AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Sitting in the middle of the room is Sam and sitting around him, scattered all over our hardwood floor are my journals. There are piles surrounding him, the boxes they once sat in overturned. In his lap sits an opened journal, and when he meets my eyes, there is nothing but guilt reflected in his.
“W-what are you doing?” I stupidly ask because it’s fairly obvious that Samuel has no respect for me or my privacy.
He holds up my diary, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“You didn’t mean to read my dairy?” I offer when he draws a blank. “It just jumped off the dresser and into your lap?”
He doesn’t reply.
“You can’t do that, Sam. You can’t just read someone’s diary. Not cool. It’s an invasion of my privacy!” I think back to being in Saxon’s room some thirty seconds ago. I was presented with the same temptation, but I resisted. I respect Saxon. Sadly, Samuel doesn’t feel the same way about me. “And why are you even back here? You made it quite clear you couldn’t stand the sight of me yesterday.”
His silence angers me further.
“Now is the time you apologize for being a gigantic dick! But I guess apologies aren’t your strong suit. How many did you read?” I gesture with my chin towards my scattered memories.
“You love me,” he says in a dreamlike voice.
“I…what?” I reply, scrunching up my nose, confused, my anger coming to a screeching halt.
“You love me,” he repeats, waving my diary. “I’m sorry for reading it, but I can’t remember you, Lucy, and the diaries, they were just sitting there. I was curious. I’m also sorry for being a complete asshole to you yesterday.”
My mouth opens and closes like a stunned goldfish.
Why would he want an insight into my world? He made his feelings perfectly clear last night. How would my diaries be able to change his mind when I haven’t succeeded?
“If you had any questions about us, you should have asked, not resorted to snooping. I feel so violated,” I say, drawing my clothes up to cover my chest.
“I know. I’m sorry.” He places my diary on the floor and stands. He doesn’t move, however. We simply stand, staring at one another, waiting for the other to speak. But I don’t know what he wants me to say.
“It was so weird seeing myself, a self I cannot remember, through your eyes. I sounded like an all right kind of guy.”
“You were,” I affirm, sad we’re talking in past tense.
“So all that stuff, it really happened?”
“Yes, it really did.”
“Wow.” His eyes widen. “I can’t believe I didn’t take the scholarship. I know my grades were good enough.”
His comment has me cocking a brow. “You remember your grades?”
His mouth parts, appearing to be caught out and I don’t know why. “I just meant…” he quickly backtracks, rubbing the back of his neck, “that I know I was always a good student.”
That’s not what he meant and we both know it. Alarm bells sound in my ears and I don’t know why. Samuel wasn’t a great student. He was an exceptional basketball player, and good at math, but he wasn’t so good on the academic playing field. What am I missing? He did, however, do a lot better than I thought he would on the SATs. But if he put his mind to it, he could achieve anything.
But the reason why he didn’t accept the scholarship was because of his dad. Greg and Kellie made it crystal clear that his future was working on the farm with Greg. He didn’t want to disappoint them, so he finally caved. Saxon was the lucky one. He got out.
“I’m sure you read about why you didn’t accept the scholarship,” I sarcastically say. “I’m sure you read about a lot of things.”
My head begins pounding, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m angry or if my hangover has decided to rear its ugly head. Either way, I want a shower. But more so, I want to brush my teeth.
Remembering I’m standing in Saxon’s shirt, carrying my clothes as I crept down the hallway, I suddenly feel incredibly guilty. This emotional ping pong is sure to give me a nervous breakdown one day soon. “I’m going for a shower,” I announce, choosing to ignore the fact that I just came from Saxon’s bedroom.
Sam doesn’t seem to care either way as he nods, watching me stomp across the room. “Can I make you coffee?”
I trip over a discarded diary, almost bumping my head against the dresser. “Coffee?” I squeak.
“Yes, you know. The black, delicious smelling liquid that comes from little beans.”
