You are a grieving Sam Puckett
"How are you feeling?" your movie star friend asks you.
"Sad." You say bitterly. She leans on your great aunt's stone and crosses her arms. After a long pause. "Did you see Mel deck him?" she asks with a laugh. You did. You don't want to laugh but you can't help it. You need to know, "What the hell did he say to her anyway?"
She shakes her head. "I think he was just venting. What was said over here?"
You roll your eyes. "Nothing."
"I saw a lot of strong gesturing. Didn't look like he wanted to leave."
"Yeah, and that's why he volunteered."
"You're probably right…" she says. "That's why he's waiting over there."
You look up in surprise, see that his car is the last one left; the movie star rode here with her brother, who has the mini van idling in the drive close by, waiting for her. Nothing else is spoken. You can either go with her and her brother, or you can hug her goodbye for now and actually talk to the nub.
You hug her and walk to your mother's fresh grave, where a million flowers scent the air. He remains at his car. You talk to the name carved into shiny new stone, you say goodbye for now, and reluctantly approach him.
His eye is black and the sight of it makes you laugh. It isn't a strong enough laugh for sound, but the smile feels good after a day fighting a frown. "You had to be an ass for her to snap like that."
He nods. "A royal one…forgive me?"
You shake your head. "But I'm over it. Can you give me a ride home?"
He tilts his head. "To Houston?"
Wow. You can't believe you just referred to Seattle as home. It hasn't been home since your were seventeen. What made that happen? You already know the answer. All of your friends together, getting along, eating and being there for you; they had made a true front to this tragedy: a home, when this kind of thing could have shattered all you had left.
"I don't know what I'm saying, " you say wearily, covering your face momentarily. "Can you take me to the hotel?"
He nods with that smile that lifts one side of his face. "Hop in."
He leaves you at the hotel and calls you half an hour later when he gets to his mom's place. You talk only for a few minutes; your head has really started to hurt and you just want to go to sleep.
The next morning he calls and invites you to breakfast. You say yes, hang up and get half-way ready before you see the black dress you discarded yesterday and remember your loss. This sets you back a day. How in the world can you forget something like that?
It's his fault. He woke you from a dreamless sleep with a happy voice and casual offer, and you felt like you were just here for another premier. You abandon getting ready, turn out all the lights, and curl up in the hotel bed. You make a cave out of the blankets and pillows. Alone, in the dark, in your cave; you cry.
You don't know what time it is when you hear the door open. The lights don't come on, but the light from the hallway spills into the room and falls on your bed. You don't move the blankets from over your head, but you do try to stifle your sniffs. After a moment, the door closes and you hear soft footsteps over the carpet. "Sam?" He asks softly.
You are aware that it is expected and perfectly understandable for you to fall to pieces, like your sister did, but never in your life have you allowed your outer walls of defense to crumble. You're comfortable behind your wall; you have repaired and fortified it through the hardships of your life, and now if you let it fall you are afraid of what will be revealed. Possibly a pale, sun-deprived quivering mass that would burst like a bubble and cease to exist.
"Sam." He says again, this time it isn't a question, it's barely more than a whisper.
You take your face out of the pillow and try to speak but now that you've let the tears come, you can't reign them in, a whine escapes you and you sniff.
His weight makes the mattress sink and squeak. He pulls the blankets off your head and pushes your hair from your face. "You'll smother if you keep that up." He says. "No one wants that." Your walls crumble. You sit up and throw your arms around him, sobbing just like your sister. He repositions himself until he can lean on the head board and then he pulls your legs over his and wraps his arms around you.
You haven't sat in someone's lap and cried since your were a toddler. The security and safety of it overwhelms you. He says nothing as he holds you in the dark. He strokes your back, rocks, and occasionally wipes a tear of his own away. You cry yourself to sleep with your head on his shoulder and his breath in your hair.
You Are Carly Shay, the Most Sought After Leading Lady in Hollywood.
It took you a few more minutes than you would have liked (after all, you are a superb actress, you should be able to convince anyone of anything in a single sentence) but you finally convinced the man at the front desk that he should give you a key for room 1242. You haven't heard from Sam since the funeral and you heard from Fred's mother that she hadn't come to breakfast after saying she would. You are worried. You never saw Sam like she was at the funeral before, so distant from reality, so stricken by grief. You are hoping you'll find her passed out among mounds of junk food, and nothing more.
You don't even knock before entering. You figure if she has a problem with it, a good shouting match about something trivial might be enough to spark some life back into her. You take one step into the room before stopping in your tracks and covering your mouth.
He sits on top of the covers, against the head board, fully clothed in jeans and t-shirt. She is still in pajamas, her hair a mess, and she's in his lap. Both are asleep. Judging by the stains on his shirt and the look of her face, you conclude that she finally had a good cry about it. You're glad she wasn't alone. You are even more glad about who was with her. You try to tiptoe back out of the room, but the door hinges creak as you try to pull it closed. He opens his eyes.
You Are Dr. Fred Benson D. Sc.
The brunette tosses you a smug, apologetic smile and shuts the door behind her. The sun has repositioned itself in the sky as you slept. There is light enough in the room now from the windows that you can see clearly the face resting on your collarbone. It is tear-streaked and her hair is sticking to it in places, but it is peaceful and beautiful. Your back is killing you and your legs are asleep from the knees down. You look at the clock. It is well past noon; the two of you have been asleep for almost five hours. Your stomach growls.
It's hard, but you manage to wriggle out from under her and straighten her out on the bed without waking her. You stretch and set to picking up her abandoned things on the floor, just to have something to do, and then you pick up the phone and order more than enough Chinese food. You hang up after telling them where to deliver the order and then you sink into a chair and watch her sleep.