Let It Be

Chapter 22

Sam walked over to where I usually stood before school the next day, leaning up against a cement pillar. I blushed as he came closer, ducking my gaze. He looked so good, clean and freshly shaven.

"Bonjour."

I looked up and smiled more. He finally looked fully alive, for the first time since I met him. Me, and my love, I did that? Impossible. Right? "Hi."

"Birdie was not mad, was she?"

"That I was late for dinner? No. She didn't ask."

He smiled and said eagerly, "We might have to do that again."

"Without the freak-out part, right?"

His face dropped a bit. Aw, shoot. "Right."

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Later, standing in the hallway during lunch, Sam took my hand. When we were the only ones around, Sam leaned forward towards me. He put his mouth to mine and kissed me like he did yesterday: gentle, slow, tender. Definitely melt-worthy.

But when he sensed my pleasure, he continued to kiss me, growing a bit stronger, deepening the kiss. And that's when I freaked out. Too much like him, too strong, too dominant over me.

I turned away, tears in my eyes. "I'm sorry," I breathed.

"I did not mean--" he said, voice thickly accented again. "I thought..."

"No, Sam, please--" How do I explain it? "It was just too much."

"I was just thinking, what with yesterday..."

"Sam, please," I said, wanting him to look at me again so he would understand. "I want to. I just can't yet. It's too soon, I just got out of everything, what I told you about last night. This is hard. But I want it, I want you. I love you, Sam, you know I do."

He nodded slowly, looking down at the ground. "What am I not supposed to do?"

I shook my head with a sad shrug. I didn't understand it. I mean, after yesterday, this was a step back. "I don't know how it works yet."

He sighed, running his hands through his hair, frustrated. I didn't blame him. I was frustrated as well. "I am sorry I scared you."

"I'm sorry I'm weird like this."

"Do not be, okay?"

"Okay."

He looked at me, and sensed something was wrong. "You are still scared," he realized.

I wiped at my nose, ashamed. He put a hand on my cheek, turning me so he could see my face, his eyes all concern and worry. My lip quivering, I buried myself in his chest. I was afraid. Not of Sam, not of him, but of the feeling that always came when I thought about Sacramento and everything with him, something apparently I wasn't past yet.

"Shh," Sam whispered, his arms warm as he held me. "It will be okay."

I just wanted some comfort. And Sam, so wonderfully, thankfully, could give me that.

The bell rang for class, and I pulled away from him. "Maybe we should ditch," Sam offered, trying to catch my eyes.

I smiled. "Not necessary. I'm okay now."

"Sure?"

"Yes." I pulled my backpack on, feeling bad and embarrassed. "Um, thank you."

"Sure?" he asked again, disregarding my thanks and the implied apology.

"Certain," I replied, although I certainly wasn't. At least, not about what had just happened. "I'll see you later."

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I felt worse and worse as the periods went by. I'd hurt Sam. His face, his expression, when he saw that kissing me had scared me... It burned in my mind and behind my eyes no matter how much I rubbed them and tried to forget.

Sam was waiting for me outside my last classroom, looking anxious, which confused me. Why was he there? He didn't look the least... upset. Or mad.

"You're not mad at me?" I said, confused.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," he replied.

"Sam, I started crying when you kissed me. You have to be mad at me for that."

"No."

"Please be mad at me," I begged.

"What?"

"You deserve to be mad."

"But I am not. I understand, Abby. I wish it was different, but I understand. We will figure it out."

"I hope so."

"We'll just take it slow."

"Okay." I sighed and looked at him, pulling my backpack on tighter. "I love you, you know that, right?"

He smiled so broadly, joy and pleasure spreading through his expression, making him seem brighter. "Oui. Je t'adore. Even if it takes forever, we will sort this out."

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When I got to Sam's house later that night, we found a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup that Emile had concocted on the stove. Without asking me, Sam ladled us both huge, steaming bowls.

I took out my homework and started telling him about something funny Mina had said at volleyball practice when he interrupted me, looking at my disregarded bowl. "I didn't poison it," he said.

"What? Oh." I stared at my bowl. My stomach churned at the smell. I didn't want food. I pushed down my nausea, picked up my spoon and took a bite. "Mm."

He stared at me. I chewed and swallowed. He continued to watch.

He was going to watch to make sure I ate.

Dang it.

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Short chapter this time, after yesterday's monstrosity! I need to break that up, I know. I'll go back and fix it later.

Thanks again for reading, and sticking with Let It Be!