Page 27 of Run For Me
I wait a beat before peeling my eyes open. “Sam, I really just want to sleep,” I mumble into the mattress. I’m so tired.
“Do you not even care that I drove five hours to see you, Sailor?” His tone is louder than I’m used to. And he’s using my name. He never uses my name. Hell, Sam never gets upset with me.
“Of course I care,” I respond, but don’t move. I can’t. I’m mentally drained.
“You have a funny way of showing it. I drive all the way here to surprise you, I make you dinner, buy groceries, clean the house, and—”
I push myself up and whirl around the same time I say, “I didn’t ask you to do any of those things!”
“That’s not the point,” he answers, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head.
“Then what point are you trying to make? I’m tired, and I want to go to sleep. You know better than anyone how hard it is for me to spend hours away from home, and instead of giving me the space I said I wanted, you show up here and have been up my ass the whole time.”
I regret the words the moment they come out of my mouth. Not because I don’t mean them, because I do, but the hurt on Sam’s face is immediate. I don’t want to hurt him or upset him, but I can’t destroy myself in the process. It’s taken so much to get where I am now, I can’t have him destroying it because he’s hovering.
I’ve tried to make this work, maybe not as much as I could, but it’s too much right now. It’s only been a few days since he’s beenhere, but it’s been a hard week for me. I thought he, of all people, would have known that. Sam should understand.
He stares at me, unblinking. He looks like a statue as we have some sort of stare off. Finally he nods, one slow tilt of his head.
“You’re right, Sailor.”
It’s all he says before he grabs his duffel bag, zips it up, and storms out of the house. His car starts up in the driveway, and I hear him back out, but the sound dies as he heads down the road.
Away from me.
Away. From. Me.
“Shit,” I whisper to myself as tears burn my eyes. “Shit, shit, shit!” I pound my fists against the bed, then press my face to it and scream.
I’ve been so overwhelmed this week with everything—school, the journal, socializing, Sam—and no, that isn’t Sam’s fault, but he should respect my boundaries. No, I didn’t tell him any of this because I’ve been trying to deal with it because I feel like I should have feelings for him, that things should be okay. I didn’t agree to Sam coming here. I didn’t invite him. I said I would think about it, and that isn’t no, but it’s not yes either. He shouldn’t get to do a bunch of stuff I never asked for and then act like I’m ungrateful. That’s not kindness, it’s control with a pretty bow on top.
Sam is the only person in the world who knows me as well as my family did. He should know! I hate that I feel guilty over this when I shouldn’t. His actions were wrong, and I’m allowed to feel however I feel about it.
My phone dings with a text, and I get up to get it from my bag because I need something to do.
Amelia:Hey, girl! You up for dinner tonight?
Me:Sorry, I’m not feeling well.
Amelia:Bummer. Let’s do something this weekend!
I sigh and stare at my phone for a while before tossing it away. I want to say no, sorry, not up for it, but I’m not thinking clearly, so I shut it off, get up to take my pants off, and crawl under the covers to fall asleep.
When I wake up, I’m starving and parched. I guzzle a bottle of water, panting for breath when I’m done, and grab a yogurt from the fridge and lean against the counter as I eat it. I then grab a microwavable cup of mac and cheese—something I always have because it’s a comfort food and quick.
As it’s cooking, I remember I shut off my phone and never responded to Amelia, so I get it and turn it on, then place it on the counter. I finish preparing the mac and cheese as the phone starts up. A few alerts go off, but nothing that sounded like a text. I take my phone and the food and go to the couch where I curl my legs underneath me and sit. The mac and cheese rests on the end table to cool while I look through my phone.
No new texts. Wow.
I stare at the old messages from Sam, knowing he must be home by now. My chest tightens and I feel nauseous. I should not have said those things to him. I’ve been working so hard on not letting my anxiety get the best of me, but I was overwhelmed and wasn’t thinking rationally. I regret upsetting him, but what I said was the truth. It’s my fault for not saying anythingsooner, for not explaining the doubts I had before—well before he showed up. It’s been months. Still, Sam didn’t deserve to hear my feelings the way he did. I should have been kinder.
Texting him needs to wait. We can talk about this, but not now. We both need some time to think. Instead, I open the text to Amelia and let her know I’d love to do something this weekend and suggest lunch on Sunday. That will give me all of Saturday to decompress. Maybe I’ll even make an appointment at the spa. That usually helps me relax.
Amelia agrees, and we hash out the plans. I find something to watch on TV and eat my dinner. My mind wanders, and I’m soon thinking about JT and the deal he offered.
What if… what if I agreed to it?
It may make me feel better. Talking about these things in my head with someone… Someone I don’t have to look in the eyes. Someone who won’t judge me. Someone I don’t have to pay, who really wants to hear what I have to say.
