We pack our bags in silence, and even as I steal concerned looks at him, trying to detect any sign that he's coming around or that he might change his mind or even tell me what happened, he ignores me. It's like I'm not here.

He waits by the door for me to finish gathering my things and getting dressed, and when I get there, he marches out, expecting me to follow along. I do, feeling more and more deflated with each step.

Something so precious I just had is gone without warning and no explanation. My head is pure confusion, remaining that way until we're sitting on his plane, opposite each other. Which is a joke itself. When we flew here, we sat as close as we could. Now he's buried in his phone, face set sternly.

Could it be business?

I feel a ripple of irritation wash over me. Of course it's not that. If it was, he could have easily told me, and that's the annoying thing. I'm completely in the dark. Whatever it is, can't he assure me one way or another?

I take a deep breath and push those thoughts away. It could be something he's struggling deeply with.

But then, what about what we shared? What do those scenes mean, the intimacy, the bond I thought we were building? If he can close up like this without warning and so tightly, what does that say about the strength of our bond?

I wish I was feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin right now. But all I can do is anticipate the blustering wind in Shade Valley. We're heading back to winter, and there's nothing I can do about it.

I study Sam for a little while longer. He doesn't look up or stop scrolling his phone, even if he feels my eyes on him. I sigh and pull out my own phone. Nothing else to do, so I might as well do the same as him.

We haven't been on this getaway for very long, but I somehow checked completely out of reality. There are a few messages from my mom talking about the Christmas family dinner. I thought I'd get to spend Christmas this year a little differently, and the thought makes my throat tight with the threat of tears. I clear my throat forcefully and fight the urge to cry. I don't know what Sam's plans are, just like I haven't known this whole time, but I feel a lot less hopeful about things.

I text my mom back, confirming the date, then log the event in Companion, like I've done for the past two years. I should be grateful to have dinner with my family. And a part of me is.

I just thought I'd branch away from being their failure daughter for once.

Whatever Sam is going through is contagious. I find myself spiraling into negativity as I scroll through videos, not seeing or registering anything—outside of happy couples or other people's getaways, holiday plans, spirited recipes, and crap. Every time I see someone's smiling face, the pit in my stomach grows larger. And I find myself looking over my phone at Sam.

My chest twists painfully.

It's like I'm not even here.

The tears threaten to spill again, so this time, I put my phone away and squeeze my eyes shut. I burrow down into my seat, my arms folded, and try to clear my mind.

I'll cry when I'm alone.

Next thing I know, a gruff hand is gripping my shoulder and shaking me. I look around groggily, trying to piece together what happened. Out the window, white specks swirl in the darkness, and in the distance, trees are swaying in the wind.

"You awake? Time to go," Sam says shortly, then walks away.

I look up at him quickly and try to catch his eye, but I don't think he was ever looking at my face to begin with.

I must have fallen asleep. Right outside the window is the city I know all too well, not the sun-drenched beach town. With a huff, I gather my things and wonder where I put the jacket I wore when we first left.

Sam must have sprinted off the plane because he's nowhere to be seen. When I finally step off and into the bone-chilling night, I hug myself to keep warm, not nearly dressed appropriately for the weather. I spot him near the end of the steps, and beside him are two waiting cars. He's packing my things into one car while his usual driver packs Sam's things into the other one.

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