Took a break bc I wrote over 30,000 words in a two-month period. Also re-read this entire fic and revised earlier content for the sake of cohesiveness.
Anyways, I might take a while to do uploads because I'd like to write ahead a little bit and start corralling this plot to a close. We'll see.
All feedback is GREATLY appreciated!
Sam woke up. Then, Sam woke up again. But she didn't want to be awake. She wanted to return to Dreamland where everything was perfect and ideal. She had been having such a good dream, too. What was it even about? She vaguely remembered it having something to do with her playing in an arcade with other kids her age, with walking down Venice Boardwalk while listening to the waves licking away at the sand, with preparing to sail the yacht at the marina. She felt so relaxed and at peace. Life felt so simple. She wanted to go back.
But she couldn't. She was awake now. She had to face the world.
She stretched with a groan and was promptly reminded that a part of her had just been cut out. Pain pulsated from the site of her surgery in response to her skin tugging at the scabs that formed over her incisions. She let out a hiss and put a ginger hand to her stomach, which felt like it was gonna tear at the seams at any moment. She'd hardly felt pleasant since leaving the hospital. First of all, apparently English hospitals were more stingy with opiates than their American counterparts. All Sam had to manage her pain with was ibuprofen. Fucking ibuprofen! That was barely enough for period cramps, let alone incisions through her abdominal wall.
Don't even get her started on the pressure in her abdomen. She hadn't had a proper poo since before going to the hospital, and whatever movement there was in her bowels felt like the early stages of childbirth. Couple this with the constant cramp in her stomach, the ache in her shoulder, the nausea, and the feeling of her guts wanting to spill out of the openings in her stomach, and the final result of the equation was that Sam was straight up not having a good time. Nevermind the extraneous cesspit of shitfuckery that was everything else happening in her life.
The door to her room opened, yanking her out of her head and back into reality. Lara must have heard her wake up.
"You alright?" Lara asked, peering into the room with a tender look of concern that made Sam melt.
"No," Sam answered honestly, propping herself up on one elbow. Even when only sitting up slightly, her weakened abdominal wall throbbed in protest. "I'm in pain and ibuprofen doesn't do shit."
"So…" Lara began, "Should I not offer to get you some in that case?"
"No, I'll take it. It's better than nothing."
"Okay." Lara disappeared behind the door once more and Sam took a moment to check the time on her phone. Eleven in the morning. "Here," Lara said as she emerged from behind the door once more with a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofen.
"Don't you have class?" Sam asked incredulously as she accepted them.
"I do," Lara admitted, "and I'm supposed to have practice in a couple of hours but I have to go to the Manor later and I didn't want to leave you alone all day." Lara's words told half the story. The sad puppy dog look in her eyes told the other half: she was still thinking about a couple of days ago.
"That's really sweet, but don't fall behind on my behalf. So why are you going to the Manor?" Sam asked as Lara took a seat on the edge of her bed by her legs.
"I never told you why I went the first time, did I?"
"No…?" Sam took the ibuprofen and a swig of water then set the glass aside.
"There's a film being shot there and I have to oversee a few things."
"Which one?"
"Sherlock Holmes."
"Sherlock Holmes?" Sam blinked in surprise. She hadn't seen anything about a new Sherlock movie in the news.
"They haven't made a press release yet," Lara answered, having evidently correctly read the confusion adorning Sam's features, "so that's probably why you haven't heard. Please don't tell anyone."
"I won't, I promise. I'm cut off from my connections to the media anyways." Sam let out a small, bitter laugh. "Who's the director?"
"She's apparently really high-profile-" She?
"Who is it?" Sam demanded, unable to contain the mixed impatience, anticipation, and excitement in her tone.
"Cora Nova."
"WHAT?!" Sam bolted upright in her enthusiasm, causing volts of pain to course through her core. "Ah! Fuck!" She cradled her stomach.
"Careful!" Lara urged her, putting a hand on her shoulder and back to guide her down onto the bed. If she hadn't been in so much pain right then, Sam might have found Lara leaning overtop of her and looking intensely into her eyes to be romantic and tried to kiss her.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Sam demanded instead.
"We've had a lot on our plate lately and I forgot to mention it until now." Sam didn't need to be reminded of how much shit they'd been eating lately. She blinked the thought away.
"You have to take me with you!" Sam exclaimed, "I've been a fan of her since her early work!" This was true. Colors of Life, one of Nova's earlier films, was an LGBT comedy about coming out and was one of Sam's favorite flicks. Lara stared down at her blankly.
"Sam." Lara shook her head. "Look at yourself. How are you going to get all the way to Guildford?"
"I dunno where that is, but I'd do it with my handy dandy safety pillow held against my tummy. Besides, the doctor told me to walk as much as possible."
"Sam-"
"Pleeease?" Sam pleaded. Lara sighed and took a moment to think to herself as she removed her hands from Sam.
"You want that badly to go?" Lara asked at length.
"Yes!" Sam nearly shouted. Lara scratched the back of her neck and took another moment to chew her bottom lip and deliberate.
"Alright. I'll call the driver. The Bentley'll be more comfortable for you than public transit." Sam blinked, having been taken aback by what was just said. Lara was willing to bend her rules and call the family driver just for her? "You want breakfast?" Lara asked as she got to her feet and made for the door.
"I don't think I could eat if I wanted to," Sam admitted.
"Well, I'll make you something anyway in case you change your mind." She exited the room. Sam watched her go before a grin broke out across her face. God, she adored that woman.
Maybe there was some peace in her waking life, after all.
Refusing to meet her idol in her jammies, Sam slowly began to sit back up with a wince. It was amazing to her how much she'd taken her abs for granted, how much of a role they played in simple movement and stabilization. It wasn't her back that she used to sit up, but her abs. She was learning that physiological fact the hard way.
She grabbed a pillow from her bed and hugged it across her stomach. Doing so served to reinforce her stomach as it worked to keep her posture upright. It alleviated the strain she felt in her muscles. She strode over to her chest of drawers to fish out some sweatpants and a loose v-neck t-shirt from the top drawers, setting them both down on the nightstand once she retrieved them.
Thank god I organized my drawers the way I did, Sam thought. Bending over in any capacity seemed a steep order.
She set her pillow aside on her bed and attempted to peel off her sleep shirt gingerly. As she did so, she made a point of keeping her torso as still and upright as possible, keeping the movement limited to her arms so as to not flare up the incisions that adorned her abdomen. The incisions were left undisturbed; however, the effort of Sam's injured muscles supporting themselves was excruciating as fire blossomed from her core. She stopped removing her shirt midway with a hiss and took a seat, planting her arms on either side of her atop her mattress to support herself with a sigh. She needed help. Judging by the clattering of dishes and sounds of water running coming from outside her room, Lara hadn't even started to cook yet.
"Hey Lara?" Sam called out of her room. The water stopped.
"Yeah?" Lara called back.
"Can you come here?" Sam asked.
"Yeah." Lara appeared in her doorway a moment later. "You okay?"
"I need help," Sam flashed her a sheepish grin.
"Help with…?" Lara's eyes drifted to the clothes folded on Sam's nightstand and the meaning of Sam's request appeared to register for her as her eyes widened briefly in understanding. "Oh. Alright." She strode over to where Sam sat on the bed and stood in front of her. "Right then. Lean into me." Sam complied, letting Lara support her weight in her injured muscles' stead. Sam rested her head on Lara's chest and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of Lara's breath entering her lungs as well as her heartbeat. The sounds, combined with the smell of lavender filling Sam's nose, sent her into a relaxed stupor.
Lara guided her head out of the neck opening first before working the rest of the shirt up and over and sliding it down the length of her arms. Goosebumps erupted on Sam's exposed flesh in response to the cold air that assaulted it. She leaned back, replanted her arms on the bed for support, and examined Lara's face while she folded up the shirt. Sam noticed that Lara's face was very flush compared to earlier, and that she was determinedly keeping her eyes on the shirt as she folded it up and set it aside.
Well, her tits were out.
"You know it's okay to look, right?" Sam half-joked. Lara paused and looked Sam in the eye.
"I don't feel right objectifying you when you asked for my help." Lara kept her gaze fixated on Sam's eyes.
"How chivalrous. But maybe I want to be objectified?" Sam grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at Lara. Lara's face only got redder.
"You just had an appendectomy."
"A bit of surgery never stopped a sis before," Sam replied. Lara gave her a look that was best described as a 'stern librarian' look. It was hard for Sam to take it seriously when Lara's face resembled a tomato, however.
"I'd rather not have to see you in a hospital bed again," Lara said seriously, "now lift one arm up and stop being such a randy bint."
"'A randy bint?'" Sam snickered as she lifted her right arm up regardless, "That's probably accurate." Lara had begun to work her arm and head through their respective openings. When she finished, Sam planted her right arm and worked her left into the shirt. Lara pulled her shirt down, pausing just above her stomach. Sam looked back up at Lara's face to see that the stern librarian look had vanished entirely and her gaze had softened. Sam knew why: Lara hadn't seen her incisions until then.
"That looks painful," Lara remarked with her brows creased together and upturned slightly in a sympathetic frown. She slid Sam's shirt down the rest of the way.
"Nah, that's nothing. I'm more bothered by how my hot summer bod will be affected." The joke had its desired effect as Lara smiled and let out a small snort.
"Only you, Sam. Only you."
"What?" Sam asked innocently.
"Only you could manage to stay so upbeat when you're in so much pain."
"Call it a coping mechanism. Why fester in my own shit when I can joke about how much it stinks?"
"Hmm…" Lara hummed pensively. Before Sam could ask what was on her mind, she continued, "Alright, lay down. Let's get those pants off- stop that!" she exclaimed when Sam wiggled her eyebrows at her once more. Sam laughed; she swore that Lara's head would explode from the amount of heat that was rushing to it. "You're incorrigible," Lara murmured.
"You're the one who's dating me." Sam leaned back and propped herself up on her elbows.
"That I am," Lara agreed. She kneeled down and grabbed hold of the waistband of Sam's pajama pants. Sam lifted her hips slightly so Lara could work her pants down over her butt. Even the effort from such a small movement hurt like hell, and Sam found herself shaking and sweating from the effort. Lara made short work of taking her pants off and working on the new pair. Sam lifted her hips once more to accommodate Lara. Lara got to her feet still red-faced once she had finished sliding Sam's pants on and cleared her throat.
"I'm going to go make breakfast now," she declared and exited the room rather quickly. Sam watched her go with a smirk still adorning her features. Call it a power trip, but she deeply enjoyed the fact that she was what got Lara so flustered. Was she, perhaps, being a 'randy bint' like Lara accused her? Certainly. But as they say, one always wants what they can't immediately have. Still, she could still have a little fun in her own way. Teasing Lara just happened to be a lot of fun.
Sam smelled bacon shortly thereafter. Okay, maybe she could eat a little, after all. She grabbed her pillow from where it lay discarded at the head of her bed. After taking a moment to mentally brace herself, she drew herself up to a stand and exited the room, clinging onto her safety pillow for dear life. When she emerged into the common area, she peered into the kitchen doorway to see Lara at work.
"You weren't kidding about the safety pillow," Lara remarked when she entered the room.
"The doctor taught me to do this." Sam took a seat at the table. Lara didn't respond; she was either too busy cooking or lost in thought. Sam couldn't get a good look at her face through her bangs, so she couldn't tell. Given where they would be going later, Sam figured the latter was more likely. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"
"Mmm…" Lara hummed, presumably while she figured out how to translate her mind, "I suppose I'm thinking about my last birthday."
"Your last birthday?"
"Well, how do I put it? The last birthday I actually celebrated. I was twelve years old."
"Why did you stop?" Sam prodded gently, recognizing that she was now treading tumultuous waters.
"It probably had something to do with the fact my father killed himself shortly after." Lara kept her gaze glued to the pan she was tending. Sam didn't really know what to say, so she sat there in silence to give Lara the space and attention she needed to continue, if she so desired. Lara continued, "I suppose the concept of a birthday was spoiled for me after that. It was the most normal he seemed in a long time and still..." Lara's voice trailed off.
"So why dwell on it?" Sam asked.
"To decide if it's worth dwelling on," Lara replied before adding, "let's do something for my birthday, Sam."
"Deadass?" Sam asked. Lara turned to face her with two plates of food in her hands.
"Deadass." Lara gave her a small smile as she set one of the plates down in front of Sam, though Sam noticed a marked lack of wrinkles around the other corners of her eyes. Sam also noticed that her eyes had that distant, unfocused look to them. Sam suddenly found herself glad that she would be going back to the Manor with her.
When Lara took a seat across from Sam, Sam decided that she ought to do something about how crestfallen she looked. But what? The answer came in the form of Lara's cleavage. With a mischievous smirk, Sam broke off a small piece of bacon and took aim as Lara stared down at her own plate of food. She took the shot.
Swish. The ball had found its mark. Lara's eyes widened as she bolted up in surprise. She looked down at her breasts and removed the piece of cooked meat while Sam laughed. She started to laugh, too, once she realized what had happened.
"That was a good shot," Lara declared as she lobbed the bacon back at Sam. Sam noted that a genuine smile adorned her features.
"I never miss my mark," Sam replied with a grin. Besides, how could she miss with such an easy target? They were right there, fruit begging for harvest.
"My eyes are up here, Sam," Lara said with a hint of amusement to her tone. Sam flushed. Whoops, busted. Well, she might as well own it, right?
"Sorry, couldn't help myself," Sam quipped in return, giving Lara a lascivious wink. It was Lara's turn to go red in the face for what already felt like the millionth time that day. "I mean, it's kind of hard to miss them!" Sam broke off another piece of bacon and sunk another shot. "See?" Lara's jaw dropped at the sheer audacity, and Sam doubled over in laughter so hard that pain rippled through her stomach. Her laugh morphed into a silent scream, her lips half-parted in pain.
"Careful!" Lara urged her yet again, "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," Sam gasped, "just hurt for a sec."
"You sure you're going to be alright in the car?"
"What, trying to get rid of me or something?" Sam joked in between breaths. When Lara didn't respond, Sam looked up to see that she looked upset. "That was meant to be a joke."
"Oh." They sat suspended in a purgatory of silence, during which Sam poked and prodded at the food she really didn't feel like eating anymore. She had just gotten Lara to cheer up, too. How was she-?
Swish. Sam started as a foreign object made contact with the flesh in between her breasts. She looked up to see Lara smiling and laughing again. The tension had passed.
The rest of breakfast passed without incident. While Lara cleaned up afterwards and got dressed to go about her day, Sam took to the couch to catch a snooze, only the snooze never came. She was too bloated. The pressure in her stomach demanded relief, only relief never came. She couldn't wait to be healed and healthy again.
"So Sam-" Prrrrrrt! There was the relief that Sam was looking for. She couldn't help but grunt in pleasure as her stomach deflated slightly. When the thunder had finished clapping between her cheeks, she tilted her head back to look at Lara, who had stopped mid-stride in her doorway and was staring at Sam with wide eyes and her mouth agape.
"Sorry, what were you say-?"
"You know you are the most majestic human being I have ever met?" Lara blurted out.
"Is that sarcasm?" Sam laughed.
"Not at all," Lara replied, "only you could produce a sound like a motorcycle engine from your ass and still come off as charming and delightful." Sam snorted.
"You got a fart kink, Lara?" She quipped.
"What if I do?" Lara jibed.
"I'll sit on your face," Sam fired back. She couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction at the way Lara's face managed to adopt an even darker shade of red than it had earlier. She won. "So what were you saying now?"
"Right," Lara gasped before finding her bearings once more, "I was going to tell you that I'm supposed to meet with the film crew at four. The driver will be here in an hour and a half. Is that alright with you?"
"No," Sam drawled, "that's absolutely unacceptable. I was planning to go to the gym. Can't you tell?"
"Smartass," Lara laughed, "well, in that case I'm going to run to the store real quick."
"For what?"
"I'm out of Jaffa Cakes."
"Ah, cakes to feed the cake. I got you." Sam grinned but this time, her words had no effect on Lara.
"Do you need anything while I'm out?" Lara asked as she strode over to the coat rack to retrieve her jacket.
"Laxatives."
"Why, because you're so full of shit?" Lara asked with a confident smirk, clearly trying to seize control over the direction of the conversation.
"Who's the smartass again?" Sam asked, "You seem to fit the bill more than me."
"Is that right?" Lara countered as she shrugged on her coat.
"Yeah, you check all the criteria: smart, ass, and smartass," Sam said, holding her hand up in front of her and lifting a finger for each article she cited until she held up three. She wiggled them in front of her.
"You sure you don't have an ass fixation?" Lara demanded, raising a brow.
"Just a fixation on your ass, Sweetie. I'd take a chomp out of those buns."
"Sam!" Lara cried. Finally, Sam had struck gold again.
"And you'd cry out my name just like that."
"Oh my God!"
"Yeah, you'd probably say that too." God, Lara looked so adorably flustered by that point. 'Blushing' might as well have been a personality description for her by then.
"So laxatives, then," Lara continued in a timorous tone, evidently admitting defeat in the verbal spar. She looked quite nervous, so Sam decided to spare her and accept her resignation from the match.
"Yes."
"You need anything else before I go?"
"Just for you to get back already," Sam replied, watching as Lara checked to make sure she had her keys in her pockets.
"I'll be quick, I promise."
"You've never broken a promise yet."
"And I don't intend to." Lara strode over to where Sam lay on the couch and stooped over to peck her on the lips. "I'll be back," she murmured into Sam's lips before giving her another kiss and drawing herself back up to full height.
"Okay, stay safe." With the click of the door shutting, Lara was gone. Sam stared after her awhile, already wishing for her to come back through the door. When she got bored of the mindless staring, she decided that maybe she'll have a smoke. After all, maybe it would help relieve some of her pain? As much as she hated to, she draped her legs over the side of the couch and grabbed the seatback to heave herself upright. She grabbed her pillow and drew herself to a stand.
Even with the support of her handy dandy safety pillow, everything hurt as she shuffled back to her bedroom. Every movement shot through her entrails, causing her breath to hitch in her lungs. Each footfall brought a new wave of pain, and she really did feel like her innards were going to drop out of her at any moment. Keeping an arm on her safety pillow, Sam opened her bedroom window with her free hand and took a seat on the edge of her bed. Sweating and heavy-breathed, she took a moment to think.
She needed both hands to roll a joint, but sitting up without the support of her safety pillow seemed an ordeal. Smoking a bowl, however, would create more of a stink because she couldn't dispose of her bowl the way she typically disposed of roaches. Decisions, decisions.
Wait, Sam thought, I'm a dumbass. I have a rolling tray. She opened her top nightstand drawer to retrieve the aforementioned tray and propped herself up in bed with a few pillows. Once she was situated, she rolled herself a joint in her lap and, when finished, set the tray aside and sparked the joint.
Honestly, she had no clue why she was so concerned with the smell. The apartment was gonna reek no matter what by the time Lara got back. Normally when she smoked, she made a point of sitting by the window and blowing the smoke outside. Oh well, she just had surgery. Lara could give her some slack.
Besides, God only knew she needed the joint that she was smoking. Appendicitis was the last thing she needed to deal with, yet there she was, completely incapable of working, completely incapable of generating capital, completely incapable of really even wiping her own ass. She had not intended for things to get to the point they were at. She did not intend to start the new month without any source of income, but then again she did not intend to need emergency surgery. Was it maybe her fault that she didn't start working earlier? Yeah. Absolutely. But in the present? There was nothing she could do about her ploy, and that was the reality of the situation.
That wasn't stopping her brain from racing, however. It was finally occurring to her that she needed a job to eat. She needed a job to keep the roof over her head. She needed a job if she wanted to take Lara out for her birthday. She needed a job if she wanted to stay in England, period. And she was about to have next to nothing in her account once she paid her bills at the start of February.
Sam's heart began to do that thing where it started to race.
She also still hadn't decided on what she was going to do about her family. On one hand, if she didn't do anything about the latest situation, her father would doubtlessly continue to publicly manipulate the narrative in order to win the court case. On the other hand, if she did do something about the situation, she might wind up complicating her own relationship. Say, for instance, she offered an interview to the BBC and delivered them a juicy exposee: there would be a lot of media attention on her as a result. While Sam was okay with the idea of extra media attention, she knew that Lara would be against it. She didn't blame Lara, however. She knew that Lara simply wanted her peace. Peace just didn't feel like an option to Sam.
Sam wondered if Lara wanting her peace was the reason the two of them hadn't gone on a date yet. Then she blinked in surprise at the turn her mind just took. Why did it matter? Lara was allowed to come out at her own pace. Sam knew what she was getting into when they started dating.
This was the thing about weed: it made Sam think a lot. Thing was, it was a lot easier to merely acknowledge the thoughts and let them pass when stoned. She could recognize an out of pocket thought as such before hyperfixating. Not to mention her pain and nausea had greatly improved. Was the thought she just had out of pocket though?
Sam drew in a deep breath through her nose. She had to remind herself that though it was easy to forget in light of her recent appendectomy, monthly hormones were very much a factor in her headspace. These were the times she had to tread carefully with her thoughts, for her brain was very much determined to see the glass as half full and cling to any reason for animosity.
Okay, the Devil on Sam's shoulder said, but she can only be bothered to spend time with you after you have an emergency surgery. Explain that. Sam hurt her own feelings with that thought.
Okay, but in all fairness, countered the Angel on Sam's other shoulder, she is trying harder now.
Ah, and what happens when you're all better? the Devil asked derisively.
That's a hypothetical that's not even worth being fixated on, the Angel responded evenly.
So you think. But wouldn't experience tell you otherwise?
Experience tells me that she cares about me.
Experience tells you that other people cared about you too and they still tossed you aside like nothing. When's the last time you talked to your friends from Cali? Ouch. Tears began to well up in Sam's eyes as her jaw quivered. That was not fair. But she was right. It had been at least a year since she had talked to any of her 'closest' friends. What changed? She had moved, of course, but what killed those bonds? How could one go from spending every day with a group of people to not even existing to them anymore? Was it something that happened as suddenly as her moving? Or was it a more gradual process, with longer response times to messages, conversations that ended with being indefinitely left on 'read'? The digital equivalent to how her mother stopped cooking with her?
Ouch.
She finished her joint at an aggressive pace and put it out on her rolling tray, not wanting to get up and go through the effort of flushing the roach. The door opened shortly thereafter, and there was a very notable silence after the door closed. Sam braced herself.
"Sam?" Lara called out.
"Yes?" Sam responded in a monotone.
"It reeks of spliff in here."
"Yeah, that's my fault," Sam replied unenthusiastically. Lara didn't respond. She was definitely angry. Sam just knew it from her tone. She didn't look angry when she peered her head into Sam's room, however.
"You alright?" Lara asked when she beheld Sam's face. Sam remembered that she'd just been crying and wiped her face off with the back of her hand.
"No." Sam knew that lying would do no good.
"You want to talk about it?"
"No."
"I see. Well," Lara said as she stepped out from behind the door and held out a small white box to her, on top of which was a sealed envelope, "I got you chocolates and a card. Does that cheer you up?" Sam stared at the items in Lara's hand, then back up at Lara, who was grinning and scratching the back of her neck sheepishly. She looked so proud of herself for the chivalric gesture. How could Sam deny that face? She accepted the gifts and started to cry again. She wasn't sure if she was crying over the kindness of the gesture, or the fact that she had just been doubting Lara not even five minutes ago.
Maybe she was crying about something else entirely.
Ever hurt your own feelings while writing?
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