You lean against the doorway watching Sam as he flips through a pocket sized photo album you gave him for your second anniversary. A trace of a smile flashes over his face, unnoticeable to the untrained eye, before a sour grimace retakes his mouth.
He takes a breath, preparing himself and turns the page. It's another ridiculous photo of the two of you in front of the world's largest frying pan….one of the many memories involving shitty roadside attractions. He runs his fingers over a picture of your face, as if he can somehow pull the moment back to life.
His eyes flicker up and his chest falls at the sight of you. "Hey."
"Hey," You shoot back, shuffling towards him.
Sam slaps the book shut and holds it out to you. You don't move take it. "We were happy weren't we? For a while at least." He absentmindedly thumbs the thin wedding band around his ring finger.
"You should burn that thing." You ignore his question, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. "Trying to relive what we used to be isn't healthy, baby."
"I know." He ticks his jaw and looks away from you. Sam gets pissed when you talk about it.
"I'm dead, Sam…and you're keeping me here. I need you to let me go." You lean closer, careful not to touch him. "I don't want to spend eternity trapped in our bedroom."
"I'm not ready yet. I'm sorry." He doesn't look at you. Instead he stands up, grabs the album and walks out the door, pushing it shut behind him.