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"Don't, Luke. I know you have different ideas about morality with your 'people can't be stolen' bullshit. I know you don't want to think of your precious girlfriend as a heinous bitch who cheated."
"It has nothing to do with her."
Samantha shakes her head. "Fine. I don't care what you think or what your opinion is. I still feel awful."
I scoot closer to the bed. "Is that why you... tried again?"
She frowns, her eyebrows furrowing, her gaze on the ground. "I fucked up my life so badly. None of my friends speak to me anymore. I couldn't face them if I wanted to. Not when they know what I did."
I offer my hand, but she doesn't take it.
"They'll understand," I say.
"Don't, Luke. I don't want your empty encouragement. It only makes it harder when reality hits. I don't need you to lie to me and pretend like my friends don't hate me. Or like everyone at work doesn't think I'm a tramp."
Samantha blinks back a tear. She takes off her glasses and wipes her eyes with her free hand. I can't sit here. I need to do something. But a hug would be too much.
I hand her a tissue from the box on the counter. She nods a thank you, and pats her eye.
I keep my voice as steady and reassuring as I can. "I doubt anyone is thinking you're a tramp. Not unless you went back in time to the 1950s."
She cracks a smile. "You know what I mean."
I nod, and I wait for her to catch her breath.
The air is still so stale in here. And this room is so drab and ugly. Samantha pats her eyes dry. She offers a tiny smile as if to say she's okay. I know I should move past this subject, but I can't miss this opportunity.
I look her straight in the eye. "Why did you do it the first time?"
She bites her lip but she holds my gaze. "The weight of it was crushing me. It was the only thing I could feel. I wanted to stop feeling it, and I didn't know any other way I could do it."
It was my fault. I was distant. I was mean. Hell, I was an asshole. I had my reasons. It fucking hurt when she told me she was leaving me, and it hurt more when she crawled back to me after Edward dumped her. No, she didn't crawl back. She picked up the pieces, and I begged her to let me help. I begged her to give me another chance.
I begged her to let me help and then I didn't.
Her eyes are on me. Samantha wipes another tear from her eye. She scrunches the tissue into a tiny ball. "It's still killing me. You come here every month and you're so nice to me. I'm so happy when you're here, but whenever you leave, I keep thinking that I took something I didn't deserve. That I'm dragging you down, ruining your life. And the weight of that is so heavy."
"You tried again because of me?" I can't breathe. The air here is so stale. It's not moving. How the hell is anyone supposed to breathe like this?
She shakes her head. "That's only part of it."
Part of it. My friendship with Samantha is part of the reason why she tried to kill herself again.
There's no way to take this information, so I take a deep breath. I nod. I offer her my best smile, something that will convince her this is going to be okay.
She studies my expression. Her lips press together. Her hands press together. "It's not just you."
"But it's partly me?"
"No, I didn't mean... I'm sorry." She turns her gaze to the floor. "I have such long, empty days in that giant house. It's so lonely and the only respite is your visits. It hurts so much when you leave. It's like there's a weight in my chest and it's dragging me into the ground."
I bite my tongue. It's so ugly in here. So drab and gray and completely devoid of life.
"Luke, I... it's not your fault."
I nod. But it certainly sounds like it's my fault. Hell, it still feels like it's my fault. I reach for Samantha's hand, to offer her some kind of comfort. At least one of us should feel some kind of comfort.
She pushes me away. "I only wanted to feel light again. It was the only way."
