Sam sits at the worn formica table in the dank little room, continuously wringing his hands, waiting for her to arrive. He’s a mess of emotions, but the only giveaway is his mild fidgeting. If he lets his face show even an ounce of the internal chaos that is swirling inside, he’s a goner. This is not the place for weakness. Not if you plan on surviving. And come hell or high water, Sam was going to survive.
“In here, 30 minutes.” a gruff voice barks from the other side of a heavy metal door in the corner of the room. As the door swings open he braces himself for that first glimpse of her. And as always, as soon as he lays eyes on the soft contours of her face, he is instantly uplifted by those all-too-familiar feelings of hope and pure joy that only she can inspire in him. But this is in no way an ordinary situation and his usual feelings are overshadowed by just how wrong it is to see her here. Like seeing a butterfly trapped in a net. She belongs on a stage or in his arms…but certainly not in this soul-sucking place.
She walks over and sits opposite him at the table that has been a party to countless interactions like this in the past. When he finally brings himself to look her directly in the eyes the worry he sees there cripples him instantly. Reaching across he takes her hands in his, feeling the cool metal dig a bit deeper into his wrists as he rubs his thumb across the back of her smooth skin, and she gives his hands a quick squeeze in response.
The clock ticks the minutes away and the ever-growing silence starts to bear down on him. As real and palpable as the foot that stood on his chest not eight hours ago. The foot that was then upturned, bringing the body attached crashing violently to the ground. Making it much easier to go back on the offensi-No. Now is not the time to get wrapped up in the never ending replay his mind is set to.
“Why, Sam? Why couldn’t you just walk away?”