This is an edited re-post of a former story of mine under the name of Where to Begin which can be seen and read on my profile. I don't recommend those of you who haven't read it to go and read it – there's a reason why I went back to edit and redo sections. I changed the time line somewhat and tried very hard to make Griffin a tad bit harsher, but for those of you who spoke before of him being too soft, this is an origins story that takes place before the movie. I'm a strong believer that a person doesn't simply become a sarcastic asshole over night, there are reasons and people that make a person who they are. This is simply my take on how Griffin had and lost. Don't like, by all means, please don't feel obligated to read. However, I love your feedback and as is seen here, I take it into consideration. Please read, review, and most importantly – enjoy. Much thanks, RJL
Original Word Count: 6718
Edited Word Count: 9110
Songs to listen to while you read: The Girl – City & Colour, Eet – Regina Spektor, Rise – Azure Ray, Should You Return – Copeland, Passenger Seat – Death Cab For Cutie, Blown Away – Shiny Toy Guns
I own nothing but Samantha Marshall and the impact her life and death creates.
Blown Away
Will you still be there
With your heart boarded up
Nailed with my mistakes
Should I start giving up
Or am I too late
"You're cute."
It was probably the single worst thing a boy could ever say to a girl. You didn't get called cute and expect to collect any phone numbers. You didn't get called cute by a hot guy with expectations that you'd ever see him. Oh, no – getting called cute ruined a girl's dreams before they even had the chance to be imagined. Really, to be called cute after the age of about eleven was practically an insult! Nonetheless, he'd said it to me the first time we'd ever met with an almost adorable smile on his face before he turned and walked away, leaving me to clean up my mess of baby diapers in aisle eight.
We women never wanted 'cute'. Granted, at the tender age of (almost) sixteen, I wasn't really considered a real woman yet – but still, I was a little old for 'cute'. We wanted something more like 'beautiful' or 'gorgeous' and even better was 'stunning'. It felt like being thirteen again when a man called you 'cute'. You're cute' was something that an older brother would tell an annoying younger sister or an uncle to his niece as he ruffled her hair. 'You're cute' was not what you wanted to hear from a hot British guy right after you trip and fall on your ass, effectively making yourself look like a complete idiot in front of said hot Brit. Really, I would've rather he made fun of me more than simply calling me 'cute'. I felt like a puppy when people referred to me as cute.
Still, all I got that day from him was a single comment of cuteness laced with disinterest. He'd laughed at my lacking sense of balance and gone on his merry way without a single look back. In and out of my life in less than twelve seconds – a new record, I assure you.
Sometimes I look back on that late night and wonder what the hell it was that I saw in him. He was an ass, rude, and cynical. He was too cocky, too annoying, too self-assured. He made me love him when all I wanted to do was throw him out on his ass and laugh before slamming the door in his stupid puppy dog face. He was the guy that all the fathers hated and the mothers warned against but secretly loved just as much as their daughters did. He was nothing that would be good for me; wasn't anyone who would be remotely interested in me: a girl stuck working in a Wal-Mart at three in the morning.
He and I, we really had nothing in common. He was someone completely different than anyone I had ever met before. He had the devil-may-care look down pat, doted a leather jacket, and could swagger like no other. After I practically buried him in diapers in aisle eight, I figured that was it – I'd never see this annoying boy again in my life. He had a British accent, so he wasn't from around, which meant that once he left my stocking isle, he was gone for good. Did I really expect to see his hot little self ever again? Nope.
Eight months later, he was back again.
"Still here, are you?"
Sam nearly dropped the stack of Malibu Barbies that were precariously balanced on top on of one another in her arms upon hearing the sound of his voice. She turned after hurriedly pushing the Barbies on to the shelf to see him standing at the end of the aisle. He was leaning against the shelves and looked no different than the last night she had seen him. Stupid smirk, check. Leather bad-ass jacket, check. Hot bod, check. Yeah, he was all there.
"Jesus Christ, don't do that," she said, climbing to her feet and brushed off her jeans. It was four in the morning and Stan, her shift manager, was in the crafts section on the other side of the store. There were a few other guys on the clock, but everyone was pretty well spread out for stocking. She didn't know who the good looking British man was or what he was doing only a few feet away from her, but it was a tad bit unnerving.
"Can I help you with something?" Sam asked when he didn't say anything for a few moments. His intense gaze made her squirmy.
The man, who really wasn't much of a man at only a couple years older than herself, nodded his head and pushed himself off the shelf almost lazily. "Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm lookin' for some hair dye?"
Letting out a small relieved sigh, Sam shook her head with a smile. Hair dye was harmless; no way this kid could be a serial killer; he probably just wanted to dye his hair black or something to look more scene. Or maybe he had dreams of being like Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Either way, there was no way he could kill her with hair dye.
"You're on the wrong side of the store, buddy." She kicked a few broken down cardboard boxes out of her way and motioned him to follow her. "C'mon, I'll show you."
He flashed her a thankful smile and followed her across the deserted store. The short walk was relatively silent, which was fine by Sam. She rounded a corner and stopped, waving her hand in a ta-da fashion. "Hair dye happy land," she said with a small smile. The guy took one look at the dozens of choices and let out a low whistle.
"Well then, this complicates things," he muttered, striding past Sam as he started looking at the different brands and colors. He took a wide look at everything and grabbed the first box closet to him at random. "That'll do."
With a snort, Sam walked over at looked curiously at the selection he'd made and nearly burst out laughing at the box he held. "Superstar Orange?"
The guy just smirked at her before he looked down and frowned. "Bugger that. Find a different one."
"Smart choice," Sam answered with a nod of her head.
She walked down the aisle with interest, looking at the different shades and colors as the guy stood planet in front of the same section. She'd never had the guts to dye her hair before; it was one of the many things her mom had made clear would get her kicked out of the house. She never understood why either, it wasn't like her dull blond hair was anything to be proud of. Picking up a bottle of dark brown hair dye she held it up to a section of her hair before shaking her head and putting it back on the shelf.
"So, what kind of thing are you trying to get here?" she asked before clarifying. "What image are you going for, I mean."
He looked at the boxes of dye and shrugged his shoulders. He grabbed another bottle off the shelf and slowly put it back. "Just – different, you know?" He shot her a sideways look as he reached for another box. "I'm getting of tired of looking in the mirror every morning and seeing a bloke I don't like much. Figured changing what I see might help some."
Sam stared at him for a moment, taken aback by his blatancy. "Well," she said slowly, looking at him carefully as she picked up a box, "what about the stuff on the inside? Doesn't that kinda need to change for you to really, I dunno, become whoever it is that you'll like?"
"Theoretically speaking, yeah," he answered. "But it's not the inside I'm worried about right now."
She wasn't sure to make of that and said nothing in response. They fell into a silence as they perused the aisle.
"Okay, I need your opinion," the guy stated after a few minutes. Sam turned and looked at where he stood; a box of dye was in each hand and a look of pure seriousness on his face. Holding up both bottles he said, "Onyx or Midnight Black?"
Sam took a few steps forward and looked at the bottles, trying to determine whether or not he was being serious. A look at his face told her he was. She let out a small laugh and grinned at him, "You do know they're practically the same color, right?"
"Wha-" the boy held up the bottles to the light, trying to see if she was right. He lowered them a few seconds later, an almost embarrassed look on his face. "That simplifies things," he muttered, putting back the Midnight Black onto the shelf. Sam shook her head in amusement and headed down the isle, intent with going back to stocking up on Barbie dolls. "Thanks for the help," the guy called after her.
She stopped and turned around with a shrug. "No prob, it's part of the job."
The boy nodded his head. "I'm Griffin, by the way," he said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, the box of dye tucked beneath his arm and pressed against his leather jacket. He leaned towards her with a look of some what patience. Sam hesitated for all of about 2.3 seconds. He didn't look like a pedophile. Then again, that BTK killer had dozens of people that claimed he was a nice guy, too. But it wasn't like she was going to tell him her address and social security number; just her name.
"Sam," she replied. Griffin nodded again and leaned back on the heels of his shoes. He gave a short wave as he started to back away from her down the aisle.
"Pleasure meeting you, Sam."
Griffin disappeared again for over a year. Over time I stopped day dreaming during class about the Brit looking for hair dye. I got over my phase of trying to figure him out while trying to fall asleep. I rid my mind of my theories of who he was. Out went the Internet print outs on vampires and serial killers and with them went the boy himself – out of sight, out of mind. Though I still couldn't hang out with Alex and watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer without thinking of him. Stupid Brit ruined my favorite show.
Nothing of great importance happened during the first year. My parents finally got fed up with each other and cut the knot that once tied them together. I really didn't mind much, not a whole lot changed with the divorce. Dad hadn't been living at home for months anyway and Mom was almost always at work. Same old, same old. Once I graduated from high school and turned eighteen, things started to change. For one, I dyed my hair.
Really, most would think that a simple dying of hair wouldn't be enough for make a mother stop loving her daughter, but apparently it could. Three hours after I dyed it adark auburn color, I was on the street with all my belongings piled up around me following a large mother-daughter screaming match. Isn't it funny how once you gather all your possessions together and dump them on a sidewalk, you start to realize how very little you own. Or maybe it was sad. Probably more sad than funny. It made for easy hauling though, having that little to worry about.
I bummed around a couple friend's houses before I finally settled in with my close friend, Marcie. She'd already moved out of her parent's house and going in on an apartment with a few of her older friends in the city. No one minded another person to pitch in on the rent, and I practically jumped at the chance. It wasn't quite as glamorous as I'd thought it would be, living on my own. Freedom was nice all the same. Plus, Wal-Mart loved having me full time.
It was every little girl's dream, I'm pretty sure. Graduate from high school with hopes of going on to college just to be dumped on the street by your mother and learning that dreams sometimes never turn into anything more and that sometimes you have to work at Wal-Mart full time to pay your rent. Yeah, every little girl's dream.
2005 wasn't an easy year, for anyone. One of our roommates died of a meth overdose in September and a few months later another one disappeared. Marcie said it was a waste of time looking for her, but she and I spent the next week posting ads in the paper and pasting signs to every pole in the nine block radius around our building. Nothing ever showed and why would there? To the rest of the world she was only one missing girl. It didn't matter that to the rest of us left behind that one of our closet friends – a member of our little make-shift family – was gone. There wasn't a funeral for Cara or even a service of any kind. Even if there had been, all we and her real family would have been burying was an empty casket and none of us could bear to do that.
By the time the new year rolled around, it was just Marcie and I in the apartment that we'd once shared with four others. By the time I saw Griffin again, I was surprised that either one of us recognized the other. By the time I saw him, I was surprised I recognized myself. During that year, I finally started to understand what he'd meant when he talked about not liking the person staring at him in the mirror. I understood him all too well.
"I swear to God, if you do not shut the hell up about your gross and disgusting sexcapades right now, I'm going to move out the second we get home," Sam groaned out, an annoyed look on her face as she took a sip of her Starbucks venti iced mocha. The girl across from her, who was a few years older, laughed hilariously and shook her head furiously.
"No way in hell, kiddo. Way too much fun to watch you squirm," Marcie said while taking a large gulp of her own coffee drink. She swallowed her hot drink and glanced down at the watch on her wrist. Letting out a curse, Marcie jumped to her feet, grabbing her coffee cup as she went.
"I gotta dash, sorry girl," she explained as Sam stayed seated. "Work calls, the stupid skank."
She watched in amusement as Marcie struggled to keep a hold on her paper cup while trying to pull on her puffy white coat. It made her look like a marshmallow; Sam had informed her friend many a time of just that fact. With a mad wave Marcie dashed out of the coffee shop as quickly as her stiletto heels and pencil skirt would allowed her. Same shook her head with a small laugh and finished off her coffee before pulling on her own coat, a black pea coat that did not make her look like a marshmallow, and took her time leaving the warm shop. It was nearing the end of January but the cold had yet to let up in the slightest.
Breaking out onto the New York City streets, she flipped her bag over one shoulder and headed for the apartment. She took the subway home and fifteen minutes later she was climbing the final three steps to her hallway. Stopping short at the sight of a slumped over character leaning against her door, Sam nearly dropped her keys. There was a man in her doorway. A random man that she had never seen before, sitting – or sleeping, rather – in the way that was her door. Why was there a random hobo in her doorway? Why, today of all days, did there have to be a stinky man in her doorway.
All she wanted to was go to sleep in her nice comfy bed and then maybe move to the couch and sleep there too. Before having meeting with Marcie for their bi-weekly coffee date, Sam had just finished with a back to back shift at Wally World. She'd had to work through the night and catch a subway back from Secaucus into the city in time to make it to coffee. She was tired, probably smelly, and was in desperate need of a foot massage. For some reason she highly doubted the hobo in her doorway would give her one, either. No, this stupid and equally smelly man needed to leave.
She stomped over to the sleeping man, rather quietly in reality – she didn't want to piss off a sleeping axe murderer in the scenario where the hobo sleeping before her was really an axe murder. Which was unlikely, but still. Sam pulled out her keys and slowly crept up to the man. Leaning forward she sniffed the air. Surprisingly, he didn't smell that bad and wasn't terrible looking. She leaned back onto her heels and stared. Marcie always had guys chasing after her, but this was the first time one of them had pitched camp in front of their doorway. He had a bag on the floor next to him and was using the door frame as a makeshift pillow. He really didn't even look that hobo-ish. Odd.
Letting out an annoyed sigh, Sam reached out and kicked his foot, none too gently. All she got in reply was a snort as the man turned over and snuggled deeper into his leather jacket. "Annoying little hobo," she muttered, squatting down in front of him and waved a hand in his face. Getting no results with her waves and kicks, she sighed again. She just really wanted to go to sleep. "Hey, bucko! Wake up!" she said, poking him in the chest. Nothing.
"Wake up!" she tried again, louder this time with a harsher prod. Still nothing. "God, I hate you," she muttered, more to herself than the still sleeping man. "Really, I hate you. Lots of hate for you right now, mister." She poked him a few times as she spoke. "I'm trying to be nice here. I'm not even calling the coppers on you, okay? I promise not to call you a freak," -poke- "or a crazy or send you back to the circus," -poke- "if you wake up," -poke- "right," -poke- "now!"
A slap to the man's face followed the last word. She managed to lean away from the sleeping figure in time to avoid being clocked in the face as the man jumped awake and flailed around in surprise. Sam gave a satisfied nod of her head and stood back up, staring down at the half awake man in annoyance. "You're in my way."
The man looked up to her with a groggy face, looking confused. "You're taller than I remember," he said, an accent evident in his speech as Sam stared at him in a slight amount of shock. Griffin looked down at himself, and an almost comical look of dawning came on his face. "Oh, on the floor. Right then." Climbing to his feet slowly, he looked between himself and a speechless Sam and nodded his head. "Much better," he said and stuck out a hand, "Griffin. We've met before."
Sam looked at him, still in slight shock, and noticed his out stretched hand. Grabbing it with her own, she shook it slowly. "You're at my apartment."
Griffin smiled slightly and nodded, pulling back his hand. "Some guy named Mike told me where you lived. I was hopin' to talk with you about something." He rubbed the back of neck a bit sheepishly. "I called, but no one answered."
"Right," Sam answered, staring at him like he was from another planet, still in awe that he was standing in front of her apartment door. He smirked lightly and waved a hand in front of her face, instantly jolting her back to the present. She coughed awkwardly. "Right! Inside we go."
"Good idea," Griffin said, still smirking as he moved out of the way for Sam to unlock her door. He picked up his duffel and followed her into the apartment, shutting the door behind them. The interior of the apartment wasn't quite what he was expecting, with the dull gray walls and only a few pieces of furniture scattered in the main room. He had a feeling that Sam hadn't had much say in the decorating, or lack thereof. "Nice place," he called as Sam disappeared down a hall and he dropped his bag on the cold linoleum.
Her laugh echoed out of the hall at his words and she had a grin on her face when she reappeared, box of cereal in hand. Rolling her eyes, she plopped onto the only couch in the room and motioned him to join her. "My roommate isn't one that cares about the furniture," Sam explained as Griffin threw himself onto the couch next to her and grabbed a handful of Chex. "I don't ever bring people over much and I'm never home, so I could care less. The guys she brings over really aren't here to see the furniture, either."
Griffin stuffed the handful of Chex into his mouth and chewed slowly. "Sounds like a nice girl," he commented once he swallowed and threw Sam a sidelong glance, to which she just laughed.
"Great girl, stupid brain," she replied, thoughtfully eating her handful of cereal. She shook her head and looked back to Griffin, who was happily munching down on his snack. "But, that's not really important, is it? You said you needed to talk with me?"
"You look different," he said instead, blowing off her questions easily. He raked his eyes over her form with a thoughtful gaze, starting at her hair and working all the way down to her purple painted toe nails. "Must be the hair. You don't look like a bucket of dirty water got dumped on your head anymore."
She scoffed and shook her head defensively. "I never looked like that before, thank you very much. But yes, I dyed it a couple times since you last saw me." She looked at his mop of shaggy light brown hair and frowned. Pointing at it, she shook her head. "You aren't exactly look 'Onyx' yourself, buddy."
"It got old, wanted something new," he replied with a one shouldered shrug. He paused for a moment before shooting her a quick yet serious glance."So, how you been, Sam?"
"Been alright, actually," she said. "Not a lot to report on. Parents got a divorce, graduated school, moved up here with a friend. I still work at Wal-Mart, but you already knew that."
"But, you're alright? Nothing's bad happened since I saw you?" he asked, waving his hand in the air. "No one's given you any trouble?"
Sam looked at him for a moment and shook her head. "Nope, no trouble. Why?"
"Good." The Brit nodded his head and continued to eat his cereal, ignoring her question again. He propped his feet up onto the milk crates that served as a coffee table and leaned back into the couch comfortably. "I have a question for you. Well, it's more like a proposition, really."
Sam looked at him oddly, not understanding. "Okay. Uh, what's your proposition?"
"I need a place to crash," he said, not wasting any time at all.
"Why?" She looked at him suspiciously. "You kill someone? Broke out of jail? Mommy finally got tired of her twenty something year old son mooching off her?" She fired the questions at him while skillfully continuing to munch on her cereal. He looked at her for a moment, sincerely wondering if she was crazy as she stared back at him with a painfully serious look upon her face. "What? I don't want some mass-murdering-jail-break-dead-beat-momma's-boy living with me as a roommate. I'm sure you understand."
He continued to stare at her, his mouth open and showing the cereal half eaten within.
"What?" she asked again, looking a little bit embarrassed.
"Nothin', you're just a bloody insane woman, is all – caught me off guard." He laughed and rubbed a hand over his face, still grinning. "No, I didn't kill anyone. I've never been in jail before. My mum's dead, along with my da, killed in an automobile accident when I was just a kid. I don't own a gun and blood freaks me out. And I'm only nineteen, not twenty something." He grabbed another handful of cereal and stuffed it into his mouth. She stared at him, not knowing where to start but he didn't give her a chance to speak. "I moved down here to stay with a mate of mine but something came up last minute and it didn't work out. I was already down here and I liked what I saw, so I've been bumming my way for a couple weeks now. Thought it'd be nice to have an actual bed though for once."
"And you went to my place of occupation because why?"
"Wal-Mart's cheap." He shrugged nonchalantly. "I needed shampoo and I saw you working."
She looked at him. "Why didn't you just talk to me then?"
"I had a place to stay then," he said. "And I didn't even know if you'd remember me at all. Didn't wanna freak you out by going up to you and starting a conversation."
"But it isn't weird to show up on my doorstep a year after our last conversation?"
He looked at her. "Didn't have anywhere else to go."
She stared at him for a moment before she let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through her hair. "Get my roommate on board and you can stay as long as you want," she said, reaching out and grabbing the television remote. She flipped it on to stunned silence and glanced over to see Griffin looking at her in complete surprise.
"You're serious?"
She nodded her head while flipping through the boring channels, settling on the History Channel. "You get Marcie to agree on it and I don't care how you stay as long as you pay your portion of the rent."
A wide grin came over his face. "I love you, Sam. Have I ever told you that?"
"Nope, you haven't. It's nice to know I'm appreciated though, thanks." She gave him a smile.
"Well, I love you Sam-Insert-Last-Name-Here," he said again, settling happily back into the couch and munched on another handful of cereal.
"Marshall," she supplied absentmindedly, flipping the channel again when the program turned out rather dull.
"Samantha Marshall, I like it," Griffin said. He watched the cartoon that Sam had settled on and relaxed into the couch fully.
"What about you?" she asked.
"O'Connor."
"You should write that down so I can go get a background check on you tomorrow," she said. There was a silence as Griffin stared at her before she snorted and waved a hand. "I'm just pulling your leg, silly Brit."
Griffin reached over and flicked her ear. "Blooming American."
Yes, I was completely crazy for letting him stay with me. Yes, I'd met him twice over the course of a year and I was letting the man move in with me. Yes, I was crazy, insane, and certifiably ready to go to the nut house. What could I say? I trusted the guy. I don't know why, but I did. Still, six months later, I was alive and Griffin had yet to strangle me in my sleep. Three points to the man for that accomplishment.
A few hours after I'd agreed to let Griffin stay, Marcie came home from work and practically had an aneurysm at the sight of him. It took her all of ten seconds to agree on letting him stay. He slept on our lumpy couch that first night but the next day was my day off and together we cleared out Cara's room, which we'd been using for storage. He made himself at home in no time since he had so little things with him. He got a job within the first week and normally came home a little after I did when I worked the day shift. When the rent was up the next month he came with his share and that was all that mattered. Karl, our landlord, gave me a funny look when I handed him the payment on time for the first time in months. I just gave him a smile and climbed back up the stairs to our apartment.
As it would turn out, Griffin turned out to be a pretty great roommate. The boy didn't smoke, snore, leave his trash around the apartment, or make us do his laundry for him. He even managed to get Marcie to quit smoking after three straight weeks of nagging. Sometimes, Griffin reminded me of my mother, in an almost frightening way. Then he'd go and do something completely childish and stupid, like make five boxes worth of green Mac n' Cheese for Dr. Seuss's birthday and demand that I eat it with him, even though it's completely disgusting and inedible. But did he really care?
Not in the slightest, which made me love him.
Marcie moved out a couple months after Griffin moved in to go live with her new beau, Richard, who lived in Brooklyn. They'd come over a couple times a week to visit and she and I still still did our bi-weekly coffee meets. I kept my job at Wally World, simply because I was actually making decent money. Between the two paychecks Griffin and I got we managed to redo the apartment with new paint in all the rooms, some real furniture in the common area, and even sprung for a freezer for the abundance of ice cream we went through every week.
Everything in life was going better for me than it ever had before. Then Murphy's Law decided to come and knock on our spiffy little front door. That was when everything went to pieces.
"Coffee Mocha Brigade."
"Mint Chocolate Chip."
"Rocky Road."
"Reeses?"
Griffin looked in the shopping cart before nodding to Sam. "Check."
Letting out a sigh, Sam jutted out her hip and leaned heavily on her left foot, staring at the ice cream section of the cold foods. She read all the labels and frowned disgustingly at the Pineapple Peach Twist and looked back at Griffin. "I think we're good."
"About bloody time," Griffin groaned, he leaned on the shopping cart heavily and slowly started pushing it towards the check out lines. "Our poor little Gary won't be able to handle this much junk, Sammy."
"Bah, nonsense you goofy Brit," Sam teased as she stacked carton after carton of ice cream on to the treadmill runway to the cashier. "Gary can handle anything!"
He flashed her a disbelieving look but didn't argue with her. He almost never won. "What movies we watching tonight?" he questioned, moving around the cart to help stack more cartons and other items on to the runway. Sam paused in her stacking and shrugged.
"No clue, maybe whatever's playin' on cable?"
"Works for me," he agreed, pulling out his wallet to pay the man behind the counter. The man stared at him for a few moments before accepting his money and Griffin shot him an off look before thanking him and threaded his arm through Sam's, pulling her away from the flower cooler.
"They had pretty flowers!" she protested sullenly as he pushed a bag into each of her hands before linking arms again.
"You have flowers at home, Sam," he reminded her as they crossed the street.
"I think they died," she muttered, pulling him towards their building quickly with a shiver. The December air was freezing and they'd both left their coats in the apartment for the ice cream run. She buzzed them in and kicked open the door for Griffin and nearly ran up the flight of stairs to their apartment. "Jesus Christ, it's freezing out there."
Griffin watched in amusement as Sam attempted to unlock the door with shaking hands, and after a few failed tries, he gently took the keys from her. "Move it," he said, unlocking the door on the first try and pushed open the door. Sam sped past him, dumped her bags on the kitchen counter and dive bombed on to the couch, covering herself with the blankets instantly. He laughed and put away the groceries, except for the Coffee Mocha Brigrade and grabbed two spoons out of the drawer before joining her on the couch.
She'd already turned on the television and was flashing through the channels when he nudged her over and climbed under the blankets with her. He offered a spoon and dug into the ice cream, watching dizzily as Sam tried to find something decent to watch. She settled on a showing of X-Men on FOX, and Griffin couldn't help but find the irony of her decision. Of course she would pick the movie about people with special powers.
Sam didn't know about Griffin's 'abilities' or anything truthful about his past. He decided before he even came to New York looking for her that the less she knew about him, the better. He'd managed to keep his past under wraps for nearly a year and a half, and he really didn't have any plans to change that anytime soon. Roland was off his back since he hadn't Jumped since coming to New York and staying with Sam, so as far as Griffin was concerned, everything that happened before sixteen months ago was nothing more than a very bad dream.
He was perfectly content with being normal for now.
"I love this movie," Sam whispered as the beginning credits started to roll. She took a huge bite of the ice cream and watched the movie intently as Griffin took that moment to watch her.
If there was ever a thing called love, this is what he thought it would be. Ever since the day when Sam had nearly killed him in an attack of diapers, he'd known she was different. Of course, that had been when Roland and his little soldiers were still on his ass 24/7, so he'd had to leave only moments after meeting her. When he managed to lose the Paladins again, his first stop was to see her. He hadn't known what to say to her, so he just asked for help to the hair dye. She'd laughed at him at his choice of dye the first time around, and he still had the box she'd helped him pick the second time.
Again, he'd had to leave her again to keep her safe, to keep her alive. But when Dane was killed along with Zak and Jessica, Griffin knew it was time to truly run and hide. He couldn't beat the Paladins no matter how hard he fought or how many of them he killed. So he ran – to her. It had been the stupidest thing he'd ever done, but in the end, the thing that made him the most happy.
A knock on the door pulled Griffin out of his thoughts as Sam mumbled that she'd get it. He paused the movie and glanced at the clock. He frowned, wondering who would be coming by at 1:34 in the morning. With a sigh, he climbed to his feet and yawned, heading for the kitchen for a glass of water. It was probably no one.
Sam looked through the peephole in the door and frowned, not recognizing either of the two men on the other side at all. Not bothering to undo the slider chain, she opened up the door with a yawn. "Can I help you?"
The two men exchanged glances as Sam looked them up and down nervously. She didn't like the looks on their faces. They were the type that looked like they were caught with their hands in the cookie jar and couldn't give a hoot about it. One of the men had his hand stuffed inside his jacket and wasn't paying much attention to her, but rather past her and inside her apartment. Sam closed the door slightly as the taller of the two men took a step forward.
"We're looking for Griffin O'Connor," he said in a low voice. "Your landlord said you two were living together. We need to speak with him, right away. "
Sam shrugged her shoulders. "I kicked him out a week back, haven't seen his cheating self since."
The man looked over at his cohort briefly before looking back to Sam. "Do you have any ideas where we might find Mr. O'Connor? It's of the greatest importance that we contact him."
"No clue, might wanna check some of the bars down on eighteenth, it's where he almost always is," Sam said snidely before slamming the door in the two men's faces. She quickly locked all four of the dead bolts and backed away from the door, heart thumping loudly.
"What the bloody hell was that about? No need to beat the door, Sammy, the bloke didn't do a thing to you."
Sam whirled around to see Griffin standing in the kitchen doorway, glass of water in hand and a look of bemusement on his face."Who was at the door?"
She stared at him for a moment, debating whether to tell him or call the police. Possibly both. "Two guys were looking for you. I'm pretty sure that one of them was packing a heater. Do you have the sudden need to explain anything to me, Griff? 'Cause right about now would be a pretty damn good time."
"We need to leave," he muttered, completely ignoring Sam as he ran through the apartment and threw open his bedroom door. Sam followed behind him in confusion, watching as he pulled his beat up duffel from beneath his queen sized bed and started throwing things into it. It took him only a few seconds for him to nearly empty the contents of his room into the teeny looking duffel and Sam could only watch in pure confusion.
"What are you doing?" she asked, following him through the apartment as he grabbed random things and stuffed them into his bag. "Griffin, tell me what's going on!"
The Brit continued to ignore her as he ended up in the kitchen and grabbed a chair, pushed it against the fridge and climbed onto it. Opening up the cupboard over the fridge, he pulled stack after stack of bills – money. Sam stopped her movement at the sight of all the money now being stuffed hazardously into Griffin's duffel.
"Where did you get that?"
Griffin glanced up at her, acknowledging her for the first time and quickly looked away. "Work."
"You made all that money at work? What the hell kind of work do you do? Rob banks on the days that end in y?" A disbelieving look came over Sam's face as she let out a scoff. "What the hell is it doing above our fridge?"
"I had to put it somewhere safe," he replied. He walked across the kitchen and started throwing food from the other cupboards into his bag.
"That's what they made banks for, Griffin. So you can put all your money in a vault and not above our refrigerator!"
He shrugged, re-zipped his duffel and hefted it off the counter. "Banks can be broken into."
"So can our home!" Sam yelled, watching helplessly as he strode past her and into her room. She let out an aggravated yell and followed him. He was pulling things out of her dresser and closet, throwing clothes left and right onto the floor. She noticed he was only putting her plain clothes, jeans and single colored shirts, into her own suitcase along with lots of hats and sweatshirts. "Griffin, what the hell are you doing? Please, just talk to me! Tell me what's going on! What are you doing?"
"I'm packing," he said, throwing more things onto the floor and took a step back before dashing forward and zipped up her suitcase. He pushed it into her hands as he sped by and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her along with him. "We have to leave, now. As in, right now eight-minutes-ago-now. "
Sam let out a laugh and dropped the suitcase on the ground and wretched her arm away from him. Griffin looked back at her almost pleadingly and reached down, grabbed the suitcase and pushed it back into her hands. She shook her head and backed away, crossing her arms. "What the hell is going on, Griffin. Where did you get all that money? What is with the guys sitting outside our door? What is going on?"
Griffin looked at her quickly before looking just above her head. "I can't tell you," he said, almost too softly for Sam to hear. She gave him an incredulous look and snorted.
"Then I'm not going anywhere with you, I'm sorry. Until you tell me the truth, I'm not going anywhere with you and there's nothing you can do to make me." Her chest was heaving with a combination of fear, a sense betrayal, and pure confusion. She didn't understand for a moment what was going on.
A silence hung in the air after she finished yelling, and Sam almost wished that Griffin would just tell her it was nothing, that nothing was wrong, and that everything really would be okay. She was caught off guard when Griffin started laughing, softly at first until he was having a full fledged giggle fit. Sam watched him, starting to think that she'd been living with a crazy serial killer after all. He let out a high whistle and rubbed a hand over his face, turning away from her briefly.
Looking back at her, his face was serious. "Do you trust me?"
She was silent for a moment before answering. "Should I?"
He didn't hesitate like she had. "No."
The look of pure seriousness and honesty on Griffin's face shocked Sam much more than his answer did. He flashed her a small smile. "But it sure as bloody hell would help a lot right now if you did."
Sam nodded her head almost instantly. "Yeah, I trust you."
A full flown grin burst on to his face and he nodded in agreement. "Good."
She didn't have a chance to say or do anything else before Griffin picked up their bags, one in each hand, and disappeared in front of her eyes. One moment he was there, and then the next, he and all their stuff, was gone. Sam knew her eyes were probably the size of saucers as she took a step forward and reached out a shaking hand to where Griffin had been only moments before. She waved it around like a maniac, hoping that maybe he was only invisible and not completely and truly gone.
A sense of complete and undiluted panic came over her as her hand met nothing but air. Griffin was gone. Her heart started beating faster and faster as the information was processed through her overstimulated brain. It was late, she had a slight sugar rush from their large intake of ice cream, and she suddenly had the sickening feeling that she was going to die. Her hands shook, her body froze, and she simply stood with a hand outstretched and touching air. Not the solid body of Griffin, but air.
The loud knock on the front door drew Sam's attention away from Griffin's disappearing act and she shook her head vigorously before taking a step towards the door. About three steps away from the door, Griffin appeared in front of her and wrapped his arms around her waist, scaring the hee-bee-gee-bees clean out of her. Her arms instantly went around his neck as he hugged her to him and her heart threatened to flat line completely. Her face was firmly placed beneath his chin and she could hear his heart beating at a surprisingly steady rate.
"I need you to trust me, Sammy," Griffin mumbled, his voice muffled by her hair as he buried his head in it. Sam didn't trust her voice enough to answer, so she simply nodded her head and closed her eyes just as the front door burst open and their feet left the ground.
I nearly died of fright the first time Griffin jumped us out of our apartment. I didn't like having my feet off the ground, ever. Even as a kid I hated to sit in the swings if my Dad was pushing me because he always got me too high up in the air and I thought I was going to fall to a horrible death. Having Griffin jump us was the weirdest, most adrenaline inspiring things I ever experienced in my life. And it scared the living crap out of me.
Granted, when we landed in a cave in the middle of seemingly nowhere, I was a little ticked. We had a three hour fight, in which I learned everything there was to know about Griffin and all the lies he'd fed me the past sixteen months. Was I mad? Beyond human comprehension. Though, eventually, I had to forgive the annoying Brit since everything he lied about had potentially saved my life from the wretched Paladins that had been waiting in the wings the entire time. So, while he had technically lied about everything, I still had to love the man for everything he'd done.
We managed to hide out in Griffin's little lair for a few days before they found us. I really wasn't that surprised by their arrival. From everything that Griffin had told me, it was really only a matter of time before they sniffed us out. I had also resigned myself to the fact that when they did find us, I was going to die.
I didn't share these thoughts with Griffin, who had already lost everyone dear and close to him to the Paladins, but I knew that it was the most likely outcome. It seemed like the Paladins were ordered to go after family members and friends before the actual Jumpers, to make them emotionally wounded and more vulnerable. As far as I knew, I was the only person close to Griffin who was still alive. That made me a prime target. And shockingly, it didn't scare me nearly as much as it probably should have.
It wasn't that I welcomed death, per say, because I most definitely did not welcome it. In fact, it wasn't welcome at all. I shut my door, locked it, and boarded it up in the face of death – it wasn't welcome one single bit. Death and I were not friends, but neither were we enemies. It scared me but not to extent that I would fight to the ends of the earth to avoid it if it meant I could save someone in the process of losing my life.
Maybe it was the knowledge of knowing that even if I did die, Griffin would still be alright. He would mourn, kill a few of the bastards, and then move on with his life. How did I know this? Because I knew him. He was a whole hell of a lot stronger than I was, and he would be able to pick up where he left off, before me. My death would be the end of my story, but only be a small chapter in his. As horribly morbid as it sounded, it made knowing that my death was soon to come easier to bear.
I never told Griffin my doubts and lack of fear. He was set on keeping me alive, which I was grateful. I didn't want to say out loud what both of us already knew. It was going to happen, whether we wanted it to or not. He knew it and I knew it. The countdown had begun long before we knew it had. It was only a matter of time.
It happened so quickly that neither Griffin nor Sam had time to register that they were being attacked. It was nothing like that had ever happened to Griffin before. There was no warning – no nothing that could have given him enough time to save her. He had to admit that the Pallies were getting smarter, not bothering to even come in person. But really, how was he supposed to save her from a litter of grenades thrown through his jump scar? It happened when he jumped back from Florence after knocking a few heads together, and they'd thrown the grenades in behind him. It was cowardly, but effective. Deadly effective.
Sam was thrown into a wall during the explosion, and it crumbled down on top of her, pinning her between the cold concrete floor of the lair and that of the debris. She had to lay pinned there for nearly an hour, waiting for Griffin to regain consciousness. He'd been thrown in the explosion and a rock from the ceiling had come crashing onto his head, knocking him out cold. It was the longest 53 minutes of her life. By the time Griffin came to, Sam was nearing her own ending.
He could still see the blood pooled around her as he stumbled through the debris and fallen walls, calling out her name in search of her. She tried to call back to him, but couldn't gather enough strength. Eventually, he found her himself and nearly stumbled at the sight of her. He jumped to her side, instantly grabbing her battered and bloody hand with his own.
"Hey Sammy," he said, looking down at her half closed eyes and brushed away a stray piece of blond hair. She didn't say anything in return, just stared up at him with her green eyes painfully. He could see where her tears had already washed trails through the dust and grim on her face and he involuntarily tightened his grip on her hand. "I'm so sorry, Sammy," he whispered.
Sam shook her head slowly, "Not your fault," she mumbled, squeezing Griffin's hand slightly. He just shook his head at her and stared down at their intertwined hands.
"I was going to save you," he said, taking a deep breath and looking at her with sorrow filled eyes. "I was going to get us out of here, find some place safe for us. I wanted us to grow old together, Sammy. I think," he laughed and took a deep breath, pushing the tears running down her face away. "I think that I love you, Sam."
She just looked up at him, a small smile on her lips as he continued talking to her, trying to ignore that her eyes were losing their shine and her grasp was loosening.
"We were gonna have a million kids, you and me," he said, scooting closer to her and leaning against the rocks that were pinning her. He looked down at their hands again and smiled. "I always wanted a girl named Catherine. It was my grandmum's name, you know. Crazy old bat she was," he muttered to himself. "You woulda' loved her, Sammy."
"I like Catherine," Sam whispered, closing her eyes with a sigh.
Griffin let a single tear drop down on to their clasped hands and he reached up, rubbing his face with his free hand. "I was going to save you," he mumbled, letting out a sigh as he snuffled his nose loudly with a cough. "I was gonna save you."
Sam's limp hand squeezed his as tight as she could and she opened her eyes to stare into his. "You did," she mumbled, new tears came as she continued. "You did, Griff. And I'll love you forever for it."
In that single moment, Griffin hated God and everything affiliated with him. What kind of man had he been in his past life to deserve everything that had been served to him in the past twenty years? What had he done to have each and every person that he took the time to love ripped away from him? What had he done to have Sam killed? Who had he been, before?
Had he really been such a horrible man that Samantha of all people deserved to die? He couldn't believe that. He couldn't believe that any being, Higher or otherwise, would punish a man by taking away the one he loved. No God could be that cruel. No, this wasn't God's fault. It was his, for being so impossibly dull that he had made the mistake of jumping straight to the lair and leaving a scar for them to use against him. No, this was his fault, his mistake. And he'd be paying for it the rest of his life. This was his punishment, his penance.
He grabbed Sam's hand with his other hand, holding her small one with both of his, and brought it up to his lips. Kissing it softly, she smiled and closed her eyes again. With a content sigh, she rested her head on to the cold concrete and focused on Griffin's grip on her hand and the darkness behind her lids slowly starting getting brighter and brighter. She smiled softly at the sight of the light, and with another soft 'I love you' she was gone.
Reviews are always loved and more than welcome.
Thanks much, RJL