Zoya’s P.O.V
I cut the call short. It had done nothing but make two things clear to me: they were
not my real friends, and they had always thought that I liked the unnecessary
attention Dr. Salvador had always treated me with. Jesus, now I really wanted to
throw up.
I was then painfully reminded of the truth: our small circle of peers at the hospital
had always been Jan's friends first, mine second. And maybe it was really true when
they said that Jan and I were unlikely friends, because it seemed that the truth of
the matter was that she had never really been my friend all along. What kind of
friend would watch and jeer from the sidelines as they watched Ravi cheat on me?
What kind of friend would fault me for being favored by a perverted senior? What kind of friend celebrated my loss as if it was their own gain?
The universe must really hate me for it to dump all of this shit on me in one go.
“Ah, you, there you are!” came a loud, but still clearly controlled, voice from the
front porch. I looked up and saw Sam wearing Ravi's clothes, and at this point my
already broken heart was further crushed into bits and pieces. “What are you doing
out there? You should get in and tell me what this thing in your suitcase is?”
“Are you really that bored and unemployed that you resorted to annoying me, the
unknowing newcomer?” I wanted to retort, but I could not summon the venom to
do so. I only hopped off the roof of my car and dragged my feet back inside the
house.
Sam must have noticed my depressed aura, because he placed a hand on my
shoulder to stop me from going into my room to sulk and mope. “What's gotten into
you?” he asked, frowning.
“Nothing,” I croaked. “I just realized that I never had any true friends to begin with.”
And just like that, before I knew it, I was already crying and sharing my story to this
stranger in my house.
“And now!” I bawled. “Now I've really got nothing left for me! No fiancé, no friends!
Even my own mother hates me! Hell, that sheriff from this morning seemed to hate
me too, and I hadn't done jack shit to him!”
God, it felt good to let it all out. I had been keeping all of my feelings locked inside
me, in fear that I would push people away once they found out just how much pain I
had been hiding. But I've got nothing left to lose now, and here was this stranger, a
perfectly good outlet for me to pour my emotions out on.
However, the feeling of relief disappeared immediately when Sam started to laugh,
and I felt sorry for myself. What was I doing? Why was I baring my soul out to
someone I had just met? And what would he think of me now, how foolish did he
think I was, how pathetic?
I sobered up immediately. “I know you don't have to give me any comfort,” I said
coldly, wiping my tears away, “but you don't have to laugh at my misery either. How
much of an asshole can you get, Sam?”
He stopped laughing to speak and I thought that he was going to mock me but
instead, it seemed that he had a confession to make as well. “Sorry,” he told me. “I
did not mean to laugh. It was just that… you and I are more alike than you think.
More than I could have ever thought, even.”
I frowned. “What's that supposed to mean?” The feeling of hurt at his initial
reaction to my sob story still wound me, but I wanted to hear him out. I was curious
about his past as well, and wanted to take whatever he would give me.
Unfortunately, he did not want to share any of the details of his life with me.
Instead, he said, “Most of the people we meet in our lives are selfish.” His eyes were
distant, as if he were talking to somebody else and not me. “They will only care for
you as long as you are of any use to them.”
“Like you?” I tried to joke, and to Sam's credit, he mustered a small smile at my
attempt to lighten the air.
“And that's why,” he continued, his eyes focused now on me, no longer far away and
out of reach, “we must also be selfish too, and learn to put ourselves first. Otherwise, they will only take advantage of us and keep taking and taking until there's nothing left behind of us but an empty husk of what and who we used to be.”
“You sound like you are speaking from experience,” I said to try and get him to open
up as well. His words rang true and struck a chord in my heart, and I wanted to do
him a favor in return and comfort him as well, whatever his troubles might be, if
only as an expression of my gratitude.
“Maybe,” was his only response, and with that one word I could feel him pull away
from this raw and emotional moment we were having, and I still wanted to keep
reeling him in, to keep him engaged that I grasped at any opening I could find.
“Sorry for being so open with you,” I said, not meeting his eyes. “I know we had just
met, and I swear I am not usually like this, but for some reason I felt comfortable
sharing those details with you. I've never felt this way with a stranger before.”
It must have been the wrong thing to say because Sam pulled away immediately,
closing up in the same way that a homebody would shy away from any social
interaction. It was like I was a metal surface too hot to touch, and he wanted to get
as far away from me as he could to keep from being burned.
“You shouldn't be too comfortable around me,” he said in the same cold voice I used
on him just moments earlier, when I thought he was mocking me after I bared my
soul to him, “because I won't be here for long anyways.”