Playing with Forever

Chapter 29: Start and Stop

Sam walked over to where I usually stood before school the next day, leaning up against a cold cement pillar. I blushed as he came closer, but didn't advert my gaze. He looked so good, clean and freshly shaven, and his tantalizing ocean breeze scent teased my nose. I took a deep breath of it reflexively, both calming and lighting up at the scent.

"Bonjour, Abigail," he said with a grin.

My smile broadened. There was a fully alive look about him that I hadn't seen before. "Hi."

"Birdie was not mad, was she?"

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

"We might have to do that again," he said through a grin.

Without thinking, I added, "Without the freak-out part, right?"

His face dropped. Shoot. His smile wobbled, but he recovered quickly giving me a soft grin with gentle eyes. "Right." As the warning bell rang, he reached out and softly caressed my face.

Searching my eyes for permission, he slowly leaned forward and gave me gentle kiss, short but tender. When we parted, we simply stared in each other's eyes, smiles growing broad.

"Come, we are going to be late," he said. I pouted in protest. "There will be an infinite amount of time for this later."

"Promise?"

He took my hand and brought it to his mouth, gently kissing my knuckles. "Promise."

We had to break apart for separate classes, but when we reunited during break, Sam took my hand and led me to an empty corner of campus. When we were the only ones around, he put one hand on my waist and the other cupped my face. As if he couldn't stand even a few hours without touching me, Sam leaned towards me and put his mouth to mine again. The lightness in my chest swelled. Definitely melt-worthy.

But when he sensed my pleasure, his passion grew, an urgency developing in his kiss. He pulled my hips against his, and deepened the kiss. 

And that's when I freaked out.

It was much like him, too strong, too dominant over me.

I jerked away, ripping myself out of Sam's grasp. "Stop," I breathed, tears in my eyes and thickness in my throat.

He looked at me, stunned and concerned. "I did not mean—" he said, voice gruffly accented again. "I thought..."

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

Confused, he said, "I was just—what with yesterday—"

"Sam, please," I said, touching his arm for a second before dropping my hand, imploring him to understand. "It was just, he just... I want to," I added emphatically. "I just can't yet. This is hard. But I want it, I want you."

His eyebrows lowered as he cocked his head to the side in question. "Were you romantic with him? Did I remind you of...?"

"No, we were nothing in that realm," I replied truthfully. "I just—I don't like to be dominated, I guess."

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 don't know how it works."

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

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

He looked at me with compassion. "Do not be, okay?"

"Okay."

He looked at me, and sensed how wrong things still were. "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 curled into myself. I was afraid. Not of Sam, never of Sam, but of the feeling that always came when I thought about everything with him.

"Shh," Sam whispered, his hands fluttering at my shoulders. He hesitated, not sure if his touch would be appreciated, but he gently put his fingertips to my arms. "It is okay."

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

The bell rang for class, and I stepped back out of his grasp. "Maybe we should ditch," Sam offered, trying to catch my eyes.

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

"Sure?"

"Yeah." I pulled my backpack on, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. "Um, thank you."

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

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

I felt worse and worse as the class period went by. I'd hurt Sam. His face and his expression when he saw that kissing me had hurt 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 classroom, looking anxious, which confused me. Why was he there? We always just met up at 5th period Humanities, not outside my Anatomy class. But there he was, not looking the least bit angry.

"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."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Of course not."

"Please be mad at me," I begged.

He tilted his head and looked at me with concerned confusion. "Pardon me?"

"You deserve to be mad."

"No, I don't," he replied. "I understand, Abigail. I wish it was different, but I understand. You have lived through a horrible trauma, and it is natural for you to have triggers. We will figure it out."

My breath hitched. "I hope so."

"We will just take it slow."

"Okay." I sighed and looked at him, hooking my thumbs through my backpack straps. 

"Jet t'adore, Abigail. Even if it takes forever, we will sort this out."

Despite the lingering shame, my heart lightened at his words. I didn't know why, but he actually loved me. And about figuring things out? I had to hope he was right.