Roadtrip

Day Six

Yeah, I know it's been more than a month since the last time I updated but hell, writer's block can be cruel.

Anyway, I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :D

Song on the side: "Backseat Serenade" by All Time Low. (<3)

(Unedited)

Day Six

Samantha shut her eyes and wrapped her arms around her knees.

Her mom was gone and she didn't want to remember.

She lay on the floor of her room but didn't cry.

Her mom was gone and she didn't want to feel. 

She stopped trying to beat the smothering feeling. 

Her mom was gone and she didn't want to dream. 

She yelled at Cameron to get out of her life.

Her mom was gone and she didn't want to love. 

And Cameron? She didn't want to lose anyone else. She couldn't emotionally afford this whole situation again. 

Not now, not ever.

"She lied, she lied again. She couldn't help it. He craved for it."

The familiar words echoed around the room making me shift uncomfortably in my sleep.

"He craved for every falsely uttered word. He used the color of her tears to paint the sky as he watched her wings getting burnt."

My head spun around as I practically jumped out of the tub.

Yeah, given that he was the one who slept in the front seats for the past five days, he had sent me to the tub. Plus, when I came back after our cute argument, he was already tucked in the single bed so it was not like I had any other choice.

"Give it back," I breathlessly demanded, eyeing my i-pod.

"She kept telling she was fine. It was more than clear in front of his violet-gray eyes; he was losing her along with his own self," he went on.

He was standing on the table in our hotel room with his hand dramatically touching his chest.

"Stop!" I screamed.

"Didn't know you write, slutface," he mocked, raising an eyebrow.

I stared at him in disbelief for some seconds. Weren't we okay yesterday? I mean, yes, after Rosie's call things got sort of awkwardly tensed but I thought that we were past the name-calling thing.

I was obviously wrong.

"Hand. It. Back," I hissed venomously, clearly separating every word.

He kept staring at me with a cocky smile across his luscious lips.

"Tolstoy is a really bad influence, sweetie."

"It's not mine," I shamelessly lied.

"Yeah, right," he scoffed.

I gave him a flat look.

"I can see your fucking soul in here, Bradford," he said in a 'duh' tone.

I involuntarily hugged my sides feeling extremely uncomfortable. I seriously wanted to uproot his freaking eyes. I hated how exposed I felt right now, under his stupid examining gaze.