I sat there for so long, waiting for her to come out. A million different possibilities ran through my mind, some good, some so completely heartbreaking I thought I was going to cry in the middle of this party. I sat there waiting and wondering...All for her.
She finally came out, a dead look on her face as she looked towards the ground, shame positively seeping out her pores. She saw me waiting for her, and for a moment I swear time stood still around us. She began to speak.
"I don't know what's wrong with me" she said, "I hate myself for doing this to you" Her voice broke on those last words and as I stood to support her, she practically fell on me. I smelled the scent of her last activities with that...that man who tried to take her from me, and I was honestly repulsed by it, but I stood quietly holding her. Letting her know that I still cared for her. It was always for her.
She cried into my shoulder and I helped her out of the hotel, leaving the party behind us. Hailing a cab, I allowed her to flop unceremoniously onto the back seat, still grasping my shirt as if it were her only lifeline, still crying her tears of shame. She cried on my shoulder the entire ride to her apartment, speaking the occasional word of apology. All I could do was sit there and whisper soothing words of comfort- all I could do was tell her it was ok.
I finally got her upstairs after a bit of a struggle and put her straight to bed, holding her until her tears eventually ran dry and she fell asleep. I unlatched myself from her death grip on my shirt and sat on the chair next to the bed. I watched her sleep, relishing in her deep even breaths. She was here, she was safe in her own bed and here I was to watch over her and make sure she was ok.
To be honest, I knew she would be ok. She would feel immensely guilty, but she would find a way to move past this. The question was however, could I? Could I find a way to not see him, that disgusting sleaze of a man, every time I touched her? Could I find a way to look her in the eye without wanting to lash out? Could I find a way to wake up in the morning, by her side, and truly be ok with this?
Still, I sat. Still, I watched her sleep. I looked at her face, searching for my answer as if she were an oracle. Staring deeply into her face I saw her shame, even in sleep. Tear tracks marred her beauty accompanied by her smeared eyeliner and mascara and her beautiful, supple lips were smudged with lipstick. Under any other circumstances, the fact that she had fallen asleep with her makeup on would be an atrocious sin, but tonight, there could be an exception. She was gorgeous anyway, no matter what.
And, with that thought I found my answer. Watching Samantha sleep I realized the truth that I was so desperate for. I could be ok with this. I would be. For her.