I'm not sure about this one, and I don't know whether it's sad or not, but I thought I'd upload it anyway. Please let me know what you think :)
Sam leaned over the sink and pressed her clammy forehead to the mirror. It's icy bleakness was a stark contrast to her sweaty skin. What was happening to her? She wondered as she looked up, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and her chalky face. She clamped her lips together. The blood escaped, leaving them abandoned and white. She breathed deeply through her nose, not daring to unseal her mouth for fear that the vomit she kept swallowing back would make an appearance.
Sam checked the time. Again and again, but it made no difference. It was so late. Where was he? It was always like this, yet tonight, was... Somehow different. She had not felt this terrible before. Staggering slightly, she made her way to the bed. It was dark in the bedroom, but she didn't think she could make it to the light switch. She hated the dark. All she had was the faint lambency from the bathroom, and it was causing the shadows to flicker, sealing her terror. She shut her eyes tight. She needed him. Stupid. Cowardly. Pathetic. She had let herself think that he cared, that he would come for her. She should have known. Actually, she had realised, but she had ignored her brain. He never came home with her, he always stayed behind after work. Had he ever cared? He was probably with another girl now, getting drunk, laughing, taking her home. He'd done that to her once too. Well she didn't want him. She could manage without him.
But tonight she felt so sick.
Her need was greater than her malice, so she reached a pale, shaking hand across to the bedside table where her mobile lay. She used one finger to find his number on her phone; the other hand stayed wrapped around her stomach, holding everything in. She put the phone to her ear.
"Aren't you going to answer that?" the blonde asked Tom. He didn't even know her name. He let the phone ring once more, before rejecting the call. It was nearly midnight, he saw. Maybe he should be going. Crap. He had promised to go back to Sam's house tonight. Was that why she had rung him? Surely she hadn't waited this long for him. His mobile rang again. He silenced it immediately, but the insistent buzzing flared up straight away. He sighed, and turned to look at the girl sitting next to him. Did Sam deserve this? It wasn't that he didn't like her (maybe he even loved her, but he wasn't sure; he had never loved anyone before), but she had become so boring lately. She wouldn't go out after work, and all she ever wanted to do was go home. When he asked if she was alright, he was snapped at and told to mind his own business. He didn't know if he wanted to be with someone like that. In the drunken blur of his mind, she didn't quite seem worth it, not a patch on the girl in front of him.
"Listen, it's been fun. I'll call you," he said to her, knowing that he wouldn't. He left the pub and hailed a taxi.
Sam couldn't take this anymore. She tried to call Tom one last time before throwing her phone feebly to the other side of the bed. She sat up slowly, her vision obscured for a second even so, and lurched unsteadily towards the light switch. Before she had made it half way across the room that in her reeling mind seemed to stretch on forever, her legs swayed and folded, her body crumpling on the floor. She sobbed silently. What the hell was going on? Her stomach convulsed, the pain making her curl involuntarily into a ball. She felt something hot and wet between her legs, more than just sweat. Her pallid face was screwed up in agony as the tears fell. The phone was ringing, and she turned her head slowly towards the sound, but she couldn't get to it now.
Tom couldn't remember which flowerpot she kept her spare key under, so he tried several. A sense of urgency was beginning to force its way through his hazy mind. Why wasn't she answering the phone? At last he found the key. He pushed it hurriedly into the lock, and opened the door.
"Sam?" he yelled. It was dark in every room he entered. She hated the dark. Suddenly he realised that he did care. She must be upstairs. He tore up them as best he could on his drunken legs, turned on her bedroom light, and found Sam. She was lying hunched. That was how she slept, and had it not been for the scarlet pool around her legs, he might have believed she had fallen asleep on the floor. Her skin was sheer white. How much blood had she lost? He checked her pulse. It was faint, but there. "Sam? Sam, wake up, you need to stay awake." He stroked her shoulder gently. Her eyelids quivered, half opening.
"Go away. You're too late." He could hardly hear the words she was mouthing, but he could feel the bitterness in her voice, and it stung him.
"Hold on Sam, I'm going to call an ambulance," he said, dialling 999. He explained the situation when a man answered, and then hung up, returning anxiously to Sam. He couldn't do anything now but talk to her.
"I am so sorry," he said, his voice trembling.
"I called... Six times. Where were you? You weren't... Here when I... Needed... You," she hissed, her words splintered from the tight knot of pain and ire in her throat.
"I'm sorry," he cried again. "I've been an idiot, and I don't have any excuses. Why didn't you tell me you felt ill?"
"Would you... Have been interested?" With great effort she twisted her head to look at him in the eyes. He saw a look in them that made him forget that she was lying on the floor, lost and frail. It was the look she had worn to her GMC hearing, and to divorce Dylan. She was strong. And she didn't want him.
"Of course I would have been, Sam."
"So I have to... Be ill for... You to notice me?" she hated how desperate she sounded. "Like I said. It's a little... Bit late."
Despite the stubbornness in her eyes, she was fading. Tom heard a banging on the door downstairs. He ran to let the paramedics in, and then led them up the stairs to Sam. He was angry, shouting at them for taking so long, when he of all people should have had sympathy, blaming anyone he could for his own mistake. They worked as quickly as they could, but it was slow work, carrying the board on which Sam was strapped downstairs.
"Do you have any idea what happened here?" one paramedic asked Tom.
"No. No, I just found her like that, I don't know how long she had been there, maybe half an hour."
Just as they loaded Sam onto the ambulance she whispered hoarsely, "Don't... Want him with... Me."
The paramedics turned to look at Tom.
"Okay, mate, maybe you'd better follow afterwards."
Tom nodded silently. He wasn't going to distress her any more by arguing.
Unexpectedly, he became aware that he did love her. But he had blown it.