Even with everything that had happened lately, Sam didn't think he'd ever been so drained in his life.
His chest felt like an open wound exposed to the elements and breathing had long ago became a burden. His body had collapsed again, so he lay on the floor of Skye's office, staring at the ceiling.
"Come on, Sam," she muttered. "Stop denying it."
"I'm not denying anything," he said between gritted teeth.
She'd spent the past three hours forcing him to recount all the details of the night he'd broken up with Christine, how he'd felt about every tiny little thing.
Easy. Inappropriate, a failure, unlovable. Always unlovable.
"Yes, you are," Skye insisted.
"I'm not! Christine cheated on me. She's been sleeping with Harry behind my back for maybe months. Where's this denial you keep seeing?"
There was movement. He turned his head the slightest bit to see her sitting on the floor next to him, her legs curled up under her.
"Not that, Snowflake. You're very capable of admitting facts. But you won't heal unless you admit the effect the facts have on you. You won't heal until you admit that she broke you."
Her words sent a new wave of pain through him. Because she was right. He'd tried so hard to keep himself together that he hadn't let the consequences of what happened really sink in. Not beyond the obvious. Because going deeper was terrifying and might open the gates to a whole new hell.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Skye asked, sinking the metaphorical knife deeper into his chest.
He closed his eyes and nodded. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Would it help? Letting it all out, finally admitting what it meant to him?
"Do it. I know it hurts, but you need to lay it all out in the open before we can start rebuilding. There would be no point if you kept something suppressed, ready to destroy everything without notice."
Like building a house on unstable ground. Yes, he could see the logic in her statement. Maybe she had a point.
"Visualize," she whispered.
Visualize what? He opened his eyes, but only the ceiling greeted him, so he closed them again. It was scary and the only reason he was even considering this was because he'd come to trust Skye and her crazy methods. So, in the darkness, he finally admitted it to himself.
He wasn't strong, as much as he tried. What Christine did, Harry's betrayal... They'd broken him, and the control he'd forced on himself was just an illusion. He felt as if he were in a hole in the ground. And the visuals Skye wanted finally appeared.
Christine was there, looking down at him with contempt, a shovel in her hand. And just like that, she tossed moist earth right over him. Fitting imagery, being buried by those who had killed his hope, his ability to love.
Harry joined her on the edge of the grave, whistling while he worked to get the job done faster. Yes, this was so fitting. It felt so real. He could feel the ground under him, smell the damp earth. Every shovelful weighed on his chest.
What shocked him a little was that his exhausted mind chose to take it further. Freider appeared next to them, joining the effort to erase him from the world. Before Sam could wrap his mind around this new appearance, Lee Hannigan joined the party, that entitled grin on his face.
And Sam understood. His stress factors. It wasn't just Harry and Christine, it was his family, it was the Agency, everything joining forces to bring him down. Fear grabbed hold of him and he opened his eyes, but he could still see them, and the load on his chest was heavier every passing second. He couldn't breathe.
"Sam?"
The voice was soothing and a new figure appeared by his grave. Skye. There was a frown on her face and a shovel in her hand as well. But, instead of throwing more earth over him, she started shoveling it off . The load on his chest eased and he took in a shaky breath.
More figures appeared by the hole, joining her effort. Tom, Jerry, Kyle and Jimmy. Jessie, Kay and Angie. Herrison and his mother. Everyone working to dig him out, bring him back. And there were more of them, they were winning. Because even if Christine and Harry broke him, everyone else had done everything in their power to keep him together. Because they loved him.
He sat up. His head swam and his vision blurred, but he stayed upright, breathing greedily.
"What did you see?"
He jumped and turned to Skye. She was still next to him, sitting sideways in what looked like a very uncomfortable position.
He took in another deep breath and forced words out. "I was in a grave, Christine and Harry throwing dirt over me, trying to bury me. And my father and Hannigan." He expected an intervention, but she stayed silent. "It felt so real. But then..." Was that normal? Turning his feelings into such a vivid image?
"Then what?" she whispered.
"Then you showed up." He turned to her. She looked focused, but not surprised. "But there to take the load off. Then my brothers and my friends."
"And what do you make of that?"
It was maybe for the first time he realized she was a professional because he would've been prodding her so much about his own role in the vision instead of focus on his general interpretation.
But the answer was easy. "I have people in my corner."
She nodded. "Yes, you do."
"And you were right." His chest flared, but some peace came with the realization that this was it, it couldn't get any worse. "They broke me."
"Why?"
The question shocked him. "What do you mean why?"
"I mean why, out of all the other pressing issues in your life, did this manage to break you?"
Good question. "I don't know. Maybe because I'm trying so hard to pretend that there's still some normalcy in my life and when that fell apart... so did I."
Skye just nodded, but didn't offer any input.
"It just felt like I lost my footing and tumbled down stairs or something..."
He pulled his knees up and rested his forearms on them, fixing his gaze onto a spot on the rug. For some reason, it felt much easier to talk, to identify the problem now when he'd admitted it existed.
"The thing is, my life depends so much on control. It always has, including when I was a kid. I was never a problem child, good in school, extracurricular activities and all that. My parents never had to worry about me. But even so, I was the rebellious one compared to Jerry. He was just... perfect. And nothing I did mattered because he'd done it first, done it better. The only way not to let that get to me was to convince myself that we're the same, just good at different things.
"It worked up until we started disagreeing on things, once I started questioning my father's rules. Then it just started feeling like I was skating on thin ice. It got even worse once Kyle came home and I had to keep the peace between him and Jerry. And then...
"It's all been reliant on control, on keeping the balance. Between school, my family, and now the Agency and Snitch Gravel. One misstep would no longer cause family drama or grounding. It would mean death.
"But..." He sank his hand into his hair, pulling slightly to keep himself focused. "For once in my life, it would be nice to lose control. Just once."
"Then do it."
Skye's words had him turning to her. She just shrugged.
"I think it could do you good. The level of pressure on you is insane. And you're not responsible for everything going right or wrong."
"Someone is, Skye. I can't just dodge responsibilities."
She paused, a weird intensity in her gaze, as if she were judging something. "Have you ever actually dodged responsibility?"
"I don't know. I guess not."
"Again, you can't hold the world up all by yourself. If you try, you break. All Christine and Harry had to do was kick the legs out from under you, and look how hard you crumbled. I stand by what I said the first time we met. The issue in itself isn't all-consuming. Your life is just such a Jenga tower that it was enough. And that in no way makes you weak."
She made such a good point. He could escape. He could damn everything, maybe just once. So he got to his feet and reached out his hand.
"Come on."
Skye grinned at him and let him pull her up. The moment he did, she stumbled against him. Out of reflex, Sam wrapped his arms around her to hold her up. She was so small and frail against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders in panic.
"My legs fell asleep," she said matter-of-factly.
Sam couldn't help but let out a laugh. "Really?"
"No, I just love slumping against you. It's wonderful."
It didn't feel half-bad. Almost like a hug, and he needed all of the hugs he could get. She pressed on his shoulders, trying to get higher, like a cat trying to escape water. She could be fun. He was half tempted to let her struggle against him, but it sort of built a heat in the pit of his stomach which wasn't appropriate. So he did the more appropriate thing, put his hand on her thighs, lifted her off the ground, and placed her on the desk. She kept hissing , her eyes scrunched up, her fingers still digging into his shoulders.
"Try wiggling your toes. It helps."
"Wiggle my toes?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Very scientific."
"Hey, I'm not a doctor. I just know it works."
She probably tried it because she winced some more. "This is hell. This is living hell."
"Is it, Snowflake?" he asked with a grin.
"That's my nickname for you. Come up with your own." She turned her attention from her feet to him and seemed startled by how close he was.
To be honest, he was a little startled too, but he still didn't pull away. He liked to see her flustered for once, her perfume smelled really nice, and the warmth of her touch felt soothing.
"I... Um... I think we should..." She lowered her gaze, biting on her lower lip. She had full lips.
He knew too well what she meant, but he felt like being a bit of an ass. "We should what?"
"Didn't you want to go somewhere?" She straightened, scooting a little further from him.
Oh, yes. That. Because he'd visualized his pain and wanted to escape that for a while. His mood plummeted and it got him wondering why it had improved in the first place. "Yeah. Can you walk?"
She hopped off the desk, almost bumping into him, but stayed on her feet. "Of course. Where to?"
He didn't know yet, but he'd figure it out as they went.
♠️
Sam Grant was the weirdest man Skye had ever met, and she liked to think it was due to her lack of experience in the field. A couple of years was nothing for a respectable psychiatrist. And reading didn't even begin to hint at what real-life therapy was like.
When she'd agreed to go with him, she'd never imagined that eight hours later, they'd be looking into the void of Niagara Falls. Sam leaned his forearms on the railing, taking it all in, while she hugged herself, doing her best to pretend she was in the middle of a field of daises, or anywhere else.
Out of all places, why Niagara? She tightened her grip on her arms, her teeth gritted together, focusing on the pleasant smell of his hoodie. It had been a shock that he had clothes for her in his car. Not much, just a pair of trainers, a pair of jeans and some cargos, but still. He claimed it was because she never dressed properly for the occasion. How was she supposed to anticipate this?
He hadn't gotten her any shirts, but supplied his trunk with a lot of his own stuff available for her to wear. As if she were his girlfriend, not his therapist.
That thought was even more uncomfortable than the memories of Niagara, so she focused on the falling water. Yes, it was beautiful, but the place was forever tainted for her by a jackass who thought this was the best spot to propose. Maybe it was, but not when he made sure everything went to hell right after.
No, she wouldn't go there. Her eyes were already blurry and she blamed it on the exhaustion from the drive. She hadn't gotten bored since she'd bombarded Sam with questions the entire trip, but all that information was still trying to find the proper cabinets inside her mind. She'd never before known so much about people she'd never seen, so it felt necessary to meet Sam's brothers, Angie, Kay and Jessie. Even Christine.
The thought of Christine made her strangely nauseous. She had to shake it off. It wasn't like the girl did anything to her. Just this guy who was nice or weird enough to buy her sneakers.
"I still can't believe you bought me shoes," she mumbled.
"You have a bad habit of picking the most impractical things to wear," he answered, not looking at her.
"I'm a professional. And how was I supposed to know that my patient would choose to drive eight hours across the country to see a damn waterfall."
He turned to her, quirking an eyebrow. His shoulders seemed to have lost some of their tension, and he looked more peaceful than she'd ever seen him. "Don't you like the damn waterfall?"
"I'm from New York. I've seen it a gazillion times. Trust me, I'm less than impressed," she said, between clattering teeth. The memories didn't help either.
There was surprise in his eyes as he probably realized he didn't know anything about her. The green in them stood out even more against the backdrop of the waterfall. "If I knew you were from New York, I would've taken you to Nebraska or somewhere more scenic where you could stare at corn."
She nudged him. He grinned at her, like a mischievous child and looked like an entirely different person. Sure, she'd noticed that he was annoyingly handsome from the first time he'd set foot into her office, but seeing him smile was a bit disconcerting.
"Is this doing you any good?" she asked, returning to the professional she was supposed to be.
"I think so. It's nice to just get away without planning anything for once." He sounded a bit dreamy and she wandered what was really going on inside his head.
He turned his attention back to the waterfall, lost in thought. It was impossible for her to conceive that he was a child. Twenty-one was nothing. And yet... He'd been through more than most men faced in a lifetime. Getting shot was normal for him. She wandered if he had the bulletproof vest on at that very moment. Half of her was tempted to lift his t-shirt, but it would be incredibly inappropriate.
Instead, she hugged herself, the scent from his hoodie overpowering. This wasn't helping. "What are we going to do for the night?" she asked.
"Bunk up, get drunk, make bad choices. That sort of thing."
The breath caught in her throat, but she managed not to wheeze as she glared at him. "I hope you didn't imply what I think you did."
He smirked at her. "Depends on what you heard. Isn't it some psychological rule that you just hear what you want to hear?"
Her face caught fire and she looked away from him. She'd heard what she most definitely didn't want to hear. Damn her stupid legs for falling asleep and forcing her in his arms. It had been a few stupid minutes that filled her head with utter crap. She really didn't want to go there. He was her patient. He was a child. Who cared that he was the hottest man she'd ever interacted with?
"I'm not comfortable with this conversation," she said.
His face fell and he backed away, even if he'd been nowhere near her. She wasn't sure she was imagining it, but there seemed to be disappointment in his eyes. "Okay. I was just kidding. That's what I do with friends."
His words snapped her out of analyzing how well the black of his hair worked with his eyes. "You consider me a friend?"
He hesitated, apparently thinking it through. She bristled, even though she wasn't sure what she was expecting from him.
"Sometimes," he finally said. "I guess. I mean I enjoyed our time together on the way here and I don't think you've ever had such a long therapy session before, so I was thinking you're no longer acting like my therapist."
Well, he had a point there. She'd stopped acting like a therapist maybe an hour into their drive. "I never thought of it like that. But I will admit that a lot of the things I asked were just me being curious. You're rather fascinating."
"Am I now?" His playfulness was back and it made her stomach flutter. "No more annoying snowflake?"
"I got used to how annoying you are, so it no longer phases me."
He liked being teased and she actually enjoyed teasing him. It had been so long since she bantered with anyone. Her friends were all back in New York and she'd been too busy with her career since moving to Chicago to make new ones. The Agency people were not exactly welcoming, but maybe she'd been hanging with the wrong crowd.
"Let's go. I think we've bonded with nature enough." He took her hand and led her back to the car.
More annoying fluttering accompanied the feel of his skin against hers. It was getting annoying. He was just a guy, nothing special. So when they entered their inn, she was more than happy to go to her room until...
"You only booked one room?" Perfect, now she wanted to slap him. Where the hell was her purse?
"It's one suite, with two rooms, so don't worry about it. Didn't see the point in getting more." He just shrugged as if it was perfectly normal.
God, he crapped money. How could he be so stingy?
"I'll get my own then."
"Fine, but I'm paying for it."
"What were you even thinking?"
"That it's the first night after potentially adding a ton of new nightmares to the old ones, and that I might need someone close enough to wake me up."
His words froze her on the spot. Shit. That was sort of on her, since she basically forced him to relive that night and then visualize being buried alive by people he still loved. Plus, the thought of him alone and vulnerable got to her for some reason.
"Fine then."
"No. You want a different room, I'll get you one."
"Shut up and get in, Snowflake." That word was starting to become positive and she wasn't sure she liked that.
But it made Sam move and go inside. She headed to her half of the place, realized she had no sleeping clothes, cursed to herself, then got into bed. But as much as she tried to go to sleep, and even if she was exhausted, her eyes wouldn't close as her ears tried to pick up any sign of movement coming from his room.
What if she wouldn't hear him? When was the last time she even slept so close to a man? What the hell was she thinking? Sam was getting into her head for some reason. Probably because she'd been so deep inside his.
This isn't funny. This isn't normal. She wasn't supposed to like him, be worried about him, find him fascinating outside of work. But not thinking about him filled her mind with thoughts of someone else. The past was the past and it should stay buried. At least Sam was a present thing. She got out of bed and tiptoed to his door. A soft knock didn't elicit an answer so she pushed it open.
Sam lay on his bed, his arms under his head, staring at the ceiling. He glanced at her as she stood in the doorway, but didn't comment on her presence. He didn't seem too surprised about it either.
"Can't sleep?" she whispered.
"I'm afraid of what I might dream."
So was she. The place brought no happy memories. "Would it help if I stayed?"
He hesitated for a second, then nodded.
Maybe it was the night, maybe her fear of her painful past, maybe the way his hair shone in the moonlight, but at that moment, it seemed like a good idea. So she lay next to him and they stared at the ceiling together. And when she finally fell asleep, she felt safe.
♠️♠️♠️
I'm baaack with this, too. And I have backlog! Celebrate with me!
I'm very curious how you feel about the developments here. Especially about a sudden new POV hitting you in the face. Thoughts on Skye? Do you feel like you know more about her now?
Any and all thoughts are appreciated. Don't forget to vote if you enjoyed the story.
Next update coming next Wednesday! This time for real