Playing with Forever

Chapter 49: Sam's Truth

Once at his house after the prom, Sam led me to sit on his back porch, still in our formal attire, where we sat watching the trees rustle in the nighttime breeze. It was springtime, and the air was only slightly chilly even when the sun went down. The days had been getting progressively longer, signaling the oncoming summer. Soon we'd have long days to spend together, basking in the sun longer and longer.

Once settled, Sam turned to me and asked quietly, "What would you like to know?"

Finally, I was going to get the answer I'd been trying to pry from him for ages. "When were you born?"

He took a deep, steadying breath. "The summer of fifteen-twenty, in a little village in France."

My mouth hit the floor. I stared at him, gaping. "Huh?"

I'd been given little hints here and there about his age, but I had placed him in the late eighteen hundreds at the earliest. I hadn't thought it was nearly that long ago. 1520?

I cast about for history dates. That was a hundred years before the pilgrims came to America. Not that that applied to Sam. He was French, living in France at the time. Aside from the French Revolution in the 1780's I knew nothing about French history!

Oh my gosh, he'd lived through the French Revolution!

He nodded sadly. "Remember the story I told you, of the first two immortals? The two men who stabbed each other and lived, and how the village tried to destroy them?"

"Yes."

"I was one of those two men."

"Sam," I breathed. I shook my head, trying to comprehend. One of the first. "Sam, you're ancient."

He smiled sadly. "Does that scare you?"

I blinked in surprise, considering. "I don't think so. I mean, maybe?" Should it? "I don't think so. But, Sam, you were one of the first?"

"Yes."

"That fight... and the village turning on you? They tried killing you, over and over!"

He laughed humorlessly. "I know, I was there."

"Oh, Sam. I'm so sorry." I shook my head, grasping onto his hand. "What was that fight about?"

He squeezed my hand back. "A man had been coming on to my sister for months, making her feel unsafe. I stood up to him again and again, and one night, he got drunk and came after me with a knife. I fought in self-defense."

"Does this mean you're on the Council? Were you, like, a founding member?" I realized, mind racing.

He shook his head. "I participated for a long time, but I eventually left. 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 sigh. "The power we are granted as immortals is unnatural, and it is unfair. Everyone else, most immortals, they all take advantage of it. I am different—I do not like it, I do not enjoy 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 said. "He uses his power for his own personal gain."

"But Sam, you would never do that."

He surveyed 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," he pointed out petulantly. "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, grasping his hands tightly in excitement. "Tell me more."

We spent hours out there on his patio as the stars shone above us, 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 jazz loving speakeasy owner. He'd been a fisherman in the South of France, making an honest living for himself and Emile while Emile worked as the town doctor. He'd attended college with Roseanna before becoming a rancher in Montana. He'd been rich, he'd been 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, "I've experience lots of good things. But many bad things, as well."

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

"That is true," he agreed, pulling me close and resting his cheek on my head.

"Tell me about your family," I asked, immediately regretting it when his back went rigid. "I'm sorry," I apologized, pulling back to see his expression, "I didn't mean—"

"You know about my wife and children. But my parents, they 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. I had a propensity for laziness and being wrapped up in dreams, but they helped ground me and taught me how to work hard without losing myself."

"Did they become immortal, too?" I asked.

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

"And... they died?" I asked quietly, though I knew the answer.

He nodded. "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 whispered, worry evident in his voice.

"I know."

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

I nodded, wrapped my arms around his neck 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 made out for a long time. The panic that used to build in my blood stayed hidden, for which I was grateful.

"Come," Sam eventually said, standing up and taking my hands. "You owe more dances."