DISCLAIMER: Look on first chapter.


April 13, 2011 (Wednesday)

McKinley High School

Lima, Ohio

12:05PM

As far as Mercedes knew, Sam hadn't said a single word for three days. Mercedes had gathered her courage to approach him on Monday morning, only to be taken aback by the blank look in his green orbs. He had dark bags under his eyes, his face was chalky and his lips chapped.

He looked awful. Sam looked like he didn't even bother to brush his hair or try very hard to dress himself—his shirts were wrinkled and his belt was fastened wrong. Sam had just looked at her listlessly for a moment, before he gently closed his locker door and walked away from her.

Since Monday, he had completely ignored everyone and refused to speak. He got kicked out of class on Tuesday for not answering a teacher, and apparently, even when he was sent to the principal's office, he had nothing to say. His father was called and ever since then, the teachers had been treating Sam like a china doll/atomic bomb fusion—delicate and explosive.

The teachers didn't call on him in class and Mercedes had taken notice of the sympathetic looks he received from the staff—even Sue was being protective and tight lipped. Mr. Schue clearly knew what was going on, but he refused to say anything to them about the situation.

In Glee club, Sam just sat in his chair. He didn't sing or dance or clap like he used to; it was like he was in his own world—a place he didn't seem to like all that much.

Mercedes was both confused and worried about Sam, and she kept her word to herself. She meant what she'd said on Friday and friends didn't let friends be alone when they obviously need someone. So every day at lunch, Mercedes sat with Sam in the auditorium. She watched him pick at his food as she ate her own lunch and even though the silence was depressing, she refused to walk away from him.

And in the silence, Mercedes prayed. She prayed for some sort of guidance—ways to even begin helping Sam through this. She only had the basics about his situation, but his behavior told her that things were far worse than they had been the week before. She wasn't dumb and neither were his friends. They all noticed the sudden drop in Sam; it would be impossible not to.

They knew something had happened and whatever it was—it wasn't good. Mercedes prayed for his family and she prayed for Sam—she prayed that he would find joy in something, because even the strongest people crumble under constant strain.

Mercedes recognized that Sam wasn't infallible and accepted that fact, but Sam was just coming to this conclusion and he wasn't reacting well to the revelation.


It had actually been five days since Sam had opened his mouth. He hadn't spoken to his father since he'd ran out on Friday night and he didn't respond to Stevie and Stacey, who were still asking where mom went.

It was like a constant burning in his chest. He watched his dad stutter through an explanation and he saw the distress that overtook his siblings. Seeing them so upset pissed him off something fierce. The bitterness and anger and despair were eating him alive—Sam had never felt so hopeless in his life. He still couldn't believe that she was gone, and he doubted that she would ever come back. Sam wasn't even sure that he would want her to ever come back.

He was just so fucking angry at her and at the fact that her leaving hurt him. The pain would've been less if she'd just shot him. He hated feeling like this. He hated hating someone, and he hated that his father wouldn't fight him back.

No matter how cold Sam acted, his father never responded to any of it. He just looked at him with those stupid, loving eyes and wouldn't start yelling. He needed someone to argue with him. Sam was spoiling for a good fight.

His dad had to stay home with Stevie and Stacey in the afternoons now, because Sam was avoiding the motel like the plague. He left early in the morning and got back late at night. It wasn't like he was sleeping anyway.

Sam spent his nights running through Lima. When he couldn't run anymore, he would do sit-ups and pushups until his abs were screaming at him to stop. Then he usually collapsed in exhaustion or stayed up trying to read his textbooks.

He barely ate anything anymore—Sam just didn't have an appetite so he forced down what he needed and then was off again to do something else mindlessly. Sam Evans was lost inside his own head, and he didn't know if he'd ever come out again.


April 15, 2011 (Friday)

McKinley High School

Lima, Ohio

12:22PM

Sam felt bereft. Since last Friday, the chocolate skinned diva had been by his side during his lunches in the auditorium, and even though he'd been silent and trapped inside his own thoughts—he hadn't felt quite as alone with her sitting by his side. Today though, he felt her absence like a sharp chill in the air.

It was startling to realize that he'd come to appreciate her presence and her persistence in being a good friend despite his silence. But, Sam wasn't surprised that something else sort of good in his life was going up in flames. Currently, that seemed to be the popular trend.

He decided that there was no reason to be interested in his food, so he pushed the bag to the side and crossed his legs underneath him. Sam's hands fisted in his hair, and he stared down at his lap.

He couldn't decide who he hated more at the moment—himself or his mother. He had been an absolute shit to his father last weekend and his attitude hadn't gotten any better as the week progressed.

Sam was just so damn angry all the time, and he figured it was better to keep his mouth shut than to open it and say even more things that he'd regret.

Stacey was in tears all the time and Stevie retreated into himself. Sam just pretended that he didn't notice their pain and confusion. He didn't have the emotional capacity to deal with his own hurt—much less theirs too. His dad had been doing his best to split his time between looking for work and taking care of the three of them.

The look of pain blooming in his father's eyes as soon as he'd said that he hated him—it kept him awake at night. Guilt and hatred were not a good combination and Sam was losing his grip. He could feel his hope slipping away and all his dreams for the future were losing their luster.

He just didn't see the point in fighting to be what everyone else wanted him to be anymore. He could care less about popularity or money or girls. He just wanted his family back, but that seemed farther and farther away no matter what he did.

Sam was so involved in his torment that he didn't notice Mercedes walking inside until she'd placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped in surprise and she pulled her hand back when he looked at her.

"Hi Sam," she said and he just stared at her in return, before looking away from her. He was ashamed to say that he was happy she had come today, but he still wasn't ready to talk—he didn't think he could without doing something embarrassing like bursting into tears.

He heard her sigh as she stood next to him. "I know you're hurting, and I don't have the slightest idea of what to say," She began, "but I do know how to sing it."

Sam's brow furrowed. She couldn't possibly mean that she was going to sing a song to him. Could she? He looked up at her as he heard her retreating footsteps and when she got to center stage, she turned around to look at him with a cordless microphone in her hand.

The stage was lit up and Mercedes faintly glowed in the luminescent lighting. She wore a white sundress with a navy cardigan over it. Her feet were in gladiator sandals and her hair and bangs were a gorgeous tumble of crimps, curls and waves.

Sam was captivated when she opened her mouth and began singing, "He doesn't know his worth; wears the saddest smile on earth, but he denies it." Mercedes' voice was a lilting melody, soft yet strong. Sam felt his throat constrict at the words.

"Love is reaching out to him, but he won't let it in. He defies it. He defies it." Her voice rose and Sam could feel her eyes on him. He stared down at his knees, his hands trembling.

Mercedes voice shook with emotion as she belted, "He's not ready. He's not on his knees yet. He's too strong to be weak. Show him mercy; he's not on his knees yet." Sam could feel all of those emotions that he'd been keeping wrapped up tightly inside start churning dangerously within.

"Let him break, please-make him better. Put the pieces back together!" The sound of her crescendo was both appreciated and detested. All of his defenses were shattering as he watched her stand before him—singing for him. Mercedes couldn't understand how powerful her words were; there was just no way that anyone could capture his feelings so perfectly in one song.

"He thinks that he's alone. I have walked the road the he's on. And I know he's searching; looking everywhere but up. He can't fill his empty cup. So he keeps hurting; he keeps hurting," He could see her crying and it struck something deep inside. She was hurting—hurting for him and Sam didn't understand why this girl was crying for him. How could she have seen through him so easily?

"He's not ready. He's not on his knees yet. He's too strong to be weak. Show him mercy; he's not on his knees yet. Let him break, please-make him better! Put the pieces back together. Help him please; he's not on his knees...Yet." As Mercedes' voice softened, Sam completely broke. The anger clouded his vision and the desperation choked him up.

He heard the microphone drop to the floor—the sound of feedback piercing his haze. He looked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder. When he saw the tear tracks on Mercedes' face and the wetness that clung to her dark lashes; Sam felt his emotional control shatter.

Wave after wave of hurt and fear swept over him. He didn't even recognize the strangled cry that escaped him as all the pain he'd been trying to keep inside ruptured. Sam felt hot tears sliding rapidly down his face and he was so ashamed of everything.

He was ashamed that he was homeless and that he couldn't help make it better. He was ashamed that his mother had walked out on his father and he'd been acting like an asshole for the past week. He was ashamed that he was crying in front of a girl who he'd only talked to for one day and he was ashamed that he buried his face in Mercedes' shoulder when she wrapped him up in a hug.

She didn't shush him or whisper empty platitudes—she simply held him close and ran her fingers through his hair as he cried his eyes out.

By the time he regained control of himself—he was exhausted. Mercedes let him go when he shifted in her hold. They stared at each other for a moment and Sam reckoned that he looked quite a mess.

One thing he appreciated was that Mercedes never looked at him with pity—empathy maybe, but she didn't pity him and that taught Sam a lot about her character. It made him trust her more than he probably should have, but that trust made his next words easier to say.

"My mom left us," he said and he blushed when his voice cracked from disuse, or at least that was the excuse he told himself. He didn't want to acknowledge the prickling behind his eyes or how his heart constricted. Mercedes simply watched him. "I sold my guitar for seven thousand dollars two weeks ago, and we'd cashed the check Friday morning."

Sam looked down at his lap, feeling more naïve than before when he realized that her statement about their debtors having access to their bank account had probably been a lie.

"She told me that if we put the money in a bank account, the people we owe money would take it from us before we could do anything to fix our living situation—so we got it in cash. Everything was fine, but when I came home after work—"Sam felt his throat close up and he fisted the fabric of his jeans in frustration.

When Mercedes' soft hand grasped his, Sam took in a shaky breath and continued, "When I came home after work, my little brother and sister were alone in the motel room. Turns out mom had left them there for four hours on their own, and they were terrified. I put them to bed and tried calling her cell phone. She didn't answer."

Sam tensed and Mercedes squeezed his hand in reassurance. She didn't even attempt to speak. "I thought maybe she was in a car accident or something, you know. I figured she was probably hurt or she got caught in traffic or she got a lead on a job, but when I went into the bathroom to take a shower, I found a note taped to the mirror. All it said was, 'I'm sorry. I can't do it anymore. Elizabeth.'"

Those words were engraved into his brain. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his dad's hurt face and his mother's cold words written on that small piece of paper. The pain he felt was toxic to his self-confidence and well being.

Mercedes entwined their fingers as Sam tugged harshly on the long blond strands that hung in front of his eyes with his free hand. "It was like all the things we had been through—as her family—it was as though we were worthless. And she took the money I got from selling my guitar." Sam's breath hitched and Mercedes saw the hurt clearly.

"I sold the guitar that I've had for nine years to help my family—to change things for us and she destroyed that in one day! She took away our last hope, Mercedes. How do I get past that? How can I even think about forgiving her? And I've been an asshole this entire week. God, what does my father think of me?" Sam looked at Mercedes, who was staring at him compassionately.

"Sam, your father loves you." She said, and Sam shook his head.

"I thought my mother loved me too," he replied bitterly, "This goes to show how much that's worth—"

"Don't you dare start talking that kind of foolishness, Sam," Mercedes interrupted him and he glanced over at her. The look in her eyes was understanding, but the expression on her face was set. "Love is something precious and your mother let her selfishness cloud her judgment. Losing faith in love will do nothing but make you miserable, not her."

"I told him that I hated him," Sam admitted and Mercedes' eyes softened as she placed her other hand atop their entwined digits. "I told him that I hated him and then I ran off. I haven't talked to him since."

"Sam, your father loves you," she said quietly, "I believe that with all my heart and right now, the only thing you can do is talk to him."

"What if he doesn't want to talk to me?" Sam asked. His vulnerability was making him more nervous than usual.

"What if he does?" Mercedes responded and the two were silent as Sam mulled over that answer in his mind. She had a point. One, he couldn't really refute.

When the bell rang, Mercedes squeezed Sam's hand once more before letting go. He thanked her quietly before he walked from the auditorium.

Mercedes stared after him as he walked out of the doors.

When he was gone, she let out the sob she'd been holding in. She couldn't believe what Sam's mother had done to him. It had taken all of her self control to restrain her outrage when he told her, but she knew that her anger wouldn't have helped him then. He had enough emotional turmoil to sort out in his own head.

She prayed that Sam would actually talk to his father. Whether or not, the blond admitted it—he needed his dad to be there for him. Just as his dad probably needed Sam to be there for him in return.

There had to be something she could do to help him and his family. There just had to be.


April 15, 2011 (Friday)

The Motel Six

Lima, Ohio

10:48PM

When Sam walked into the motel room, his face flushed and his expression nervous—Stacey threw herself into his arms. He held her close, murmuring apologies into her ear as she blubbered in his embrace. She and Stevie were quick to forgive, terrified that he would up and leave like their mother did and Sam spent quite awhile trying to reassure them that he wouldn't do such a thing.

After they'd been put to bed, Sam finally faced his father. The man had been quietly watching him since he'd walked in the door. Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Jeffrey raised his hand to stop him.

Sam watched his father cross the short distance to him with apprehension. But he was surprised when all his dad did was open his arms to Sam. For a moment, Sam was frozen. His dad was forgiving him without asking for a word of explanation or remorse.

What Sam didn't realize is that Jeffrey could see everything he needed to in Sam's green eyes and he didn't need anything more.

The relief flooded Sam faster than he could blink when he realized how right Mercedes was when she told him 'your father loves you'. He stepped into his dad's embrace and they wept together. Sam had never been more aware of the shared pain, but he also felt more surrounded by love than he had in days.

Jeff spent an hour just listening to his son speak. Sam told him about why he sold the guitar, where he sold the guitar, all the drama with the Glee club, becoming friends with Mercedes, and how stupid he was for trying to date crazy chicks. Jeffrey just listened attentively as Sam talked through his tears, no longer hiding how scared and angry and hurt he was from his father.

Jeff felt his heart breaking. He couldn't believe that he had missed all this. His son had needed him and whether he liked it or not—he had let him down. With the maturity Sam had been showing, Jeff had forgotten that his son was just seventeen-years old. He was still his baby boy and he would always be that, but Jeff had lost sight of his child as a result of his problems. That was unacceptable and he swore to himself that things would be different.

"We're going to be alright Sam," Jeffrey whispered into Sam's hair—long after the drained teenager had fallen into a peaceful slumber in his arms. Jeff had sat on the bed next to Stevie and Stacey long ago when Sam couldn't control his tears. He had pulled the boy down next to him and just held his son in a hug that was long overdue.

Sam had listened to the steady pounding of his dad's heartbeat under his right ear and that combined with his father's fingers threading through his hair eventually soothed him to sleep. Jeff laid a kiss on his son's head.

"I love you so much, Sam," he said softly, "We're going to get through this. I don't know how just yet, but I have faith that God has something wonderful in store for us. We're going to be alright. I just know it. "

And that night, for the first time in months, the Evans family slept with no concerns about tomorrow—they were just basking in the love that still existed in the middle of their darkest times. Peace didn't come easily to them, but tonight; they had everything they needed and that was more than enough.


REVIEW, please? And tell me your thoughts. :) The song used in this chapter is "He's Not on his Knees Yet" by CeCe Winans.