I had been making tea, trying to slay the hangover from the first night we'd met. "Hi, I'm Sam, let's go dancing", I abbreviated aloud, doing my best to mimic her, frankly charismatic, mannerisms. "What ever possessed you to greet a bookworm like that?", I'd asked.
She just smiled and said, "it seemed like a good idea at the time." It warmed my heart, and I knew then I had made a wonderful new friend.
It was a surreal moment when I opened my eyes to find myself with my face resting against my best friend's collarbone. It was during our university days; I had woken up feeling better than I had any right to considering the night before. Against my better judgement I'd accepted an offer to go drinking with Sam. Tried to drown some of my sorrows, it had ended rather poorly. Sam hadn't minded, though. She'd taken me back home and put me to bed. She kept feeding me water and held me together while I had my little pity party, and she had even stayed the night with me.
Without really giving it much thought I kissed her there, as gently as I could manage in the aftermath of all the drinking I'd done. I felt her react to the feather-light pressure on her collarbone, and closed my eyes, snuggling down into the blankets and into her. I was rewarded with a sweet sounding laugh.
"Lara?", she had whispered tiredly. "What are you doing?"
I only replied that, "it seemed like a good idea at the time", I think I'd been smiling when I finally got back to sleep.
My feelings for Sam became more complicated, but it was never too bad. I wasn't jealous often, we were inseparable most of the time, and despite her hard partying tendencies, she'd always been more of a tease than the sort to bring someone home. Her teasing even seemed to extend to me. I liked that, though I'd never have admitted that to her back then.
We were so close that it could become hard to see where the boundaries were, if we even really had any. Often enough I could convince Sam to stay home and just have a few drinks with me, instead of going to some club and getting herself properly pissed. We would curl up together and watch bad movies; Sam had a drinking game she liked to play where we took a shot of vodka for each poorly executed bit of cinematography. I got the idea that sometimes she made up problems that weren't really there just to get me a few shots deeper into the bottle. I didn't mind that, really, and I never questioned her.
Almost invariably on those nights we would fall asleep together in whichever bed we'd chosen to lay on. It was a comfortable way to close out the night, movie turned cuddle-session, and then just shared warmth until morning.
But sometimes things went a little differently. Sometimes Sam would be left with too much energy to settle for hugs and sleep, and she'd sit up, and stare at me, until with her eyes alone she had me blushing. I always knew when she was doing this but I never did find out how to put a stop to it. I couldn't even make eye contact with her when she was doing that to me.
Overtime I began to recognize the exact moment she would kiss me. She would always take another drink first, and when she leaned forward I could taste vodka on her lips. I became conditioned to be excited by this minute ritual she would perform whenever she decided that snuggling wasn't enough, and for whatever reason she just needed a snog.
So I would lie back, lips tingling from the alcohol and her kisses, and pull her with me, and we would lie together and touch and explore with our mouths, but it never went further than that, and we'd always woken up with fond remembrances and no regrets. I had only asked her once why she did that. Of course, she had said, "it seemed like a good idea at the time", and smiled.
After Yamatai things changed. We remained inseparable but it was in a different way, something less healthy. As if the pieces of us that had been lost on that island had left holes that no one else could properly fill. We fit together like jigsaw pieces; completely dependent on one another.
It was enough, and together we would survive the nightmares. We never slept separately anymore, and Sam stopped going out to party. Crowds terrified her, and she knew that I got terribly anxious if I didn't know where she was.
Instead we stayed in together every night with our vodka. Sometimes we would still watch movies, and it felt normal and comfortable, but every night ended the same. Sam would choose one of my scars, caress it, and make me tell her how I got it. To my shame there were a few I couldn't even remember, I'd had so many, but she just moved to the next and asked about it instead.
I couldn't help but cave in to her, it always felt difficult at first. I would begin slowly, and frequently stop to choose my words. I worried that she would begin to see the scars as tally marks for my crimes. Instead, she would stroke and trace very gently with her fingertips for as long as I talked, occasionally kissing my hand, my collarbone, or the scar itself, and silently listen. She never seemed to think worse of me, and she never seemed to pity me, either. It had helped me to feel better, and human again despite what I'd done and been through. I loved Sam very dearly.
Sometimes she would ask me how I could have done the things I did. Never the bad things, but the brave or stupid things. How I could chance a leap as far as I had, destroy buildings I had been inside just to get closer to where I had to be, run and jump across crumbling ruins.
It should have been obvious to her that I'd have done it all again and more to protect her, and maybe it was, but I had always settled on simply saying, "it seemed like a good idea at the time". It felt good to remember the days before we'd been so broken, and sometimes, if what I'd done had been silly enough, Sam would even laugh. It made my heart flutter.
When the ritual had begun, she had started with a smaller scar on my wrist, and over time she had moved on to the larger and more traumatic ones, as if she were building us up to discuss those last. It was a mercy I was grateful for, but even after Yamatai, the number of scars I had were limited.
After weeks and weeks of the ritual, she had searched me over, hands roaming beneath my clothes for something new, and I hadn't minded. I no longer had any need for privacy from Sam. Still, I stopped her, gently pulling her hand by the wrist and placing it on the last and largest of my scars. I remember her frowning for a moment, but she laid beside me with her head below my breast, lifted my shirt to expose my side, and began the ritual anew.
I barely remember telling the story, to be honest. By then I'd grown so at ease with sharing myself with her that it happened automatically. I don't think it had been as easy for her. I could feel a dampness on my shirt as I told my story. When I finished speaking she rolled herself on top of me to place her lips over the raised mess of flesh on my stomach.
She traced it from the center outward, working her way down, and I felt myself newly self conscious of her touching, and the effect it was having on me. "Sam…", I interrupted, and wrapped my hand around hers where it had slid to my side. She looked up from my scar, relaxing so that her chin was on my abdoment, and she just watched me. Just like she had before Yamatai, and immediately I could feel myself turning pink, and looking away. I have to admit it felt nice to feel that way again.
I felt one more soft kiss on my stomach, and looked down at her again. She met my gaze and crawled over me to touch her forehead to mine. I could smell vodka on her, and the memories of our occasional uni snog-sessions returned, along with it all the conditioning she'd given me. When she moved in and kissed me my body responded immediately.
That night Sam didn't stop herself, she didn't settle for kisses and touches. Sam laid me bare and did things to me I had never experienced before. It's a memory that still makes me feel naked and vulnerable. I had told her I loved her that night.
Morning of course came, and we awoke tangled together. I kissed the top of her head, and stroked her hair. I think I might have been glowing. She looked up at me with an expression made entirely of hangover.
"Sam, whatever possessed you to do something like that?", I asked sleepily, and moved to kiss her. She turned her head and sat up, stretching.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time…", she replied, and stood up to dress herself. I had misunderstood. My heart rose into my throat, and I had to swallow it several times that day. Sometimes I still need to, when she touches me just so. It's my own fault, really. But it had seemed like such a good idea at the time.