𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

[𝟐𝟒] 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫

"Sam," I say, looking behind me at my friends to see if they see him too. And by the way Annie's just gaping at Sam, I know I'm not thinking this up. "W-what are you... What are you doing here?"

"I go to school here." He informs me, squatting down to pick up my fallen clothes. I scramble down to the floor, having forgotten that I just dropped my clean clothes onto the dirty floor.

He brings the basket to stand before me, grinning when he looks back down at me. Is it just me or did this guy get freaking taller?

"Oh. That's cool, I do too." I clear my throat, nodding my head towards the door as a way of telling Easton and Annie to go now. "Go, I'll be right there."

And they do. They go, their basket of clothes in the hands of that boyfriend of Annie's that needs a damn haircut.

"So..." Sam trails off, running a hand through his dark hair. "This is... this is awkward isn't it?"

I nod, a smile breaking out across my face. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is. It's kinda weird if you think of it, though, huh? We talk pretty much every day but can't really talk too well to each other now."

"I think you're talking just fine." He puts his hands in his front pockets, inching towards me. When he's just a few inches away from me, I feel this flipping in my stomach as his gaze flickers to my lips more than once in the span of just five seconds. His voice is low and husky when he says, "What do you think?"

I grin when his hands find their way to my hips. "I think it's been a while and we need to catch up, not swap saliva."

He pouts, crossing his arms and stomping his foot like a child. "C' mon, just one?" He puts up one slim, long finger, leaning in. "Just one... small peck on those pretty lips."

I push him away by his head, smacking his neck. I'm not sure why I ended up hitting his neck when I meant to smack his face but I guess he's that tall at this point.

"I'm not kissing you." I cross my arms under my breasts. His bottom lip juts out again and he mirrors my stance. "Not unless I feel like it."

"How do I make you feel like it, then?" He asks me, grinning.

"By leaving me alone." I grab my basket, kissing Sam's cheek. "You can have that. But nothing else, I'm swamped today, and I can't have you slowing me down."

"How would I be slowing you down?" His eyebrows furrow.

"You think kissing you won't end up being the only thing on my mind all day? Samuel Winters, you have the greatest lips known to mankind, put them anywhere near me and I might just have to slap the shit out of you."

"Okay, okay, I won't kiss you." He sighs, scratching his brow. I flash him a smile, turning for the door.

"Oh, yeah," he starts like he's just remembered something, "Grace?"

"Hm?"

When I turn to him, he smashes his lips to mine. For a moment, I give in to it, I kiss him back. But then when I go to push him off, he books it for the door.

"Samuel!" I screech. "Samuel-fucking-Winters, I'm going to kill you!"

❛❜

After he kissed me, I was going to chase after him and murder him but decided against it. It's not like I didn't want to. Because trust me, I did. But my schedule is tight and I had to get going.

I ended up finishing everything I had to do for today. Well, except for studying with Tatum. But I did study with Ray and Annie. Easton had practice for baseball and I had practice for eating soon. Meaning it was also time to call Sam so we could eat together.

I'm torn between actually calling him or ignoring him. But the moment Annie places the plate of food in front of me, I know I'll need moral support.

I reach for my phone on the counter and start to scroll through my contacts, which consist of about twelve people, four of which I no longer speak to. Before I can press the little button to call him, my phone rings with his name flashing at the top of the screen.

Me, being the simp I am, immediately answer. Why am I a simp, you may ask? Because the reason I answered may or may not have been because I missed his eyes. And his smile. God, his smile. And his dimple.

Dear lord, he wears his single dimple better than I wear the two of mine. Which I'm not sure I even wear mine well, so now I'm not too sure that was all that well of a comparison.

"Helloooo, my love." He grins when I answer. He says it every time he calls me or when I call him. And usually, I don't mind, it doesn't bother me or make me really feel anything. But now that he says it after the laundry mat kiss, it makes my tummy flip.

His shoulders are naked and his hairs wet so I'm guessing his shoulders aren't the only naked thing-

Stop saying naked.

Naked.

Nakedddd.

Nakkkkedddd.

NAKED.

"Uh, yeah, I just got out of the shower." He scratches the back of his neck, his bare arm flexing. What is wrong with me and why am I so hyperaware of everything going on with him right now?

Also, did I say that out loud?

"Yeah, you kind of did." He chuckles, bringing me back to reality.

"Sorry," I say sheepishly, my cheeks suddenly feeling warm.

"No worries." Then there's just an awkward pause. But luckily, I'm datin- I'm friends with the least awkward person there is. "So, whatcha eatin'?"

When I'm about to answer, I notice that he's moved from the phone. Meaning, his abs- wait, when did he get those- are on full display and so is the top of his towel.

"Uh, I'm going to head to my room," I tell Annie, leaning over the counter to hug her, and whisper a thank you in her ear.

When we get to my room, Sam says, "That bad, huh?"

"Not really, the food looks good but it's just kind of..." I sigh. "Lately nothing's been appetizing to the point where it feels like I never went to rehab. But maybe it's the..."

Shit. I still haven't told anyone I'm taking my anxiety medication again besides Ray who pretty much thinks I told anyone.

"The what?" His voice cuts through my thoughts.

I scrunch up my nose, smiling. "I lost my train of thought, sorry."

He just laughs and turns, pulling a shirt over his head. Then his towel falls and-

-Aaaaannndd now his ass cheeks are on full display.

He shrieks like a little girl scared for her life, quickly pulling on a pair of boxers and turning to me after tripping over them a few times, his cheeks redder than I've ever seen.

My nose scrunches again, "Damn, someone didn't teach you how to wipe."

"Grace!" He groans, tipping his head back.

I laugh loudly, crossing my legs under each other. "Sorry, sorry." I put my hands up in mock surrender. "I had to."

"Did not." He scoffs, pulling sweatpants over his boxers. "What's on the menu?"

"Uh..." I lean over, looking into the bowl. "Mac and cheese and bread. Garlic bread."

"Oh. Go tell Annie to give you another plate." He knows I hate anything to do with garlic. I didn't have that much of a problem with it before I started... ya' know, starving myself. But over time, as the disorder progressed I just became more and more reluctant to eat or even look at anything remotely related to garlic.

"Uhm, it's fine," I assure him, starting to pick at the pieces of macaroni at the corners of the bowl.

"You sure, you're macaroni's gonna get infected with gar-"

"I said it's fine." I snap. I quickly recover, my lip being punctured by my teeth as I say, "Sorry, it's-"

"It's touchy, I know, you don't have to explain, Grace. It's not my business." Then he grins, winking at me. "I'm just the moral support, baby."

I roll my eyes, flipping him off. No matter the gesture, I'm still smiling like an idiot. It's hard to believe that I've actually met somebody in my life-time that can pull off a wink. A fucking wink. Of all things.

"Hey, did I hear you say you didn't want any?" Ray asks when she walks in. I ignore her, not wanting to say anything about it.

"I've got it, Ray, it's all good," Sam reassures her from my phone.

Ray walks to me, picking up the fork on the edge of the bowl. It's a clump that was closest to the bread and I feel my stomach churn. "I can... I can feed myself, Ray."

I move the fork away from my face, turning back to my phone where I see Sam has disappeared. Moral support, my ass.

"Grace, stop it, just one."

"No," I whine out, pushing the fork away from me and feeling bile coming to arise along with tears. It's been three years and still, nobody understands what it feels like and when I mean no, I mean fuck no. "Stop it! I said I don't want it."

"Just leave her alone, Rachel, she's not going to eat it if you shove it down her throat. She'll just go throw it up." Sam tells Ray from my phone once he returns.

"Grace, if you don't eat at least one bite, I'm calling Maddie." She warns. She knows I hate bothering Maddie when I'm having trouble which I guess is the point of the threat.

"No!" I sob out, my throat feeling dry even though the tears are falling so fast that every time I open my mouth, I can taste them.

She lifts the spoon to my mouth with her hand on my chin, forcing my mouth open. I knock the bowl out of her hand, earning a sharp shattering to echo throughout my room.

"GRACELYN!" She screeches, reaching to smack me. She drops her hand before letting out a shaky breath to calm herself down. "You know what, Grace? If you want to be the width of a strand of your hair, go ahead."

Then she just walks out of the room, slamming the door behind her despite the calm tone she wore almost convincingly just a moment ago.

See what you fucking did, idiot?

Shut up, you started this all, jerk.

I look down at my phone that's fallen into my lap to find Sam's not on the screen anymore. But instead something gray fills the screen. Instead of asking what the gray blob is, I hang up.

I tell myself it's for the best but something tells me it's not. It's that same voice that got me into this mess in the first place that tells me this but even though I'm aware of this, bad habits are hard to break.

Wiping my eyes, I crawl up onto my bed, not bothering to stand because if I do, my legs just might snap in half.

I don't hesitate to curl up in a ball and wrap my arms around my knees that find my chest. And all while I hide away under my covers, all I can think about is how much I wish I could hug my mom right now.

Thoughts begin filling my brain, the usual ones telling me to just jump off a bridge. At this point, I might as well. Because no matter how many times I tell myself I'm fine, no matter how many pills I take, I'll always be broken. Fucked up, unfixable.

I'm tired of telling myself I'm overdramatic and pretending issues are nonexistent. I just want to wake up one day and not feel a frown make it's way to my face. And I want to feel it without having to take medication.

Fake happy doesn't look good on me, nor does it feel good. So, why do I keep this act up? To make others feel better about my mental health? It's bullshit. My whole life is bullshit. And all I do about it is cry and wait for it to finally come to an end.

I start drifting off when I hear my door creak open followed by the spot next to me dipping just a few beats later. And suddenly I'm engulfed in warming arms and a scent I've known since he claimed it in late October of twenty-fifteen.

Still sobbing, I turn in his arm, wrapping mine around his torso before saying, "Thank you, Sammy."