in the wee small hours of the morning
(based on this prompt from ichosetheredpill, and also possibly an excerpt from my sam and alice story)
the cold metal of the bench stings the backs of her legs as she sits, her fingers idly toying with a fraying seam. it had been a mistake, the dress. she can see that now. but when she had seen it in the store, the red and white pattern seemed so much more cheerful than the plain black dresses she usually wore, and she had wanted to look hopeful for a change. but all this deviation in wardrobe had done was aid her in her delusions that everything else would be different as well, setting her up for even further disappointment.
she tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear and checks her watch. sam should be there any minute. she’d called him as soon as she’d bolted from the apartment. he was on his way to her before she could even finish the question.
hours earlier, he had watched her leave the apartment in that silly dress, giving her only the slightest smirk. but now, now that she’d had to call him before the break of dawn to collect her from some unfamiliar park bench on the other side of town, she can only imagine what he’s thinking. perhaps he feels vindicated. hasn’t he been telling her all along that she was being foolish?
but that isn’t true at all. in fact, the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes sam is perhaps the only person in her life who has never judged her behavior regarding jess. sure, he’s never really encouraged these little encounters, but he’s never said anything else about them either. and, just like this time, he’s always been there to pick up the pieces.
this time was different, though, but she hadn’t told him that over the phone. didn’t know what words to use to tell him about the violence with which they’d been confronted. steven had practically blown the front door off its hinges. and when his fist had connected with her face, she had felt…well…
there was something oddly satisfying about it. about knowing he knew she was a threat.
she winces as a cold wind brushes past her face, making the bruise now forming around her left eye prickle almost deliciously.
“jesus christ,” she hears sam breathe out as he approaches her at last. he crouches down in front of her to get a better look, fingers extending toward her face, then hesitating, retracting.
“it’s alright,” she says. “i’m alright.”
“like hell you are; who did this to you?” he says, standing up forcefully.
“it’s my own fault. really. we were just talking…in the living room…and…steven came home…unexpectedly…,” she’s shocked at how calm and even her voice is. he must be too, because she sees his muscles relax, his fists uncurling.
“let’s just go home, al,” he sighs, relenting.
“can we just sit here a minute?”
he nods, and sits down next to her. she relaxes into his side, her fingers returning to the loose thread in a seam of her dress. what on earth had made her think that stupid dress would change anything? that looking nice, looking like what she imagined a beautiful girl might look like, would affect the outcome of this game they had been playing?
after a moment, she feels him cover her hand with his own, her worrying fingers halting under the weight of his palm. “i meant to tell you when you left the house, al,” he says at last, “you look really beautiful in that dress.”
