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I understand Sam is going through something awful and I’m trying not to take things personally, but I don’t know how much longer I can stand this. I’m miserable.
Saxon has learned to read me so well, and I’ve come to rely on him more than I thought I would. We’ve spent every waking minute together, as he hasn’t left my side. He’s been my one and only ally as both Kellie and Greg seem to be giving me the cold shoulder, too.
He takes a seat near me and sighs. “Lucy, it’ll get better.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No, I can’t, but I do know that something will give sooner or later—either Sam or you,” he wisely says. “Try and look at the positives.”
“There are no positives,” I refute.
Saxon runs a hand over his scruff, deep in thought. “He offered you an apple today without using your head as target practice.” I half smile.
What would I do without him? “Promise you won’t leave?” I selfishly ask.
Saxon’s chest rises and falls as he exhales steadily. “I promise,” he finally replies, and I smile, just like I always do whenever he’s around.
“Thanks, Saxon.” Without thinking, I shuffle over and give him a hug. He hugs me back and it feels nice that someone isn’t repulsed by my presence.
I stay pressed against him, thinking about how drastically my life has changed. What my future holds, I don’t know, but I hope Saxon will remain a part of it.
Just as I’m getting comfy, Saxon says, his lips pressed to the top of my head, “Now that that’s settled, next thing in order is for you to shower because you smell, well…a little ripe.”
His light tone reveals that he’s joking, and for once, in so many weeks, I laugh.
It feels good.
* * * * *
Four weekslater
“Okay, we’re all set.”
Even to my own ears, my voice sounds uneasy, strained. The past twenty-eight days have been trying, to say the least. But I persevered because that was the only way I knew I’d survive.
Saxon stayed true to his word, much to the horror of his mother. It’s true what they say that in times of crisis, people’s true colors emerge. Sadly, Kellie’s colors are that of the darkest kind. I was half expecting Saxon to up and leave; I wouldn’t blame him if he did, but he didn’t. He put up with Samuel’s daily outbursts and Kellie’s constant cattiness with ease. The more they barked, the less he cared and his carefree attitude soothed my bubbling hysteria.
Sam’s condition hasn’t improved; he’s still stuck—stuck not remembering who I am. And stuck being a complete jerk. Without Sophia’s encouragement, I dare say I would be close to giving up. She said Sam’s improving, but honestly, I think he’s getting worse.
He barely acknowledges me and when he does, I wish he didn’t. He’s short tempered, indifferent, and just plain rude. But then sometimes, I catch him watching me musingly. I know he’s lashing out in frustration because he can’t remember me. He knows that he should, but he doesn’t. I can only imagine how frustrating and scary it must be. But his mood swings are slowly driving me over the edge. I really can’t keep up with him. He really is two different people—the perfect Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. But remembering my almost vows, I don’t take his behavior personally because I know this isn’t Sam.
Zipping up his duffle, I smile, hoping the gesture displays my excitement at Sam coming home today. Whether he notices or cares, I don’t know, because he remains stone-faced and uninterested. “You ready to go home?” I ask, hoping for a signal other than this blankness.
He shrugs, turning to look out the window.
Counting to three, I remind myself of how hard this must be for him and don’t take his response to heart. “Well, I am,” I state, shouldering his bag. “I can’t wait for things to get back to normal.”
I refuse to believe that this staleness between us is our new normal.
Taking a moment to look at Sam, I still can’t believe he’s the same man he was weeks ago. Not only has his personality changed, so has his looks. He hasn’t bothered to shave nor groom his hair. The longer locks on both his face and head have him looking more like Saxon. His clothes are no longer conservative or chic, and when his mother asked if he wanted to wear his favorite green polo, he told her to burn it and any others just like it.
He now sits in ripped jeans, black Nikes, and a plain black t-shirt. He told me that I was to replace his entire wardrobe with items just like these. I did as he asked because I just wanted him home. However, now that the day has arrived, I’m not so certain on what I wished for.
“When is Sax coming back?” Sam asks, finally making eye contact.
Fiddling with the strap on the bag, I shrug. “He had to go back to Oregon to take care of a few things. He didn’t say when he’d be back.”
“Lucky him,” he mumbles under his breath. I do as Sophia says and brush off his lack of interest.
