Let It Be

Chapter 37

The rest of the year went by pretty smoothly. Finals were coming up, but we didn't really stress out about those. We were seniors, after all. It was kind of too late to seriously affect our grades, we knew if we were graduating or not. Brandon, Birdie's husband, was returning home in June, and Nate was having an end of the year party with his friends in a few weeks. Tristan never spoke to me again, as if I didn't exist. It was nice.

A week before graduation was our senior prom. Sam had snuck into my bank account and put in an extra five hundred dollars to buy a dress. Naturally, I hadn't ever planned to buy an article of clothing that cost half as much as that, so I took it and found a long, dark blue silk gown that I loved one sale for seventy-eight, shoes for thirty-two, and a pearly necklace for twenty. The extra money I pulled from the ATM and tucked back into his wallet when he wasn't looking.

The night of the dance Sam took me out to a fancy restaurant beforehand while we were all dressed up in our formal wear.

As we were finishing dinner, I turned to him and said, "Sam, you know what I want for a graduation present?"

He plucked a disregarded tomato off my plate and popped it in his mouth. "And what would that be?"

"I want to know the whole story. You. Your whole story."

He didn't look up at me. "I know."

"We're getting married, Sam," I reminded him. "I'd like to know my husband's birthday. And, you know, how old he is."

"I know." He sighed. "I will tell you tomorrow."

"Tell me now," I begged. "We'll skip the dance."

He smiled. "It is Senior Prom, Abigail. You do not want to miss that."

"Sam," I frowned. "You should know that that sort of stuff isn't important to me."

"It is a little bit."

"Yes, well, I don't like dances that much anyways. I'd rather spend it with you. Please?"

He sighed again, tossed his napkin down on the table then helped me out of my chair. "Come on, I will take you back to my place and explain."

It was almost June, and the air was thick and warm even when the sun went down, the days getting longer. Sam and I sat on his back patio, still in our formal attire, watching the trees rustle in the breeze. "What would you like to know?" Sam asked quietly.

"When were you born?"

"April third, thirteen-twenty-six, in a little village in France."

I stared at him, my mouth gapping open. "Excuse me?" I hadn't thought it was that long. 1326? Holy crap!

He nodded sadly. "I was one of the original immortals, one of the first to drink the water."

I shook my head, trying to comprehend. One of the first.

One of the first.

"Does that mean you're on the Council?" I realized.

He shook his head. "I was. For a long time. But I dropped off. I do not want to be a part of it."

That confused me. "Why not?" I asked.

"I do not like it, Abigail," he explained with a scowl. "I hate being immortal. It is unnatural, and it is unfair. Everyone else, most immortals, they all take advantage of it, but I am different. I do not like it. I hate it. I hate the power it gives me."

I understood what he was trying to put into words. "Because it gives you an advantage over everyone else," I concluded.

"Look at Tristan," he pointed out. "He uses his power for his own personal gain."

"But Sam... you would never do that."

He glared at me. "Would I not? How do you know that?"

"Because you aren't like that, Sam. I know you. You're better than that."

"People change. Power makes people do terrible things. Look at Hitler."

That made me laugh out loud, I couldn't help it. Hitler was no laughing matter, but the idea of Sam as an evil dictator was absurd. "Sam, you're nothing like Hitler, and you know it. You would never be like Hitler. You would never have a mustache like that."

He eventually smiled with me. "I just do not want to get wrapped up in it. They did not need me on the Council. I like living a small life, with Emile. Now with you."

I smiled, snuggling into him. "Tell me more."

We spent hours out there on his patio as the sun set and the stars started shinning, Sam telling me all sorts of stories about his life. He'd lived for so, so many years. He had so much to say, so many things to tell. We could spend the rest of eternity sitting there, him telling me his stories.

He'd been a French Revolutionist, a patron of Picasso, a cabin boy on a pirate ship. He'd been rich, he'd been dirt poor, he went back and forth just for variety.

"All the things you've seen, Sam," I breathed, still trying to wrap my mind around it. "All the amazing things you're witnessed, been a part of."

He nodded, but added solemnly, "Many good things. But many, many bad things, too."

"But that comes no matter how long you live. Bad things will always be there."

"That is true," he eventually agreed, his cheek resting on my head.

"Tell me about your family," I asked. I immediately regretted asking when his back went rigid. "I'm sorry," I apologized, "I didn't mean--"

"My parents were good people," he said anyways, a stiff tone to his voice. "Extremely good people. I had a few siblings, all younger, but most of them did not make it to adulthood. I was close with my parents. They were hardworking, and kind, and... just good people."

"Did they become immortal, too?"

"No. They remained mortal. I stayed with them all the years they were alive."

"And... they died?"

"And they died."

"I'm sorry, Sam," I whispered, knowing it hurt him.

He took my hand, exhaling angrily, sounding frustrated. "That is the thing, Abigail. This life... being immortal, it is so full of loss. There is absolutely no way around it. Everyone that ever means anything to you, you lose. It is hard to let yourself get close to people when you know you only get a short time with them."

"I understand."

"And I do not want to lose you," Sam eventually said.

"I know."

He turned and look deep in my eyes, searching. "Do you?"

I nodded, wrapped my arms around his waist and kissed him. "You won't lose me," I breathed in between kisses.

"Do you promise?" he murmured into my skin as he kissed my throat.

"Yes."

We kissed for a long time, and Sam seemed to know when to stop before the panic started to boil in my blood. It was a lot longer than usual. Which made us both smile.