Thin Threads
Disclaimer: Mine. Back off. Mine.
Alert: It's Sam with a bit of Jam, so...
Someone was pounding their fists on the door. The sound was too loud, almost unbearable. His mouth tasted like bile and his tongue could feel rough tiny debris crusted on the corner of his lips. There's also an underlying taste of rich copper. Whose blood? His, he supposed.
People were chattering around him. He wished they'd stop prodding and poking at him like he was somekind of a specimen. When he tried to open his eyes, the lights invading his vision was too bright, blinding. Closing them, he could still see fireworks behind closed lids.
There were scratching sounds, a series of painful jolts and then the light didn't seem too bright. It was calming, almost soothing. It reminded him of that afternoon at the beach. Jules whispered on his ear that she was grateful to have him in her life, running slender fingers through his hair. She smelled of jasmine and tasted like strawberry smoothie. She was so beautiful.
His roommate had asked him who the brunette in the picture was, whether she was a girlfriend or a wife. The question had transported him back in time, the time when he would watch Matt put up a bunch of pictures of the girls he was currently dating and shake his head at the arrogant smirk on his bestfriend's face. Jules still liked to remind him every now and then how much of an annoying arrogant ass he had been.
He wondered if he's going to have drinks with Matt soon.
There's a velvet box stealthily tucked away inside his SRU locker. Now it probably would remain there, layered with dust and dry memories until someone collected his belongings. He hoped nobody would give it to Jules. She didn't need to know; she shouldn't be bothered with some extra burden and knowledge that would anchor her even more to his broken promise.
Another jolt. His fingertips started to tingle, a million of ants crawling up his toes. He could see Jules smile at him, but the smile was sad.
He didn't want to be here. He hadn't wanted to be here. When his father knocked on their door he knew something important was happening. And just like that he was dragged back into the life he'd left behind. The life he had lived before he returned to Canada and began to really live.
His place was with Jules.
His soul. His life.
His home.
The word had begun to sound foreign to him. As foreign as the memories of Jules were forever intact. Every night he would find himself looking at her pictures for hours, an effort to preserve his sanity. He wanted to keep himself grounded, wanted to remind himself of what life was and would be like. If he stayed alive.
At least this way nobody could take her memories away from him. And this way he may be able to look after her always.
Except he never wanted to see her cry. He would do anything not to see her sad.
So dying was not an option.
Not then, not now, not ever.
The light was dimming.
It hurt.
"We've got a pulse."
Yes, the end. It's a drabble and he's not dead. So… he's not dead. I don't really know what this was about. Maybe it's a story about how Sam wasn't dead. For what it's worth, I hope you enjoy!