Call Me Romantic (BxB)

Chapter 22

{☆ SAM ☆}

 Sam's phone rings, waking him from his light slumber; the song "I Don't Wanna Be Me" by Type O Negative blasts on his phone, lighting his darkened room. With a groan, he grabs his phone to see who the hell is calling him at midnight. 
 
It's Nash. Sam doesn't pick up until a couple of seconds later, letting the ringing draw out as if he is not desperate to answer or just can't answer at all. However, the thought of Nash possibly being hurt bothers him more than his will to run away. With his fingers being controlled by his heart instead of his head, he picks them up and presses them against his ear.
 
He doesn't say anything for a couple of seconds. There's just a silence of cars, crickets, and Nash on the other side. A part of it is comforting, but another part feels so wrong. He can't talk to Nash when he's going through so much already, but Nash is so sweet, and Sam has been itching to apologize for ignoring him for a week and tell him everything. He would understand if Sam just told him the truth, though he can't. It's too late for any of that. 
 
 
"Sam," Val's voice mumbles from the other side, and Sam lets out a deep sigh of relief and worry. 
 
Sam grips his phone and says, "Just tell me Nash didn't get hurt and is dying or something.”
 
"What? Oh, no, Nash is just in the other room, and he's fine. Physically at least." There's a short pause before she adds, "I need to ask something. Did you guys hook up?"
 
taking another deep breath to cool his nerves and relax his muscles, "That's none of your business, Val."
 
"Listen, dick, I don't need details; that's gross; I just need to know if something happened and it made you—"
 
"No." Sam interrupts her before feeling his cheeks grow hot from embarrassment and anger. He remembers everything—the way Nash kissed him and the way his hands touched his body. It didn't go further from that, even though Sam was wishing for it too. He doesn't know why; he's never felt so horny as a boy before. He had no idea how much a simple touch could do. Yet here he is, running away from the situation, like always, instead of coming to terms with his sexuality. The truth is, Nash didn't do anything wrong; he is so imperfect that he's perfect. 
 
He can hear Val let out a gentle chuckle. He just hopes she won't pull out the intimidating act she always does when she doesn't get it her way. Seriously, it's scary, but at least it is for Sam. He remembers that after the day he hit Nash in the face, she didn't have any of it. He yelled at him not once but twice in 24 hours, but when he had to be called out in front of his friends at lunch, it was uncomfortable enough. This call is on a different level of shame. Lucky for her, Sam hates getting yelled at, so he listens to whatever she needs to say or orders him to do. It was probably the first time he ever listened to someone—who wasn't his mom—let alone another student. 
 
"Is that it?' Sam asks.
 
"No, I need you to come over tomorrow for a little dinner," she replies.
 
Sam clenches his jaw, thinking about seeing Nash again, or the hurt on his face would be too much. He always hurts people around him, and I want to change, but change is complex. "Why?" he replies, though he knows what she's picking at.
 
"Do you still like him?"
 
He sits up in his bed, turning on his light, before rubbing his eyes to adjust to his hour of sleep. With a soft groan, he murmurs, "Yeah, but..."
 
"Then come. End of discussion."
 
She hangs up, and Sam is just staring at his phone, speechless. How many times is she going to make him come over for Nash?
 
 
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Sam is about to leave; he is wearing a hoodie with jeans and a winter vest. It's all he has in his best formal-ish clothes, though he doesn't even know what to wear. Nash's parents might be there; maybe it will be just Nash and no one else. That, though, makes Sam double-take this whole thing. He hasn't talked to Nash for a whole week on purpose, so waltzing in there and just saying Hey! Sorry, I've been ignoring you. I'm scared everyone will hate me, which probably won't work well. Not with a serious conversation that'll probably leave Nash even more upset than he is, and Sam doesn't want that. So he might as well just make Nash think he hates him when it's the complete opposite. 
 
Love is terrifying. Sam had never had a good relationship with love, whether it was family, friends, or lovers. For example, when he was with Penny, he was one of those insecure boyfriends who always asked where his girlfriend was or if she was cheating on him. Sam hates thinking about that; it makes him cringe. Not only jealousy but also the fear of how long it will last or how healthy it is. It's stressful, and he hates how possessive he can get with it, so instead he distances himself, hoping that he won't lock his lovers in a cage just because they offered love to him. 
 
 
Sam sighs as he slides on his white converses and ties them quickly. Let's just get this over with, he thinks to himself. Maybe he doesn't have to talk yet. Or at least not to Nash. Though it would be weird to not acknowledge the boy you almost slept with, his parents would catch on to their no-contact phase if they didn't know already. 
 
"Bye Mom." Sam opens the door as he twists his head toward his mom, who is sitting on the couch. She looks up from her book, ‘Seven Husbands', smiling softly without saying a word. Her brown, curly hair is messy, but she still looks beautiful. There is a big bruise on her arm. Sam takes note of it, meaning he needs to watch out for her more and protect her more from him. Sam only really has her hair; everything else belongs to his dad: his eyes, height, face, and worst of all, his hands. 
 
His mom hasn't been doing well mentally, but even when she tries to hide it, Sam can still see it. It's always the way she goes silent, like he does, or the way she won't put down a book. In this house, the father does the screaming or hitting while the others just take it, but lately, Sam has been fighting Hack. Sam's father has never hit Sam but has seen bruises on his mother, and it enrages him every time. It makes him sick to his stomach, and some nights he doesn't want to leave her alone with that monster of a man. For now, he's at work; he won't have to worry. 
 
Sam always promised his mom that no matter who he loved, he would never put his hands on them. That is already inaccurate. He hates himself for hitting Nash, even though he doesn't know the guy. It was still shitty. Sam steps out and closes the door after himself, the bright sun making his eyes narrow.
 
 
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Nash opens the door when Sam knocks on their eyes to meet, admittedly. Nash's confusion spins into anger, but he keeps his mouth shut about Sam's flaws. Sometimes Sam wishes Nash would speak up about it more or tell him like Val does. He knows Nash is strong, but he hates hurting people he loves, even if it is something as simple as yelling about something that isn't his fault. His hair has faded into a pastel blue, a while of his blond shining through. He has bags under his eyes and is in lazy clothes, a t-shirt, and PJ pants. His anger simmers down, but Sam knows better than to pry at it at all. 
 
"Hey." Sam started before Val moved Nash out of the way before he could slam the door, making him stumble over behind her. 
 
"Sam, come in!" Val chirps with a soft smile, and Sam can hear Nash scoff in disbelief, becoming more aware that they planned this. 
 
Sam steps in, towering over both of them, before he sees Nash's mom. Mrs. Sienna comes out, and her mouth opens again, though she doesn't say anything for a while in shock. "Sam!" she creaked, her voice hoarse, trying to compose her happiness to see her son's ‘boyfriend’ standing before him.
 
"Hi, Mrs. Sienna," Sam replies with an innocent grin. Sam catches Nash staring at daggers before he swipes away, walking into the kitchen out of sight. Sam grits his teeth; this is going to be a bit harder than expected. Life isn't as easy as a 'hi, I'm sorry' thing. You have to admit you are wrong and change. Change is hard, and admitting he did wrong is difficult for Sam at least. 
 
Mrs. Sienna has this knowing smile on her face about what's going on between Sam and her son. Sam only knows Mrs. Sienna because of that one time he fell off his skateboard when he was 12, and she helped him up. She cared for him better than any adult in his life ever had. Sad, it was only one small gesture of bandages and candy. Ever since they've been friendly neighbors, but Sam's dad refused to let him go near her, always tugging him away. 
 
"We are about to have dinner, but you are welcome to join." She winks at him before turning with confidence, following Nash out to the dining room. Her blond hair bounces when she walks, giving it a healthy shine. It looks like Nash's when he showed Sam his childhood picture from school. Sam walks over to the dining room and sits down on a cushioned chair. They have a nice and neat house that is family-friendly, and with the lgbtq flags delayed in the rose vase, there are so many flags that, hell, Sam barely knows 5. The walls are painted green, which is comforting, with the pink dining cloth to complement it.
 
A minute later, Nash and Sienna have plates of food, and Nash places a plate in front of Sam. He's so close—so close to kissing. So close to a hug. We are so close to doing more than just that. Sam's mind keeps going back to that one night when Nash's eyes and hands were all over him. Sam decides to distract himself since his family is right there, and he really shouldn't be thinking about those thoughts. Looking down at the London broil with mashed potatoes, corn, and biscuits. It seems wonderful, nostalgic and made with a mother's love. 
 
When the front door opens and closes, the thoughts swirling in his head die down to wondering who just came in. Someone is home. Who are they missing? He looks around the table. Mrs. Sienna, Val, Nash, and... The woman who hates Sam the most in this family.
 
Mrs Ember.
 
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