I turned until I leaned against the sofa, the back of my head resting on the cushion that Samson laid across and stared up at the ceiling above me. The room was so dark, so quiet, that I felt … safe.
I kissed a dozen boys and maybe half as many men in my twenty years on earth. I’d never kissed Samson, had never so much as a hug from him, so why did I compare every kiss, every hug, to him? He lived on this pedestal, and no matter how many men I touched, none could compare to him. It wasn’t even how attractive he was—well, it wasn’t entirely that. He had a smile that could melt even the steeliest of backbones, abs for days, hair that belonged on some Greek God we’d read about in school. He was strong, and tall, and there was not a single thing about him that didn’t scream man.
But it wasn’t any of those things that had drawn me to him. It was the way he walked into a room—not like normal people. He didn’t search for people he knew, he searched for the people he didn’t. He gave out hugs like they were currency for conversation. He loved to talk, but he loved to hear you talk.
And I didn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t meet his eyes and let him wrap his arms around me, and I most certainly couldn’t tell him the things in my heart.
My phone vibrated from the back of my jeans’ pocket and I grabbed it, swiping up on the screen.
Bianca: Don’t forget, brunch tomorrow.
I couldn’t forget. Brunch with my best friend, every Saturday at eleven. I started to type out my response when Sam adjusted, still asleep, on the sofa. I wrote and rewrote what I initially wanted to tell her: I’m alone with Samson! But in the end, I gave her a simple, See you then and wondered if I’d ever tell her. Not that there was anything to tell her, really. Bianca would be bored and changing the subject sometime between Samson got knocked out at the pub and He sleepily, probably pissed, asked me how his hair looked.
I wouldn’t let her indifference make me bitter—that seemed to be my mantra lately. The careful and quiet reminder I delivered to myself while smiling in greeting every time I saw her. As far as best friends went, she wasn’t, well, great. But she encouraged me to tiptoe out of my comfort zone, and she was loyal even if her loyalty wasn’t necessarily needed.
Samson moved again and the ice pack on his hands slid and hit the bare skin my vest exposed. Hissing, I bent forward so it could fall between me and the sofa. After removing the ice pack from behind me, I leaned back against the sofa once more and then immediately froze.
Sam’s hand had slid off of his torso to rest on the cushions, causing his fingers to graze against the same bare skin that his ice pack had just assaulted. I was wearing my thin pajamas. While modest in style, the vest top exposed most of my back, leaving Sam’s fingers just resting against the line of my shoulder blade.
I sucked in a breath, feeling immediately so foolish. He was practically comatose now, it was dark, and he probably didn’t even know where he was. It wasn’t like he was grazing my skin.
But then, he was. My heart kicked into a beat that felt like a dozen horses galloping in my chest.
Maybe it was involuntary. It was soft; two fingers pressing lightly into my skin.
I wasn’t sure how long they did that. Long enough that I assumed he’d fallen back asleep. But not so long that it felt unintentional.
After a moment, his fingers left my skin and I breathed easily again, feeling slightly sad that he’d stopped touching me.
But then his fingers grazed my skin again, over the curve of my shoulder blade. He held it between two fingers, but he was completely silent, not saying a word. I wasn’t entirely sure he was even awake. Was this merely a movement in his sleep?
I’d prided myself on staying so still as his fingers explored such an innocent part of my body. But when he pressed his palm flat to my skin, I was so shell-shocked that I let out a quick breath.
His touch paused for a fraction of a second. But then, again, they continued. They brushed up my shoulder, coming in contact with the ends of my hair. He tugged gently, fingers slipping off my hair lazily before returning, gently, softly, twisting.
“Sam?” I asked breathlessly.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even pause, just continued, touching my hair, moving toward the back of my head, until one finger found the skin at the nape of my neck. He pressed there, and in reflex, I dipped my head back. My arms were alight with goose bumps, my hair standing on end.
Sam was touching me. He never touched me. Not like this. I swallowed hard, and felt my chest heave out a breath. I couldn’t think of anything, anyone—I barely had the focus to pay attention to what was happening in this moment. It was hard to believe this was actually happening. It was nearly impossible to believe that this was reality. More than a thousand times, I’d pined after Sam. Not once in those brief moments had I ever thought anything would ever come of it.
I was the girl pathetically in love with her brother-in-law’s best friend. The one who looked at him when he didn’t notice, the one who secretly hated each one of the girlfriends he brought by.
And now, he was touching me. Not like the way my last boyfriend had touched me. Sam was touching little bits of me, taking his time, exploring me in a way that made my throat catch when I tried to say his name again.
He still said nothing. He placed his thumb on one side of my neck and his forefinger on the other side. Not tight, but not absently either. My eyes had fully adjusted to the dark of the room now, and after a moment to pull in some courage, I turned my head.
His eyes were only slightly open, the light from the moon angling just so on them so that I could see his gaze was on my back.
When his hand slid from my hair down my back, stopping where my pajama met skin, I knew that there was nothing sleepy about the way he was touching me. Over the sound of my heart beating thunderously loud, I could barely make out the sounds of his even breathing. His chest rose and fell, his eyes still on my back—not on my face—and it was if we were suspended in some kind of alternate reality. This was a dream. It was a dream.
Still stuck in that dream, I turned my head a bit more, until our lips were centimeters apart. When he breathed out, I breathed in. And vice versa.
It was the quietest, most profoundly complicated moment of my life. His gaze hadn’t shifted; still concentrated on my back. But his hand had moved to my shoulder, fingers curled over it. His fingers were pressed gently against my collarbone. His eyes weren’t following the path of his hand—it was as if he was staring off, thinking about something else.
Gently, I placed my hand over his. There were so many things I wanted to say to him, but I couldn’t find it in me to open my mouth and break the connection we were silently making.
His hand on my shoulder turned, and then slid down my arm, knuckles grazing my skin, before he cupped my elbow and pulled me closer.
I thought I was going to choke on air, as my mouth came closer and closer to his. I couldn’t get enough air all of a sudden. I was an animal braced for the kill, a girl yielding to something that had only existed in her dreams.
He kissed me.
And I kissed him back.
Like his touch, it was slow at first. Warm lips pressed against mine before he pulled away a hair. When he kissed me again, it was firmer, a blood-pumping kiss. His hand cupping my elbow was firm, holding captive. I turned so my neck wasn’t craned to the right, and his hand moved to my other shoulder, fingers curved around it. Not quite an embrace, but more like he was holding me the way he wanted.
His lips slanted, deepening the kiss. His tongue slid along the seam of my lips and I opened and exhaled into his mouth, feeling my limbs go limp.
“Sam,” I whispered when he pulled back again. He cupped my chin, his thumb grazing over my cheekbone. I felt fragile in his hold. He had all of the power. I was completely submissive to him.
But then, with his lips still touching mine, he whispered the word that turned my blood thick, the word that made my heart beat painfully slow.
“Della.”
I was such a fucking idiot.
This wasn’t a dream; it was a fucking nightmare.
He wasn’t coherent. And I’d taken advantage of him. And his girlfriend’s name was on my lips.
I ripped myself away, and took off out of the room, tripping over some nameless object obscured in the darkness before I could reach the hallway. I needed to get away from him, to press my face into a pillow to calm the heated embarrassment that I knew colored my cheeks. To let the pillowcase soak up the tears that had already begun to slide down my face.
I kissed Samson, and he didn’t even know it was me.
The most intimate kiss of my life, the one I’d often wondered about—the best damn kiss I’d ever had—had been a complete mistake.
Tears burned hot on my skin and I swiped at them furiously. I laid flat on my back and stared up at the dark ceiling, feeling so stupid, cursing my naiveté, wishing I’d never stayed with Sam in the living room.
I grasped the hem of my top and brought it up to my lips, eager to wipe away the memory of that kiss. I didn’t want to wipe off the only memory I’d have of kissing Samson—no matter how humiliated I felt from what had happened. But, the kiss was meant for someone who wasn’t me. I rubbed my skin until it felt raw and dropped the fabric from my hands.
My phone buzzed in my hand, interrupting the quiet so loudly that I nearly dropped it from surprise.
Mal: On my way home. Need anything?
I hadn’t heard from her all night, and this was what she sent me? Anger and heartache and embarrassment rolled into one, and I typed, Yes, I’d like my sister back, and pressed send.
Mal: I’m here. I’ll be there soon.
I wanted to yell at her. She wasn’t there. She just fucking wasn’t there. She was this shell of who she was, without any real feelings or thoughts. She was practically a ghost. And with those thoughts in my mind, I typed off a quick reply. You’re never here. Ames is too good for you.
As soon as I clicked send and dropped my phone, a sob burst from my chest. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, that Ames was burdened by our splintering family. That my sister wasn’t here. That my father was locked up in his room for at least twenty hours of the day. The world didn’t stop when my mum died. I didn’t get to fall apart like everyone else.
My phone vibrated again, and I flipped it over, not wanting to keep talking to her.
I placed my palms against my eyes and rubbed. After how lightly Sam had touched me, I wanted to punish myself by pressing harder—without affection—across my skin.
“It’s fine,” I lied to myself in the dark when my tears had slowed along with the beat of my heart. I sniffed, resolving to wash my face, to rid the final traces of Sam from myself.
The hallway was quieter than I remembered after running through it minutes before. I had to tiptoe past the living room on my way to the loo.
I wouldn’t pause at the threshold, not wanting to see Sam in the slightest. I crept past the room, listening for silence.
The light in the loo was brighter than I expected, probably thanks to my red-rimmed eyes. My fingers immediately went to my swollen lips before I took in the rest of my reflection. My face was splotchy, my hair was a mess, and the skin below my eyes looked raw. I tugged on my hair, trying to get it into place, my anxiety and embarrassment burning through me and fueling my movements.
Quickly, I washed my face and brushed my teeth more harshly than necessary. After running the brush through my hair, I set it carefully down on the counter top and reached toward the back of my head, running my fingers through the strands until I had one lone strand in my clutches.
While staring at myself in the mirror—the red splotches on my cheeks and the purple tint around my eyelids—all that shame and frustration came back tenfold. I fingered that strand for a moment before giving it a quick tug. There was no pain—not with this as a distraction.
The pleasure that immediately released caused a small smile to form on my lips. I was okay.
“It’s fine,” I repeated to myself, and this time I believed it.
Chapter Two
I woke to yelling. What sounded like a dozen voices probably wasn’t, but my head was fucking killing me, so it was just an echo in a chamber at the moment.
I rolled to check the clock, but fell abruptly to the floor, knocking the wind out of me.
I wasn’t home. Where the fuck was I?
Then, the pain burned through the impact of hitting the floor and I groaned aloud. I pressed my head to the wood floor, but then pulled away after the reverberations of people running around the room tapped against my aching skull. My body felt broken in a dozen places, aching and burning all over.
Pulling myself to sitting, I finally realized where I was—Ames’ flat. The living room. It was dark, and a quick look outside told me it was dark out there too. Which caused me to wonder at the noise running around the apartment.
“Oh my god,” a familiar female voice screamed from the hallway. I lifted my head, seeing Lotte in her pajamas, hands clutched against her head. The look of anguish on her face was so plainly written that I could feel it from several meters away.
“Lotte?”
Her head whipped to me and she braced her hand against the wall. “Sam.”
Asher, Lotte’s dad, barreled down the hallway at a speed I didn’t know he’d possessed. He kept dropping the things in his hands, sending them rolling away in loud succession.
“We have to go,” Lotte said, but her face was stricken, her eyes wide and red bruises under them.
“What’s going on?” I jumped to my feet, realizing that something was very wrong. I was still disoriented as I tried to piece how I came to be on Ames’ sofa, with … slippers on my feet?
“Hospital,” Asher said, barely sparing me a glance as he moved past Lotte toward the stairs.
I hadn’t seen Ames yet. “Where’s Ames?” I asked, panic finally settling in. Something was horribly wrong.
“He’s left already. He’s gone. We need a taxi.” She shook her head and fell back against the wall of the hallway. “Oh my god.” She made a sound that didn’t sound entirely human and I quickly made my way to her to keep her from sliding all the way off the wall to the floor. Once she was in my arms, I half-carried, half-walked her down the stairs, into the pub her family owned, and put her in a chair next to Asher as I called for a taxi.
I still didn’t know what was going on, but between Asher’s nearly-dead eyes and Lotte’s look of complete shock, I didn’t think I could ask what it was, what was wrong.
The taxi arrived blessedly quick and I pushed them both in before following. Asher told the driver which hospital, and we cruised along the road at one in the morning toward something I wasn’t at all prepared for.
Ames was pacing the waiting room when we arrived. His hair was in a hundred places, and his face was absent of color apart from the red around his eyes.
Seeing my best mate like that, like he’d battled through several emotional wars single-handedly, was enough to cause me to stop walking.
Lotte and Asher pushed past me, into his arms, and I watched as his arms curled them in to himself, and then watched the unmistakable shudder of sobs wracking his body.
He tried to talk, but his jaw was shaking so much that he couldn’t get the words out.
Something had happened to Mal, the love of my best mate’s life. And, judging by the way the three of them clung to one another, it was bad.
I lowered myself to the closest chair and stared at a spot on Asher’s back as it moved up and down, making me go cross-eyed with each sob Asher released.
“Do you need to be seen?”
I turned to the voice, a nurse looking at me peculiarly.
“What? No. I’m here…” I gestured to Ames, Lotte, and Asher, “with them.”
Her face fell, wrinkles settling in around her eyes. “Oh, right. I’m so sorry.” She handed me a plastic-wr
apped pad of cotton. “You’re bleeding.” She tapped on her chin. “Right here.”
I stared at the cotton in my hand like I didn’t know what I was holding. I did, but the last thing I was concerned with at that moment was pressing this square to my face.
Especially when my best friend was falling to pieces mere steps from me.
The nurse left us, and Lotte pulled away, wiping her face as she stared up at Ames with fear in her eyes. Ames moved Asher into a chair and he turned to Lotte, holding her arms as she held his. I didn’t know who was supporting who.
I made my way to them both. Ames blinked at me, as if he was just realizing I was here. “Sam.”
Putting my arm around him, I tried to wrap my head around this.
Mahlon was in trouble. I didn’t know what kind of trouble, or what the prognosis was, but I had three people falling apart surrounding me, and I needed to be there for them. These people were my family, people who often took me in when I’d run away from home as a teen, who’d fed me, clothed me, loved me.
I pulled Lotte in too, and she folded herself against my chest. She was so small, fragile. Her hands clutched at my shirt and I rubbed a hand down her back. Her body shook with unspent sobs, and I felt Ames move in my hold, like he was doing everything in his power to keep from splintering.
“It’s going to be okay,” I told Ames, squeezing his shoulder tight. “Hey.” I turned until he was looking me dead in the eyes. “I’m not going. I won’t leave.”
Ames blinked, sanity coming into his eyes. “Okay.”
“Sit. I’m going to get coffees.” I had barely made it a few meters before Lotte caught up with me.
“I’m coming with you,” she announced, and I wrapped my arm around her in answer.
She seemed composed enough, still crying, but she didn’t look as shell-shocked as she had before. “I hate coffee,” she said as we waited in line at the hospital café. “It’s like sludge.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah, well I don’t think anyone is getting sleep tonight.”
The Sounds of Secrets Page 2
