The Coldest Summer✓

Thirty-four

Does it even matter now? I'm already too tired to even worry.

"Nothing," Liam articulates. His voice betrays his words, for he cannot hide his anger even at this moment. "You're fine, right?" he asks me coolly.

"Yeah." I nod my head. "Jeremy was just leaving, right?" I glare coldly at him, and for once we seem to speak the same language.

"I was just on my way out." He sounds pissed.

He disappears through the front door, and Sam stalks her gaze at him until he's out. She's with Veronica, apparently, and they both look at me afterwards.

"Can someone explain what the hell has just happened here?" Veronica snaps impatiently, but when she meets Liam's eyes her whole composure burns in the air.

"Excuse me," Liam says and slowly walks back to his room.

Silence prevails. Sam's eyes are stern on me, and Veronica isn't any different.

"I had an unpleasant argument with Jeremy and Liam intervened. That's what happened," I tell them dryly.

They both frown.

"Argued about what?" Veronica asks.

I sigh heavily and move closer to her. "What do you think? Are you going to pretend like you don't know what I would possibly argue about with him? He's your boyfriend so you can either keep him with you like a pocket or let him slip away as he loves doing. And don't worry, I'm the last person who'd want his company," I tell her flatly, because she knows everything. "I'll be in my room." I leave them.

I slam the door and drop heavily on my bed. What will happen next? It feels like I've got nothing else to do here other than packing my bags and leaving. Is there any reason for me to stay? I get too engrossed with my thoughts to even realize that Sam is here now.

"I told them to leave," she tells me.

"Hmm," I answer curtly, facing the ceiling above.

Sighing, Sam walks towards the window. She says nothing, but stares at the ocean streaming into view from a distance, and I wonder what's up with her now. Anything can happen.

"Do you remember the first time you arrived at the orphanage?" she suddenly asks.

She turns around and our eyes meet.

"Yeah, why?" I utter, my mind in refusal to think of anything behind this so unexpected speech.

"You didn't want to talk to anyone. You zipped your mouth for an entire week," she says with a small laugh. "It's crazy I still remember even though I was just eight." She shifts to the wall and leans against it, facing me.

"What are you trying to say?" I rise up to take a seat.

"Even though you refused to speak to anyone, I still forced my way, over and over again, until you talked. But when you did talk, I wished you didn't, because what you said broke my heart." She now moves towards me, sniffling as if she's crying inside.

My eyes well up with tears at the memory of those days. It was just a month after my parents' death, and I felt like a part of me had died with them. I couldn't remember much, but the pain was unforgettable.

And suddenly I was in a place where kids had no homes, no parents, I was one of them. I felt lost, I wanted to die, and I believed it was the only ticket to see mom and dad again. I always stayed at the corner, my mind blank.

They tried talking to me-the girls, the boys-but none succeeded to open my mouth. The world had lost its colors in my eyes, but some brunette kid named Samantha didn't give up. She tried until she heard my voice.