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Chapter Twenty
I could never forget Sam’s face.
Joe had held me back at a distance away from the crash site to spare me from having those images permanently imprinted in my memories. But it was far too late. Through blurred vision, I captured the sight of Sam’s blood-streaked face and memorized it. I called out Sam’s name over and over. He never moved. The louder I screamed, the tighter Joe held me. He tried to hide my face in his chest when the paramedics arrived. But I saw it all – from the moment when the medic checked on Sam’s pulse and shook his head negatively till they got Sam onto the stretcher, into the ambulance and drove away. I saw everything and it was all replaying in my head on constant repeat.
Until I saw him again.
I must have stood in the doorway of the hospital room for five minutes. Just staring. Just watching the steady spikes on the monitor and knowing Sam was alive.
My own heart began to beat fast again. This time, it wasn’t fear. It was relief – the same feeling I had at the crash site when they found his pulse amplified by a thousand times.
I approached the bed in slow steps and finally saw the extent of Sam’s injuries. His arm was bandaged and secured in a sling, his cheek and forehead were stitched in multiple places and one eye was heavily bruised.
Sam’s drowsy eyes blinked open as if he felt my presence.
I stopped at the foot of his bed. “You totalled your Benz.”
“So that’s what it had to take for you to come to see me, huh.” Even in his dozed-off state, Sam managed a tiny smirk. “How do you like my face today? Is it bluer than my eyes?”
“It’s not a good colour on you.”
“Got a more colourful bruise over my ribcage. One broken rib. I’d show you but I’m kind of wearing a dress.” He tugged a corner of the bedsheet covering him to expose his hospital gown.
But I wasn’t really into any jokes at that moment. “You shouldn’t have come here, not with an injured shoulder and intoxicated as you were. There are DUI charges against you now. You wrecked two parked cars. Luckily, no one was inside them and you didn’t hit any pedestrians. Joe has already contacted your lawyers.”
This time, Sam’s face was void of any humour. “I’m sorry if I scared you… With the accident… With my behaviour.”
Sam looked away. His attempt to hide the pain shrouded beneath his scars and beyond. That’s when I remembered the words he had said earlier. Those words had echoed in my ears all the while I was pacing in that dreadful waiting room.
Everyone’s gone. You left me. All of you.
“It’s the twins, isn’t it? They called you again?” The last I’d seen him this distraught was when he had that phone call from France.
Sam shook his head. “Icalledthem. I miss them so much. I miss everyone.”
This man had always left me in awe at how confident and resilient he was in anything he did. Yet there he was in front of me. The most broken man I’d ever seen. In his eyes, I could see the reflection of the pain that no medicine could heal. He was miserable enough that he just didn’t have the strength to hide it anymore. This man was lonely. He’d been lonely for years – without his parents, without his daughters, without a friend. And I, the person who was a friend too, had ditched him. And yes, I felt miserable at knowing I was part of the reason that led him to be in that hospital bed.
A teardrop escaped from between his droopy eyelid. I wiped it away with my thumb. “You should rest.”
“I can’t rest while you’re here.”
“Then I’ll visit you later.”
“No, I meant, you’re finally here. Please don’t leave. Stay here with me.”
Conceding to his plea, I nodded and reached for the nearby chair.
“Not there. My neck is frozen. I cannot crane enough to see you. I want to see you. Come closer.”
I moved to stand the closest to his bed, near him enough that he could look into my eyes without moving.
With the little force he had, Sam weaved his hand into mine. His face showed wrinkles of grief. “You left me without a goodbye. Two months, I’ve been longing to hear your voice. But you never answered my calls. You don’t even read any of my emails. Why?”
“Because I don’t want to.” Was my coward’s reply.
“Because if you heard my voice or read my words, you’d close your eyes and wish I was there with you. Because you’d remember what we had. And you’d miss me like I miss you.”
If only he could know how many times I touched over the bruises left from his last kisses on my flesh. Or know how much I cried when their traces on my skin disappeared. Whatever I did – ignoring him, trying not to think about him – I still missed him. Everyday.
