Page 91 of Please Don't Leave Me

When he lifts his face to look at me, there are tears in his eyes. He is telling the truth. I'm such an asshole.

"I'm so sorry, Sam."

I pause a moment, then get up and walk around the island to where he stands. I go from behind, wrap my arms around his body, and rest my head on his back. His hand touches mine and gives it a little squeeze.

Letting go, I step back and give him space to spin around toward me.

"He died the night of Thanksgiving, and I found out the next morning. I was so out of it, I didn't even realize that I hadn't responded to you."

"Of course, that's completely understandable." I step forward and rest my hands on his chest, looking up at him. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

I would never want him to feel pressured to talk about that. Though it feels like I've known him for longer, we only reconnected less than 48 hours ago.

There's another long silence. Sam wraps his arms around me, kisses the top of my head, and rests his cheek there.

"I plan on keeping you around for a while, so you should know."

Though this is an incredibly sad moment, I can't help but get butterflies when he says that. I had hoped he felt thesame way, and getting verbal confirmation makes my heart sigh in relief.

"I plan on keeping me around, too."

He squeezes me briefly before releasing me. I back up and lean against the counter across from where he leans against the island.

"Jacob died by...it was...he...did it himself."

I look at him, confused. I think I know what he’s trying to say, but that’s an awful thing to assume, so I wait for him to go on before saying anything. To confirm it's what I think it is.

"Suicide. Jacob died by suicide." He's clenching the edge of the counter, his knuckles going white, face pointed at the ground. This is clearly a painful thing for him to talk about. "That's how my therapist told me to phrase it. Instead of saying ‘committed suicide’, you say ‘died by suicide’. Since it's brought on by mental illness."

I feel bile working its way up my throat. I feel sick. Sam lost someone he cares about so deeply to suicide. The exact thing I tried to do a week ago.

Me. I did that.

The thing that is tearing Sam apart, causing him so much pain and suffering.

"I've heard that before." What did I just say? "Rephrasing it, I mean."

"He and my dad got into it when we were at his house for Thanksgiving. It was a huge blowout fight, and Jacob left. That was the last time any of us saw him."

I know it's selfish to be thinking about me right now, but all I can think about is B. How she would be right now if my plan had worked, if Pepin hadn’t intervened. My heart aches so badly for Sam and for what could have also been B.

How could I do that to her? Every time thoughts likethis have popped into my head, I shut them out completely. I can't bear it.

I reach out and grab his hand. "I'm here for you, Sam."

Until you're not, the voice in my head says.

What if Sam and I stay together, and I go through another hard time? What if I do this to Sam? Once is awful enough; I can't imagine losing two people you care about to the same thing. That's not fair to Sam. I have to tell him. He has to make the choice for himself if he's willing to live with someone else who may leave him too soon. I have to tell him.

But not now, I can't. I'll wait for the right time.

"Thanks, Lou. I'll tell you more in time, but I think that's all I'm ready to share for now."

"You take all the time you need." I reach up and kiss him on the cheek; it's damp with tears.

"I really did like you—a lot. It broke my heart to end things with you. I just didn't feel it was fair to put that type of burden on you that soon."

To be honest, I'm not sure how that would have played out had he told me. I would like to think I'd have been supportive. But what was I supposed to do, go over to his house to comfort him? Go to the funeral with him?

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