Between the Stars

Chapter Thirteen

Light filtered into the room through a tiny crack in the curtains and pierced the murky darkness as Sam's eyes slid in and out of focus. The air felt heavy, draping across him like a weighted blanket. He'd been stuck like this since just after he'd woken up early that morning, unable to move or speak. The vibration of someone's footsteps traveled through his bedframe and a moment later there was a knock on his door. Blood roared in his ears, muffling the sound.

"Sam, honey, are you awake?"

Her voice was distorted as though he was hearing her from deep underwater. His body refused to move but his eyes finally focused as she came into view and sat down.

"Another episode?" she asked, her expression sympathetic.

He could only stare at the curtains, completely helpless to answer her. He'd had these episodes before but this was the first one he'd had since coming to Michigan. One of the many doctors he'd seen called it catatonic depression.

"Charlie's on the phone downstairs," she continued. "She wants to know if you're alright. I know you were planning to meet her for lunch, should I tell her you're not feeling well and reschedule?"

A pang of regret broke through the fuzziness in his mind just enough for him to nod the tiniest bit. His mom rested a comforting hand on his leg, then stood and left the room. His stomach sank with the familiar weight of disappointment as the heavy fog settled back over him. He'd been looking forward to seeing Charlie but he was useless for hours when he got like this. He'd been doing so well, too. He hoped she'd understand.

He went back to staring at the blurry curtains in a dazed stupor until sometime later the doorbell rang downstairs. He heard the door open and his mom spoke in hushed tones to whoever was there. His mind sharpened a little bit when he heard a voice reply that sounded an awful lot like Charlie's.

A few moments later soft footsteps pattered up the stairs, much quieter than his mom's, followed by the dull crinkle of a paper bag being set down on his nightstand. A wave of embarrassment washed over him; he didn't want Charlie to see him like this, powerless to the apathy in his mind. He could sense her presence but he didn't— couldn't— turn over to face her.

"Your mom said on the phone that you weren't feeling well and you wouldn't be able to make it to lunch," she said quietly. "So I brought lunch to you."

She paused as the silence washed over them.

"I thought you were sick, so Tony made you some chicken noodle soup. He says to feel better, by the way."

Another pause.

"Your mom said when I got here that you might not talk today. That's fine. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything, so take your time and I'll see you later. Okay?"

He could hear her smile in her voice, which pulled his head out of the fog long enough for him to find his voice.

"Stay." His voice was so hoarse he wasn't sure she heard him.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her tone still gentle.

He nodded. He wasn't sure if she saw it in the dark room but his voice had abandoned him once again. A beat passed before she sat down on the bed and leaned back against the headboard. Somehow, her presence kept him from fading back into the stupor he'd been in all morning.

"You haven't told me much about what's going on with you, but I've been gathering bits and pieces since we started hanging out," Charlie murmured. "I know it sounds horribly cliché, but if there's anything I can do to make things easier on you just let me know. Even if the best thing I can do is leave you alone."