... the first time I'd gotten a glimpse of another Sam I'd never known. And, if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that I hated the fact that all I'd gotten was a glimpse. I hated Sam's casualness, and how she could just throw her handbag down and wipe any emotion off her face.
I wanted to punch her even more as she walked out of the room, her back to me and not saying a word.
"Sam," I said. She didn't respond. "Sam." I reached out and grabbed her arm.
She turned around, facing me. "Jesus Christ, what's your problem? Let go of me."
She wrung her wrist, trying to get out of my grasp. "Freddie, I'm not in the mood. Back off."
My arm went slack, and Sam quickly jerked her hand away.
"What is it with you?" I said, before she had the chance to back into the empty bedroom.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
I rolled my eyes. "You know, we've gone through hell together these past few weeks."
My gut churned as I heard that word come out of her mouth. So? So? That's all she could say to me?
I searched the look on her face, trying to find even the smallest inkling of emotion. But her walls were up, and they were up too high.
"You don't have to pretend, Sam," I said. Before she opened her mouth to say anymore, I continued. "Not around me. I get it, you're not the emotional type."
"I've been trying to fracture your skull since the sixth grade," she said, raising an eyebrow. "How the hell am I not the emotional type?"
I crossed my arm...