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It would hurt Samara, but it would hurt less in the long runto do it now before either of them got any more attached than they already were. And it wasn't like he had much of a choice, his drinking would destroy them both if he let it, and he would never let anything hurt Samara.
Leaving the broken bottle on the floor, he headed to his bedroom, throwing a few clothes and his important papers into a suitcase. He picked up a framed photograph of him and Samara at her birthday party last spring. Just like she didn't really like Christmas, Samara wasn't a fan of birthday parties either, but he’d wanted to do something for her, so they’d thrown together a party complete with streamers and balloons, cake and ice cream, games and dancing, and dozens of presents.
Samara had laughed and smiled and enjoyed the night despite herself.
He wished he could go back to that day when everything had been fun and carefree.
Tossing the photo into the suitcase, he zipped it up, grabbed his keys, and headed out the front door.
Where he met Brady.
“What are you doing here? It’s five o’clock in the morning. Shouldn’t you be home with your pregnant wife?” Michael snapped. He’d made up his mind what he had to do, and he didn't want to risk anyone talking him out of it.
“You’re bailing.”
“I’m doing what has to be done.”
“You’re going to break her heart.”
Michael locked his front door, walked past his friend, and climbed into his car. Reversing down the driveway he drove off into the early morning. Snow swirled around the car, houses were all dressed up for tomorrow, it was Christmas Eve, and while most were preparing to celebrate the holidays with their families, he was walking away from his chance to have everything he had ever wanted.
He’d driven nearly a mile before he said softly, “I’m saving her. Saving both of us.”
*****
2:36 P.M.
Something curled around her wrist.
Dante.
It was Dante dragging her to her death just because he wanted to die.
The cold water lapped at her, sealing over her head like the lid of a coffin slamming closed.
The shock of the icy water had stolen her breath.
She’d tried to swim back up toward the water, but Dante was there, pulling her down, his hand locked around her ankle, his weight too much for her to fight against.
Samara tried to fight against it now.
She kicked her legs and clawed with her hands.
Panic grew inside her.
She didn't want to die.
She and Michael had only just found each other. She didn't want to lose the chance at happiness she had thought she would never have.
“Samara. Samara.”
Hands landed on her shoulders pressing her down as she tried to fight her way back to the surface.
She couldn’t breathe.
The water was going to kill her.
“Samara, it’s Fin. You’re okay, you’re just dreaming, you're in the hospital.”
