“You’re back,” Sam says, wiping the tears from his eyes, a wry smile returning to his face.
I move to pick up the book he dropped but he waves with his hand, indicating that I should leave it on the ground and rather take the seat opposite his.
For some reason Sam looks different than what I had seen him the last time we met. When I had pushed him to the floor and Michael had threatened that I was not to see him again. I can see that he had lost weight and there are dark circles under his eyes. Maybe he had lost this weight a while back and I was just so obsessed with my own depression and dying that I could not see the strain it was taking on a person who gave me new life and wanted better for me in the future.
“Did you enjoy the trip?” Sam asks as I take my seat, brushing my hair out of my face. I can see his eyes lingering on my mouth, and I have to make an effort not to wipe over the faded black cross I know is still drawn over my mouth.