Drop Dead | Sam Fender

Chapter Ninety Eight

TRIGGER WARNING: DRUG USE

Sam

One month. Two months. Three months. Four months. Five months. Six had passed since Rory had left. And as each one passed, my hope, any optimism that she would return, agonised by how much she missed me, slipped away. It came as you would expect. First, the denial, going about my days no differently than I ever would in the initial couple of weeks. This was a cycle we had, one that always ended with her in my arms once more and this would be no different.

Next came the anger. And I was angry. Taking all of it out on someone who didn't know what was going on inside my head, behind closed doors.

I hadn't quite managed to shake myself from that stage just yet. I didn't have Rory to shake me from my rage, to ground me like she always did with one look from those crystal blue eyes that drew me in like a siren. Instead, I was just a helpless pirate being lured to his own death by my own temper.

And as I crossed over into the realms of bargaining, I could only beg my friends to know of her well-being. Was she doing as badly as me? Did she miss me as much as I missed her? Did her heart yearn for me as mine did her?

Or was she completely fine? Had she accepted that we were a sinking ship long before calling it quits that night? Jumped the boat long before.

The resignation in her eyes that night had told me she had.

The only information I could manage to squeeze from my friends was a slip-up from Jess back in August after their visit to London, which they returned from suspiciously without Harlow.

"She's not okay, Sam," she told me. "She's struggling. A lot."

"That's enough, Jess," Tom had interjected, a stern look painted on his expression. "He don't need to know. It's not his business."

That hurt. Especially coming from one of my longest and closest mates but I had to remember, he was her friend too. The relationship they had with each other was different to that of mine with Tom. He was her older brother, her protector and although he might have been my best mate, I was the one who broke his little sister down. Reduced her to the broken mess she apparently was. Chased her from her home to escape me.

I knew something was wrong when Harlow hadn't returned with the group, that sense of dread exacerbated as the summer turned into autumn and there was still no sign of my ex-girlfriend's best friend. I couldn't help but think the worst and after a long night overthinking it, I had shown up on Dean's doorstep, pleading with him to let me know she was okay.

"She's fine, Sam," he assured me, his lips pulled into a tight line. "No thanks to you."

It was a kick to the teeth but I didn't protest, knowing deep down that it was what I deserved.

Come November, she had released another single. Her first since our split. She hadn't blocked me on her socials, simply unfollowing me and pretending that I didn't exist, which was cruel. It meant that I could still follow her career, what she shared of it that was. Forced to watch like a sick, twisted movie.

Of course, it was a song about me. I didn't need to hear it to know that.

Love Ain't Meant to Hurt.

It was clear what it was about. Not that I could bring myself to confirm my suspicions for several weeks, finding it too painful to listen. And when I finally did, I couldn't help the tears of regret from streaming down my face. I found myself not caring about my dad's words to me, that men don't cry. Because as her heart-wrenching lyrics turned the cogs in my brain, the only thing I could think about was the emotional damage I had dragged Rory through.