Burn for Me (Chaotic Love)

21. Twenty-One

Twenty-One

9-2-2024

I’ll lose him.

-Jasmine

I seriously didn’t think Sam would bring us out here. I figured he’d laugh off my idea and take us to a slaughterhouse instead. Honestly, I'm glad he didn’t, especially since he looked like he could turn me into a filet mignon this morning.

After getting ready, we headed to this quirky little store famous for its amazing coffee. The girl behind the counter had the cutest smile, and I tried to strike up a conversation, but Sam just sat there quietly, staring out the window. Even on our long drive, he didn’t call our bosses or turn up the music. Eventually, I gave up trying to talk; my throat was killing me anyway.

After what happened last night, I have no idea what to expect now. Maybe he regrets everything, or he just needs time to process things.

I tilt my head back and take a deep breath to calm my racing thoughts. Everything has to be okay, right? I just need to figure him out and all his little quirks so I can handle stuff like this better next time. It would be great if I could catch a problem before it blows up because this side of him really makes my stomach turn.

Once again, he clears his throat as if he's allergic to the fresh air, so I take the opportunity to glance at him. He’s wearing a black polo shirt tucked into black slacks, and the rubies in his ring shimmer each time his hand sways in my grasp. The grin he showed me this morning when I realized it was the first time I had genuinely held him is nowhere to be found. I look back at the pathway.

It’s a stunning day, with the sun shining brightly and a gentle warmth in the air that allows me to comfortably wear a loose red blouse flowing lightly with every breeze and a tailored black pencil skirt that hugs my figure just right. I opted for sandals instead of the usual heels, and I’m thankful for that choice; the soft soles make my walk along the path much more pleasant.

As we stroll, my gaze is drawn toward a majestic oak tree that rises at the curve of the walkway. Its thick trunk and sprawling branches offer a generous canopy of shade. The tree’s leaves rustle softly in the wind, creating a soothing sound. Beside it, a small pond glimmers in the sunlight, its surface reflecting the azure sky and surrounded by lush greenery.

Sam tries to keep walking, but I stop beside the tree, and his body pulls back when I abruptly stop.

“We don’t have to walk so many miles today.” I attempt to joke, but he doesn’t smile. Instead, he glances at the tree and lets go of my hand. I chew on my bottom lip as he sits down, raising one knee to rest his arm on and motioning with the other for me to join him.

“You’re tense,” I whisper as he pulls me into his chest. I breathe in his comforting scent, letting it ease my anxiety.

Last night felt like a safe bubble, but today, it has popped. My stomach churns again.

“Sam?”

He rubs his hand over the scruff of his jaw while watching the fountain in the middle of the pond spray. He remains silent, so I look away.

“Do you ever want kids?” he nearly whispers, returning my attention to his features. He isn’t watching the water; he’s watching two boys flying a kite high in the air while their father chases them.

“Well…” I begin quietly, then look back at him. Is this a deal breaker or something? Hold on, don’t get distracted.

“I can’t have them. That’s why I’m asking… Training.” he says simply as if it’s not a big deal. My heart clenches, but at the same time, it swells because this isn’t just some light topic; it’s one he’s discussing with me .

“I’d rather have a cat or a fish anyway,” I smile. I’ve never really wanted kids. They terrify me—not the idea of a little human in general, but what they can become if I make one wrong move. I think I’d prefer to be a fun aunt or something.

“We can adopt one day if you change your mind, or maybe you’ll find one of those women who can pop one out for you.”

“Surrogate.” I laugh, and the tension in my shoulders eases, finding humor in how he describes childbirth. However, it quickly returns when I realize he’s not genuinely engaged in the conversation. It’s as if he’s just looking for a distraction—anything to escape the voices in his head.

“You said you didn’t sleep well?” I mutter quietly, flattening my hand against my skirt.

“Yeah. I watched you sleep for a bit.”

I scrunch my nose at him. What a weirdo.

“Then, when morning broke, I made our breakfast and decided to go over the information we gathered last night.” This time, his voice is a bit strained.

“Thank you for the food. If I had known you had—”

“I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why? Were you afraid I’d see you as a human?” I try to laugh lightheartedly, but he doesn't respond in kind.

"Exactly." It’s a quiet word that makes me feel nauseous. One step forward, ten steps back. I never fully understood that saying until now— now that I'm living it.

He might just be having a rough day. People with PTSD experience those, right? As if sensing my internal panic, he pulls his arm away and retrieves the file he brought with us from the waistband of his pants, never once glancing in my direction.

Staying quiet, I reach into his pocket and pull out my notepad. This could easily be his way of showing me that he needs silence, similar to Sharkie. I’m sure he’s using this information as a fixation, just like he does with the monitor room back at the base.

I’ll talk to him more when he can relax his muscles a bit. For now, I need to list everything I think has set him off so I can memorize them and adjust.

A breeze blows over our skin for a long moment as we sit silently. It’s strange how I used to try to keep any information about him at a distance, but now I want to know every little detail so I can say that I’m the one who truly understands him.

“Hey…” I begin, realizing I never caught his cousin's name or where he is now. He continues to focus on the papers in his hand.

“You know what’s funny? I’ve gone through these documents a thousand times and still haven’t found any leaked information about you or me.” He hums nonchalantly as he flips a page back and forth while examining it.

“I’m sorry?” My brows furrow as I try to comprehend his sudden statement. Then it sinks in— if that’s intel about… that means…

“I thought I would have stumbled upon something by now, but there's nothing. However, there’s plenty in here that almost no one knows. Moe's true heritage, Caspian's obsessive tendencies, and even Sharkie’s mental capacity.” He scoffs while holding up the paper, glaring at it as he taps the folder with his other hand.

“It even details various criminals, their crimes, and how they were accepted into Depth.” He shrugs, and I try to draw in a full breath, but I can’t because my heart is racing too fast, making it impossible to focus on anything except the tremor that runs down to my fingers.

“It’s beautiful blackmail,” he says calmly. I don’t know why, but that’s what hurts the most.

I’ve had Sam yell at me and push my buttons to get a reaction. He’s glared at me with rage, but I’ve never seen what he’s showing. His emotions blur together, twisting his features as his worry lines deepen and his brows shift from worry to a softer expression and back again. It’s almost as if he can’t decide whether he’s hurt or disgusted.

My lips part, but no words come out. Trembling, I fumble with my notepad. I need to show him my thoughts; admitting my mistake feels impossible. I’ve prepared what to say for months, but I lost my chance last night.

He snatches the pad and flips it open, analyzing every detail as he compares the pages.

“Sam—” I begin, but he lets out a laugh that tilts his head toward the sky, effectively cutting me off.

“You said you didn’t have a name. Has your memory improved enough now? You mentioned taking the fall for someone else. Was that just a cover? Have you been playing me this whole time?” He snaps quietly as he quickly pushes off the tree and stands. When I reach out to touch him, he jerks his arm away, preventing me from making contact.

“Melione.” Standing, I reach out again. I'm the last person who deserves comfort right now, but all I crave is the safe feeling it gives me when I make contact with him.

“I-I really did take the fall for someone, but I didn’t—I wouldn’t—I wasn’t trying to play you.” My words start to jumble as I struggle to find the right ones, but panic is taking over with all the possibilities of what this could mean. I’ll be kicked out and treated as a traitor. I might even see the inside of a cell instead of pretending I have.

I’ll lose him.

I can't help but feel relieved that this didn't happen last night. The way he slowly pivots in my direction, stalking toward me like a predator, with his shoulders tense and his face contorted into a menacing scowl, is unsettling. He might have actually pushed me off that roof. Yet, as I grapple with that fear, I know deep down that it's not entirely true.

I would have jumped before he had the chance because the look on his face right now is not one I want to see before facing my fate. Before I go, I just want to hold onto the image of his amazing smile, where his sharp canine peeks out. His warm brown eyes light up when the sun hits them, revealing little bits of amber that sparkle like stars.

“ Melione ,” Sam repeats slowly as if he’s tasting it on his tongue, and his cheeks pinch in like it’s bitter.

“Fitting,” he says sarcastically, stepping back to look me over. My lip quivers, and my body tenses. My father was fascinated with Greek mythology, so it makes sense that he chose the goddess of nightmares and death—the one who brings madness to everyone she haunts. Perhaps that’s why everyone I love eventually decides I’m not good enough to keep around.

“I—”

“Save it.” He turns and stomps back in the direction we came from, making it a struggle to keep up with his long strides.

He has no right to sit here and act like I was fake. He’s the only person I’ve ever truly been myself around. There are a thousand things I need to say—so many points I want to elaborate on to help him understand. He doesn’t get to cut me off. He doesn’t get to—

I reach out to grab his elbow, but he abruptly stops and points his finger in my face while holding the file and my pad tightly in his other hand, so tightly they crinkle.

“Don’t fucking touch me. For years, you have exposed everything. This is the one job…” He interrupts himself with another annoyed grunt before continuing. “You’ve almost ruined everything, and for what? Did you receive nice fat checks? Did they promise to pull you from Depth? Were you that miserable being with me that…”

He looks away, clearing his throat.

“You should’ve just chosen the fucking cell!” He nearly yells. I struggle against the pain in my chest. My skin feels hot, and my hands shake as he walks away again.

“Stop!” I shout, wanting to say: Listen to me. Trust me. Love me. But I can’t, not when he darts his head around searching for our car like he can’t escape me fast enough.

“My family—” My throat tightens with heavy breaths as I finally catch up to him. Opening the passenger door, he grabs my elbow, but I pull away.

“What about my family? Did you think about that? About the people who not only took me in but also you? Did you think about me?” He lunges forward again, his face flushed deep crimson.

“You’re not in those papers for a reason! If you’d just—”

“Say it a few more times, and you might start believing your lies, Darlin’. I’m not in those papers because I never gave you the chance to know me!” He snaps, leaving me motionless. I can feel the stares of passersby burning through my clothes, and a bead of sweat begins to trickle down my spine as an embarrassed heat rises across my skin.

“Don’t cut me off,” I say slowly, drawing in a breath to try and regain my composure.

“Oh, so now you want to talk? Where has that big girl voice been this whole time?” He taunts while stepping forward, and I straighten my shoulders.

“I was going to talk to you about it last night, but you…” I trail off, flattening my hands on my skirt.

“You caught me off guard with the marriage thing. If you could just let me explain, I can fix this.” I say softer this time as I try to close the distance between us.

“No, I'll fix it.” he scoffs, and for a moment, I catch a flicker of emotion on his face.

“It's my fault anyway. Isn’t that what you’re implying?” His breathing becomes ragged as he slams his hand into the side of the car, causing me to flinch. I’m trying to understand if this is how he feels when he’s overstimulated—if the buzzing sensation on my skin is what makes him snap. Is the ringing in my ears from all the unnecessary noises around us what has him gripping his hair?

“I thought I had something worth holding onto—I had my reason. I believed you might feel the same way, but it's my fault for thinking you weren't just messing with my head.” Drawing a deep breath, he rubs his hand over the vehicle as if afraid he has hurt the inanimate object. I want to wrap my arms around him and hold him close. I wish I could take away everything I've caused and just ease him back to the man he was last night. But at the same time, I want all of his flaws because I know how much good lies beneath.

“I’ll fix it just like I always do,” he says more quietly this time. His glare narrows in my direction as he seems to register my silence.

“No words now? You’re done trying to talk? Bloody hell. You…” he trails off, and his features go blank again as if he didn’t reveal every emotion he claims he doesn’t have.

It's common for people to say things they don’t mean when they're triggered or flustered, so I'm trying to put myself in his shoes. However, when I open my mouth to ease the situation and explain that I was only trying to give him his moment to speak— even though he won’t allow me mine —he says the one sentence that shatters whatever semblance of composure I had left: “You're just like everyone else.”