Chapter 11 - Pillow talks

"Why am I sleeping here?" Sam asked once entered his bedroom.

"I thought we'd agreed you'd stay." Lucas countered, always ready to fight back her every argument about leaving. They'd spent such a lovely time together, after that awkward moment when'd unburdened to her, but he knew how stubborn she could be.

"No, I meant, why am I sleeping here, in your bed, not in the guestroom." Sam explained, surprising him.1

Lucas smiled, shrugging. "You're used to the bed, it's comfy."

She rolled her eyes, ignoring his slight reference to their sexy moments, and sat at the edge of bed. "What about you, then?" Sam wasn't sure, but some parts of her did hope he would stay.

She needed to cherish that weekend as much as she could, because as soon as, on Sunday evening, she'd leave that penthouse, everything would go back to normal, however dull and dark her normalcy was, so maybe ... she could exploit this break she was on, and enjoy the dream. Even if only for a few hours.

Lucas shrugged. "The guestroom's bed is pretty comfy, too."

"Lucas ..." She sighed.

He bit his lip, uncertain, going to sit beside her, causing her to feel tingles the exact moment his skin brushed hers. "May I be honest?" He asked.

She arched an eyebrow, but nodded. Her heart skipped a few beats when he reached for her hand, and entwined their fingers as he admitted: "I really feel like staying." He bit his lip, knowing it was a risk, but sure he'd regret it if he didn't try. "As long as you want me to, of course."2

Samantha, vigilant, cautious Samantha, would have shied away, bringing up thousands of different excuses and justifications as to why sleeping together without the sexual element while their relationship was supposed to be merely sexual was wrong.

Temporary Sam, the less strict girl that was trying to enjoy a weekend with her only friend without thinking, simply smiled and, unknowingly causing his heart to thump louder than a thunder, agreed: "Yes." Just one word, thousands of different feelings from each part.1

"Yes?" Lucas repeated, unable to believe it.

She chuckled, nodding, unconsciously squeezing his hand. "Yes, why so surprised?"

"I don't know, I ... I uh ... I thought you were gonna kick me out screaming pervert, something like that."2

Sam wasn't able to retain a bubbly laugh that rumbled out of her, enough strong to have her need to cover her mouth and excuse herself. It was an ongoing surprise, how could he make her laugh so easily and so often. It felt nice, abandoning herself to someone, believing, truly believing, that he would not harm her in any way. It was such a new and liberating feeling, Sam almost didn't want to let go ... but she knew she had to. Be it only for his own sake.

Standing, she stretched a little. "Okay, um ... then stay. I-uh ... need to brush my teeth and all, do you have a spare toothbrush?" She asked, mostly in order to dissimulate the awkwardness that might have burst their cozy bubble.

Lukas nodded, telling her where to find everything, and once she was out of sight, in the bathroom, he let out the breath he'd been holding in, and lay on bed. Somehow a silly smile found its way on his lips, and didn't seem willing to leave. 2

Why would it? She was lowering her guard, finally letting him in, heck, she trusted him even! He was there, just a mere inch away from her heart, he knew that, he just ... had to push a little harder through the thorns she surrounded it with.

When she came back, half an hour later – which he'd filled with lovesick ideas about their first date –, Lucas gulped. She wore nothing but a towel, wrapped her around her sinuous curves tightly, as if she were afraid it'd fall suddenly, her silky legs were on show, and the bump of which consisted her large breasts had him swallow thrice. 2

Damn, he'd forgotten how sexy her sensuous body was. Oh, how much he craved to have her right now ... but she would think bad, he knew that. Lucas shook his head, deleting the thought. There wasn't supposed to be any sexual intercourse between them, it was supposed to be everything platonic that weekend, otherwise she would twist his actions and words in her head once again, and convince herself he wanted nothing but sex.

It may be hard, heck, when he'd admitted he felt like staying, he hadn't considered how complicated it would physically be to be close to her without feeling anything. He'd daydreamed of cuddling her closely, spooning her all night long ... he'd just forgotten that he was no eunuch, there was biology to consider. And the way Samantha Benedetti enflamed his loins, no other woman ever did.2

"Lucas?" She called, and he realized he's been spacing out, probably staring at her, drooling over her sensuous curves that always drove him insane. She was the very definition of curvy. Without all those politically correct ideas nor euphemisms.

A beautifully shaped hourglass, feeling her, every time, was like a hormonal rollercoaster he might fall out of anytime. She may not be technically perfect, but she was to him. And if the dreams he'd had of her were any sign, he loved those sinuous curves of hers. 1

A true Mediterranean beauty, he would say, didn't he know she was from Florence, and that she cared about the distinctions, even too much for someone who'd left her country without a single regret so easily.

He cleared his throat, subtly reaching for his chin, just in case he'd been literally drooling. "Yeah?"

"You okay?" Sam asked, tilting her head to the side.1

How sweet she looked like that. Lucas sat up, once more clearing his throat. "Uh ... yeah, I ... yeah ..."

She barely hid the amused smile, but he didn't care. Let her laugh of his awkward moments, the sound she made was too heavenly to renounce to it. "I said, I took a shower, but I ... forgot I've got nothing to wear." She repeated.

Lucas bit his lip when his mind suggested she may sleep like that, he'd be fine with it. When she called his name again, he dejectedly deleted the imagery of her, Marilyn Monroe-like, lying in his bed, wearing nothing but Chanel no. 5 ... "Uh ... take whatever you need from the wardrobe."3

Nodding, Sam reached over for the piece of furniture. Lucas felt like growling out his every most basic animal instinct when she, as naturally as ever, slipped off the towel - panties being the sole garment she wore underneath - and delicately put on one of his shirts. Was she doing that on purpose? Did she know how much she was killing him like that? 1

Then again, the simple fact that she felt enough at ease with him as to undress herself without so much of a fuss even when the situation wasn't in any way sensual, was definitely a good sign. More and more, Lucas considered, it felt like she was indirectly restating how much she trusted him.

"You sure you alright, Lucas?" Sam asked, turning to him, confused.

"Huh?" He looked up to meet her eyes, instead of X-Ray her soft curves.

"You're so distracted. You sure you alright?" She went to sit beside him, and placed a hand on his thigh, offering him a gentle smile, convinced he was still upset because of the talks about his dad. She felt tingles all over again when he entangled their fingers, but said nothing. It felt nice, for how volatile, and besides, if it gave him strength, then why should she deprive him of that?1

"Yeah, I ..." Lucas cleared his throat. "I need a shower." He leaped to his feet, and in the blink of an eye, he was out of the room, leaving her there to contemplate the air he'd moved. 1

Maybe sleeping together was too couplish? Maybe he didn't feel comfortable with acting as if they were actually together. But it'd been his own idea, he had said he felt like staying, she'd just agreed because it was what she wanted, too ...

Deciding she would ignore any doubts and just wait, Sam lay underneath the blankets, and grabbed the book that was on the nightstand. Curiously, she hadn't noticed it the night before. Surprisingly, it was chick lit book, a pretty famous one that had been released a few weeks ago. She knew it because, she'd not only read it, but it was one of her favorites. 1

She loved reading, it gave her a sense of familiarity, books seemed to tell her, you're not alone, therefore she loved reveling in those. She read any book that caught her interest, no matter the genre, however this book felt particularly close to her.1

She opened it carefully, curious as to where had he gotten to, and she grimaced when she noticed the pencil-written notes beside some lines. He was one of those readers, huh? Those that underline their favorite phrases and write on the book everything they think of the lines. It was pure heresy to her.

However, she soon forgot it when, leafing through the pages, she stumbled upon a specific phrase he'd underlined twice, clearly preferring it to others. She smiled. It was her favorite line, too. You cannot keep on dwelling in the past. You need to look up to your future, he said, and, just so you know, your future is me. 4

It was cheesy, Sam knew that, and in reality, hardly would someone ever say such a phrase, but it warmed her heart, and the most romantic side of her, despite being hidden away under tons of layers of walls and thorns, dreamed she would be, one day, the one those words were directed to.

She loved that particular book because it relieved her, it was so close to her heart, to her situation, that it was unbelievable, every step the protagonist took, now Sam realized, was something she would have certainly done, the way she continuously fled from herself, from him ... it was as if her life had been already told, Sam realized.

Reading that book, it felt like reading herself. The saddest part was, she didn't have the same strength as the protagonist's, who'd thrown away all of her issues, gotten rid of her walls, and welcomed him in, cozily adjusting to a shield made of his sheer love. She could never do that, Sam was sure. She would never be able to do such a thing, take just an outrageously perilous leap.1

With a sigh, she put the book back to its place, and lay down, eyes on the ceiling. It felt weird to be in his bed, awake and lucid, with him just a few moments away from joining her, without any expectation whatsoever, without readying to leave once their secret encounter was over. It was odd, weird, yet ... nice. A content smile took over her lips as an unfamiliar sense of peace filled her soul, something, far, far away deep within her, suggesting that, if only she were any braver, that might be her place.

However, she wasn't Esme, her past hid way more than a broken heart, and the weight Lucas would take on his shoulders would be too heavy, even for him. The scars she wore like second skin, literally and figuratively, he'd hardly be able to cope. And ... she cared for him too deeply to let him in her broken world.2

When the door of the bathroom reopened, and Lucas reappeared dressed in boxers and t-shirt, Sam forced all the negative thoughts out of her mind. This was her isle of peace, she reminded herself, just 24 hours of tranquility more, then she'd dive back into darkness.

Offering him a small smile, she scooped to the right, making room for him. Once they were all settled, Lucas clapped his hands, shutting off the lights, so that the room plunged into obscurity. They briefly wished goodnight to each other, but none of them dared close one eye.1

A few minutes ticked by in the uttermost silence. The penthouse was so high up Manhattan and so well designed against noises, that not even the city that never sleeps could come in and break that suffocating blanket that had crawled over them.

"You asleep?" Lucas asked in a murmur, uncertain, after a good ten minutes of silence.

"Nope." She answered, biting her lip.

He turned on his side, as if to look at her, even if he couldn't see her, and pressed his head against the pillow. A smile gracing his lips, Lucas proposed: "I can't sleep. You can't sleep. Pillow talk?"2

Sam turned on her side as well, mimicking him as she pressed her face against the pillow. "What kind of talk?"

"The ... all you say in bed, stays in bed kind of talk. A pillow talk. Whatever you say tonight, it'll remain within the secrecy of this bed."

She cracked a small smile, finding him cute. "If I said yes ... what would you want to talk about?"

He shrugged, even though she couldn't see him, as pitch dark as the room was. "Anything."

Sam bit her lip, unsure. She could read through his intents, he wanted to know more about her, and she was dying to let him discover her, but ... he might ask tricky questions whose answer she could not give. She heard him shifting, and when a warm breath hit her face, she realized he'd moved closer, until their foreheads were brushing each other. Cue the faster heartbeats.

"Let's say we ask one question each," Lucas proposed, his voice soft and husky, a pure manna for her ears, but a firecracker for her tangled hormones. "We can agree on an escape word, whenever we don't feel like answering, we'll say that word, so the other will change question, without arguing."1

"What should the word be?" Sam asked, intrigued, for how scared of the possible outcome of such talks. If she had to be honest with herself, she was torn. She both wanted and did not want to let him know things about her. It was a complicated balance to keep. Between too little and too much. How farther could she go in talking about herself without risking to touch the most delicate parts of her past?

Lucas pondered a moment. "How about ... Esme?"

She arched an eyebrow at him, marveled, more because she got the hint than anything. "Esme?"

"Yeah, it's this book I'm reading. The protagonist, Esme, she reminds me of ... you."1

Sam bit her lips, conscious of the meaning of such statement, but she said nothing about it. Esme fled from the man she loved and that loved her back every time he seemed to be getting any closer to her, every time he attempted something less shallow between them, she fled at the speed of light.

Of course she would remind him of her, Sam was well aware, she'd done that with him a few times already. Comparing her to that fictional character meant that he could read through her enough to see how damaged she was. Yet he still stuck around, for who knew what reason.

"Ok", she agreed, before awkwardness could sneak in, "whenever we're uncomfortable with a question, we'll say Esme, and the other will skip to another question. Agreed. So, who starts?"

"Me first." Lucas responded eagerly. He could spend the whole night asking questions in order to know more about her. He just needed to be careful, ask the right questions, in order not to let her get on the defensive. One step at a time, and everything would fall in place.

"Okay, um ... do you have siblings?" He asked, deciding to start from afar.

"I'm only child." Thinking for a moment, she asked: "Where are you from?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Boston, didn't I tell you?"

"No, you said your mom lives in Chicago. You didn't say where were you born."

"I thought you'd read about me, my biography and all ... I get it, you didn't know what to ask, did you?" She bit her lip, guiltily admitting he was right, which had him smile tenderly. "Well, yeah, I'm a Bostonian, born and bred. Do you miss Italy?"

Her smile was sad this time, and she barely managed to conceal it, therefore she was glad he couldn't see her face. "Sometimes." Before he could say anything, she asked: "Are you ... uh ... religious?"

He chuckled. "That's an odd question."

"Well, I already know all your likings, more or less, from that ... you know, talk in the elevator. So ... there's not much left."

"Aside from the most dangerous topics."

Her breaths caught in her throat. Parting her lips, Sam tried to say something, but he prevented her, answering to her question naturally: "I grew up as Catholic, my mom is, my dad, he was Jewish, they let us chose, Rachel chose atheism, I followed mom. That's ... possibly the sole time I ever have. For the rest, I was always on my dad's side."

Sam didn't say anything, conscious that the sole mention of his dad might potentially trigger his grief, yet he once more surprised her by easily switching subject: "How many boyfriends have you had?" She frowned, even though he couldn't see her, but because he prefigured her reactions, he chuckled, reminding her: "Pillow talks have no limit of topic ... as long as it's safe."

She rolled her eyes, but answered nevertheless: "Just one. You?"

"Is that a bad phrasing, or are you still doubting of my heterosexuality?"2

She chuckled, playfully hitting his chest. "Be serious."

"I am. You just asked if I had any boyfriends."

"I asked girlfriends."

"English language begs to differ."

For the third time, she rolled her eyes, but laughing. "Are they so many that you don't want to tell me?"

He grinned, causing her to choke on her laugh as he delicately rubbed her hip. "Would you be jealous if I said yes?"

Probably, she would have wanted to say, but held it back, resorting to a sarcastic snort. "As if."

Lucas inched closer, enough for their lips to graze, his smile unfaltering, his voice dropping of a few tones, gaining that sexier beat she could never resist to. "Oh, I think you would be very jealous, Ms. Benedetti, admit it." His hand rested on her hip, and he used it to move her closer, until her body met his, closing the gap between them.1

"We're going off topic." Sam murmured, trying to remain lucid, despite the haziness.

Lucas grinned, pecking her lips softly. "Like I said, pillow talks have no limit of topic."

"And how does trying to seduce me count as topic?" She asked boldly.

He smirked, letting his hand slide along her curves, up to her cheek, whose chin he grabbed, and pulled towards him, murmuring: "Just say you're jealous and get it over with." Before capturing her lips in his, softly yet somewhat roughly, caringly yet assertively. Sam didn't need to be asked twice, for how confused, she responded to his kiss, and their bodies melted together.2

Every time was like fire meeting ice, Sam felt. He was the fire relentlessly attempting to melt the ice, at the cost of its own consumption. Little did he know, that the ice would love to be melted, however ... that didn't stop her from hoisting layers after layers every time he managed to bring down one, knowing that, in truth, the fire could never be ready to what he'd find once he'd melted the ice. Or so the ice thought.

Sam unconsciously reached out for him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, digging her hands in his hair, while he wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing her against himself, his hands slyly sliding down to brush her butt, which had her slightly gasp in his mouth. In a moment, he was over her, and her legs were hooked behind his back as they kissed, unable to pull back, despite needing air.

When they finally did break the kiss, Lucas gasped, leaving his forehead against hers. "There goes the innocent talk." He mused with a half smile, cupping her cheeks.

She smiled back, pecking his lips, but before he could make any further move, she teased boldly: "This doesn't mean you're getting any tonight, Mr. Grant."

He grinned, pecking her lips as well, his fingers brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. "I'll surprise you, Ms. Benedetti, but ... even though I really, really would love to go further," he placed a lingering kiss on her neck, trailing his way up to her mouth, which he pecked for good measure, "I'd rather have that pillow talk instead."

Sam offered him a half smile that he couldn't see. "Well, that's new. You'd rather talk other than have sex?"1

He chuckled, once more pecking her lips. "You know what, I just ... love spending time with you. Be it sex or binge-watching your favorite TV show or bantering or ... simply getting to know you better. I just ..." He caressed her cheek, kissing it tenderly. "I just ... love spending time with you, Sam."1

"Lucas ..." She warned.

"As friends. Of course as friends." He swiftly mended, before she could restart cowering back into her safe cocoon, leaving him out. There was silence for a few moments, but in the end, Sam smiled lightly, agreeing. 3

Phew. He'd almost blown it all up. Maybe tying his tongue might be useful. It was a delicate game to play, just one wrong move, and he'd be out, no second chances. It was like high school baseball all over again: before every match, the coach gave them just one shot to try and see if they were up to the game, just one wrong ball, and they'd be benched. Lucas recalled how stressful yet satisfying it was every time. He just needed to play it that way this time too.

Hence, he got off her with a sigh, and finally answered her question: "Three. I've had three actual girlfriends. Four if I count Laurel, whom I'm not sure I should count, given how short it was. The rest were ... um ... well ..."

"One night stands?"

He bit his lip, guilty. "Yeah."

"There's nothing wrong with it." Sam assured him, turning on her side, once more pressing her face against the pillow. This whole weekend, it needed to work out as best as possible. It was a one shot at living, and she couldn't afford spoiling it. It was one unique glimmer of light in a life otherwise made of pure darkness. It had to work. It just had to.

"There is, because I ... I probably led on those girls, even without meaning to, the disappointed look on their faces every time I had to come clean about it told me that much." Lucas admitted, mimicking her stance. Having flings always made him feel somewhat dirty. He could even say he felt guilty for nor feeling anything for those girls he hooked up with. It was like using someone to his own pleasure, and he hated that. 1

Opposite to some of his friends, his idea of sex was restricted to one girl at a time, with whom she'd do way more than that, therefore he'd found himself guilty also when it came to his peculiar thing with Sam, because, in the end, she wasn't even that different from a generic hookup, though he liked to think of her as the type of partner Laurel had been: mostly sex, but also couplish moments, the ideal alternative to an actual relationship, when he couldn't have one.

Sam smiled, actually proud of him. "You really aren't that kind of guy, huh?"

"What?" He frowned.

Her smiled brightened as she let her fingers slide over his features, his thumb stroking his slightly rough – because of the stubble – cheek, her voice almost tender when she admitted: "I like this. You ... you keep on surprising me. Every time I think I can finally convince myself you're just like every other man, you ... you contradict me, oblige me to admit the actual, cute, lovely reality, that you really are a good man, Lucas Grant, that you're sweet and caring, and ... I like it."2

Lucas opened his mouth to answer, but no sounds came out. What was he supposed to say? It was already incredible that she was being this sincere and open, now how could he respond without spoiling the moment? In his mind the gears ran fast, trying to come up with an answer that didn't include crushes.

Rationally, he was sure she didn't mean she liked him, in that sense even, but emotionally ... well, his heart was glowing already. If only she could have seen the glint that she'd lit up in his eyes, Sam would have stepped back immediately, she would have broken her isle of peace, before breaking him. Had she seen the hopes she'd raised, Sam wouldn't have kissed him, setting his heart on fire.

The more they kissed, the more his heart travelled to her, floating in the air as it waited for her. The more they kissed, the harder it was for her to keep her emotions in check, yet she didn't feel like pulling back. She knew she had to, but she just couldn't make herself. Lucky thing he did before her.1

"Damn!" Lucas groaned as he lay back. "We're not gonna get through this night, are we?"

She chuckled, laying back as well. "Your fault, not mine."

He turned to her, an impish grin gracing his lips as his fingers softly skimmed over her stomach. "Oh, please, just admit you can't keep your hands off me, Ms. Benedetti."1

Sam bit her lips, turning to him. "That's kinda true, I guess." He blinked his eyes, surprised. "I mean, come on, our whole thing bases off me not being able to resist you."

They both smiled, but Sam ignored the faster beats of her heart when he reached for her hand, and entwined their fingers. It was odd how his hand fitted hers so perfectly. As if they were made to be entangled together. She let out a relieved sigh as she left her forehead against his. "What about the pillow talk?"

Lucas smiled, squeezing her hand. "It's my turn to ask." He mentioned softly. He was completely lost in his lovesick puppy world, and he didn't mind one bit. How closer they'd gotten through the weekend, how more spontaneous she was being, how she admitted things so easily, those were all great signs. Maybe this game would be just a notch easier to win.

It'd been so long since the last time he'd ever felt something so strong, such clear feelings for someone, it was like resurrecting to life after having drowned in a world without love. Lucas knew his romantic self might come off as a little too cheesy sometimes, but so what? He loved to love. 1

If there was one thing that could heal any heart, that was love. Our world rests on the principle that we are insatiable beasts unable to do else but consume our neighbors to our own advantage, he saw that in business every single day, but was that really worth it? Was a greedy life solely aimed at egoistic pleasure worth it? Wasn't it more fulfilling to offer everything one has but someone else lacks of?

Lucas didn't like talking about charity, it'd feel like he was bragging about how much he did for less fortunate people, but, his heart and his heart only knew how beneficial it was to his soul. It was liberating, and definitely healing. In a way, charity possibly filled the hole his father's loss had left inside him. The hole someone to love would have to fill. The crack Samantha Benedetti fitted so comfortably.

God, he loved her. The more he looked at her, even in the obscurity of the room, the more she smiled, the more she laughed ... the more he loved her. Lucas was well aware it might hurt, Sam wasn't easy to convince, but he didn't care one bit. She might shred his heart, tear it to ribbons, and he'd still love her.

Sam bit her the corner of her mouth. "Okay, then. Shoot."

Lucas blinked his eyes, coming back from his reverie, made of a life with Samantha Benedetti by his side. He would have been surprised at how easily she'd sneaked into his heart, gripping it so tightly, but what was there to wonder? She was the one and only.

Pressing his lips, Lucas considered whether it was the case ... they'd said they'd steer clear of potentially dangerous topics, but the question was burning his throat. He needed to know, that way he could help her at the best of his chances, and, he was sure, if unburdening had relieved his grieving heart, it would certainly do the same to hers, then maybe, she could move on. With him, that is.

Hence, gathering courage, Lucas dared: "Why do you have panic attacks and nightmares?" Okay, maybe that was too direct, but the die had been cast now, no going back.1

Her eyes opened wide, her breaths halting. Sam let go of his hand, pulling back, needing space. "I ... I-I don't." Was the sole answer she could come up with.

Lucas stubbornly grabbed her hand back. "Last night. You tossed and turned in your sleep, you kept begging no, no, no ... I tried soothing you, but you didn't even hear me, so I just remained there beside you, until you quieted down." He sighed, pulling her into him before she could escape. "And then there's the whole episode that brought you here ... what you had the other day at the office, it was a panic attack, wasn't it? Why? What ... what caused such things?"1

Samantha squirmed, trying to free herself from his grip, her anxiety levels already raising. He should have never witnessed such a thing, he should have never gotten that close as to even see her through her nightmares. She knew it was a horrible sight, it even surprised her that he still wanted her close, after having seen her at her worst.

"Please, Sam, don't run away." Lucas encircled her waist, holding her close. "I just want to know. What happened to you? Why are you so-"

"Damaged?" Sam swallowed the lump in her throat, breaking free of his grip once for all. Yet she didn't stand, she remained there, laying back in bed. Maybe because, subconsciously, she did want to share her story with him. "Why am I so broken? Is that what you wanna know, Lucas?" She reiterated, tears welling in her eyes already. Gosh, how much she hated this new emotional self!1

"Sam ..."

"You've got a pretty life, a beautiful family, loyal friends, a successful job. You just have no idea how much darkness can hide in the daylight." She spat, angry at herself for having slipped up that easily, lowering her guard enough to let him in. Sitting up, she did her best to keep her breaths even, before another panic attack happened. She was such a mess. Not even a weekend of peace she could get to have.

When her hands started quivering, Samantha took deep breaths, trying to calm down. It wasn't that big of a deal, was it? He'd known she was damaged since the beginning, was that a surprise? It just stank, because she'd wanted to live an utopia for once, pretending to be just a normal girl hanging out with a friend that could have been way more, if only odds had been different. She'd just wanted to pretend she could have a normal weekend without overthinking nor fussing nor nightmares ... she was wrong, apparently.

"Sam, wait ..." Lucas tried stopping her when she stood. He followed her in the dark, and before she could even bypass the bed, he was right in front of her, gripping her arms. He didn't need to see her face to know she was trying her best not to cry. Just how fragile was she?

"It's fine. I'm fine. I just ... I just need the restroom for a moment, okay? Then I'll ... we'll ... uh ... I just need a moment on my own, okay? Then everything will go back to normal." Her voice was shaky, though.

"But if your normality is fragility, then it's not a healthy normality, Sam." He pointed out, cupping her cheeks. "You don't need to escape from me, okay? I'm your friend, remember? You trust me. Whatever it is that you need to talk about, I'm right here." He inhaled deeply, leaving her forehead against hers. "I just want to help you move on."

"There's ... t-there's nothing to move on from."

"Sam ... you don't need to hide the truth from me. I know you. I see you. I see the deeply fragile being you are, too afraid to seek help. But you don't need to, okay? I'm here, I'm your friend, I ..." Love you. "I ... care about you. A lot. I want to help you."2

"You want to fix me, Lucas." She took a step back, but he didn't leave her cheeks. "You think you can fix me, you think you can come in swaggering with your money, your good looks and all, and fix me, but some things just can't be fixed, Lucas. Some things are meant to be broken."

"You're not broken, Sam. You're just scared. And I understand it, or I try to, but you don't need to be afraid of me. I won't leave you."

She snorted, turning her head. "Oh, please. Everybody leaves."

"Not me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Lucas. As soon as you'll find someone to love, you'll forget about this charity case. And it's fine, I get it, you have a life. So live it. Don't waste time with me."

He bit his lip. At least she was being sincere, she was talking, instead of running away, it was something. He'd have wanted to tell her the truth, that he would never leave, because he'd already found someone to love. And it was her. But she wouldn't take it well. 1

What he didn't like was the last phrase: don't waste time with me. Her insecurities were finally surfacing, and she was, for how unconsciously, admitting her fears. That was the whole reason why she wanted such a shallow thing between them, wasn't it? She was scared, and lost, and terrified he may leave right when she started caring.

"No," Lucas stated firmly, bringing her into him in order to embrace her fully, speaking in her ear soothingly: "No, I'm not leaving now, I never will. Here I stand, and here I'll stay. You can do all you want to kick me out of your life, but it's too late, you can't. I'm here, I care for you, and I won't leave. You better get used to me."

"Lucas ..."

"No. Protests won't work. We've been through this already, you know how stubborn I am. So, if you wanna rewind these past minutes, and go back to careless pillow talks, I'll be fine with it. But ..." he cupped her face, staring into her eyes, even while unable to see them. "If you feel like opening up to me, unburdening yourself, I'll listen."

"You don't want to know."

"Sam, you better come to terms with it. I'm not going anywhere. There's nothing you might tell me that'll make me run away. I'm here with you and for you. You helped me take a huge load off my heart, I'll do the same for you. Whatever it is, I won't run away. Not now, nor ever."2

"Why?" She asked in a whisper, tears streaming her cheeks.

Lucas bit his lip. Because I love you, he would have wanted to say, but retained it. "Because we're friends. And friends stick to each other through thick and thin."

She didn't answer, gave herself a moment or two to take in his words. He sounded so truthful, so sincere. And he was right, she did trust him. He was the sole male being she ever trusted aside from her dad. That's why, for how unconsciously, Sam's body limped in his arms, and she rested against his chest, at level with his heart, whose beats almost lulled her, soothing her. Lucas cuddled her against him, daring to place a small kiss on her temple. One battle was won.1

When more than 15 minutes went by in silence, he started wondering whether she'd fallen asleep. He could feel her breaths against his chest, and they seemed calm, her body was completely abandoned to him, so maybe she'd really fallen asleep in his arms.

Lucas smiled, kissing her forehead, and, not that much effortlessly, but still succeeding, seized her in his arms, and lay her back on bed. Her arms were so tight around him, that he nearly fell on her with all his weight, but luckily he was able to lay on his side, and cuddle her. +

What had his heart stop for a moment, however, was the brief phrase that escaped her lips right when he was ready to close his eyes.

"My biological father was abusive."