༄ "WHERE are my cigarettes?!" Teresa around the room, trashing clothes and bags on the ground.

"The cleaner took 'em," Sam muttered. All this noise distracted her from the card game she was playing with Sonya. "And please don't bring them inside here again. I took the blame and that... cost me some yells."

Eventually, Teresa's gaze softened. "Alright. Thanks for doing that, Sam. I owe you."

She nodded. "By the way, how was that meeting in the woods last Monday?"

"Great!" A smile flashed onto Sonya's face. "We sneaked some alcohol with us and certainly laughed at Thomas once he drank a little too much. Sorry you had to spent that time getting caught for Teresa's cigarettes." She looked at the girl. "Yes, you damn well owe her!"

Sam shrugged a bit. "Don't worry about it. It already happened and I know you're grateful for what I did."

"Ah-ah, I'm gonna show I'm grateful with more than just words." Teresa sat down next to them. "I'll buy you... a book."

Well, she wasn't gonna refuse that offer.

"Really?" Her face lit up.

Laughing, Teresa grabbed her phone. "Sure. Which one?"

As Sam rubbed her chin, she hummed. Was thoughtful for a while. "Believe Me by Tahereh Mafi. I still haven't read that novella."

A minute later, "Bought!"

"You know what?" Sonya leaned closer. "We should totally make a tradition here. Once a month, we clear our closet and bring the clothes we don't want anymore here, so we can 'shop'. Good idea, right?"

"Yes, please!"
"Definitely!"

Sam's smiled widened. This was exactly what she had wanted all the time. Some real friendships without her mother interfering with them.

Ugh, her mother. But she barely felt like one. Not one time in Sam's life, her mother had shown care to her. Not one time, she hadn't favorited Jeff over Sam.

Doing your best for grades is the bare minimum, no it wasn't. It was ruining Sam. Day in and out, writing summaries of each period she had. Studying for the upcoming tests and watching the candles run out as she worked, or the ice cubes melt. Flinching at the alarm she sometimes set so she would know when it had gotten so late that she had no other choice but going to bed.

She sighed. Fidgeted with her pen as Teresa was showering and Sonya changed into her pajamas, then took her phone when it made a sound.

Unknown Number

Yo !
This is Gally. Jeff gave me your number

Oh hey!!
Hru?

Good, you?

Fine. Just got a lot to study

I'll stop bothering you then
R you gonna watch our match next week?
It's outside

I'll see if I can make it. Night!

Good night !! 

Another sigh left her mouth. And there she went, sitting in the corner of the lounge with the bright light of her laptop blinding her eyes through the darkness. Her foot hit the ground over and over again, and she tasted blood coming off the lip she kept biting because of what homework she had gotten for English.

To write something about your family. It didn't matter if it was in the concept of an email, a poem, a story, or anything else, it just had to include correct grammar.

One benefit: her English teacher was the sweetest teacher she had ever met. Not only she followed by the same rule as Jorge (they could call her by her first name: Mary), but also because the teacher was just... different. She wouldn't give you a punishment if you didn't finish something, only picked on the kids that raised their hands, and seemed to genuinely care about her students.

So that were the reasons Sam decided to make the homework after all, handwritten.

Every day, every night, every hour— always, I'm thinking about my family.
I think about how I miss my dad's sweet smile. I think about the playful fights I have with my brother and his basketball experiences, but mostly I am thinking of my mom.
Of her words and her curses and the t̶r̶u̶t̶h̶ lies coming out of her mouth.
That I'm a failure. And that I'm a wailer because of that.
How I appear to be seeking attention, and can't be loved.
I can feel my stomach drop deeper when another word stabs into me. Sometimes it feels like I can't breathe. And when I try to talk or think about it, I am still not able to breathe.
I can never breathe.
I can never breathe peace or safety or freedom. I can only breathe the words in and pretend to breathe them out again, even when I know they always fill the dark space in my body up with even more darkness.

What. The. Actual— she was not gonna give Mary this piece of paper full of shit.

But she also didn't want the time she spent working on this wasted. And she knew Mary wouldn't laugh, or judge, or anything close to that.

Fine, she'd hand it in.

"What're you still doing up?"

Sam's head snapped toward the woman that had spoken, but before she could reply, someone else did.

"Don't worry, Ada." An all too familiar voice. "She's with me. I'll take watch."

She had to resist screaming. "Hi." The 'mom' was supposed to be added, but the word just didn't want to leave her lips. Not anymore.

"Samira." Her mother nodded at her. "How's the studying going?"

"Fine," she assured in a mumble, and attempted to continue working with a now less steady heartbeat.

Her mother sat down, to Sam's surprise. Lay a hand on hers so she was forced to stop writing. "I want to apologize."

Vaguely interested, Sam looked up.

"What I said... I didn't mean to." She exhaled. "I know I'm not the best mom. And I know that that's not the easiest." A pause. "Which is why I want you to know, Sweetheart, that you're not alone. There's so many other people struggling out there. So many people with worse lives."

"Right." Sam just nodded. She nodded and nodded and nodded. "I understand."

"So please, take my apology and try to forget about what I said." Her voice was soft and steady, yet somehow demanding. "Try to focus on your grades again, not what I said. Alright?"

"Alright." She nodded again.

"Alright." A smile curved onto her mom's lips. Caused the wrinkles in her forehead to increase.
She removed her hand off Sam's and got up. "Good luck."

"Thanks," she mumbled, her head lowered. In the corner of her eye, she watched her mother walk away, and only let go of a breath when she completely vanished from sight.

It had been an apology, yes, but she never said she hadn't meant it. She said she hadn't meant to say it, but she never took her words back.

❤︎︎

Sam talked to her father about Minho coming over in the weekend, and he had agreed. Then she also asked if it would be okay to show up on Saturday, and not Friday night (she had things to shop Saturday morning, and the city was closer to the school than her house).

So there she went. And of course, she entered the book store first, rushed to the romance section, and started looking around.

Read, read, already read, looked boring, interesting but no... she looked and looked and looked.

Her tote bag hung on her shoulder. She wore wide, black pants, a white top, and some kind of oversized sport jacket. Pretty amazing, if she had to be honest.

After buying more than she planned, she stepped into some other stores to get clothes, but only ended up with another tote bag, which was like the millionth in her collection.

Then her phone went off. "Yes?"

"Hey." Minho. "Uh— we never really planned the time I'm supposed to come over."

"Oh." Sam stepped aside so strangers could pass her, and leaned against a wall. "Well, whenever you want. I'm still in the city, but I'm almost done."

He hummed. There was a silence, and Sam cringed at it. "Want me to pick you up? Less to fuel for your dad."

"I mean, if you're able to, sure." She shrugged, even though he couldn't see it. "We both have the same destination anyway. Do you have a car?"

"No." She heard him step around on the other side of the phone.

"So what? We're gonna walk?" Sam scoffed. "Elegant."

"We're not walking."

She urged, "Then what?" 

"You'll see."

❤︎︎

Absolutely not.

"I'm not getting on there."

She stared at the motorcycle in front of her. Red, sharp lines decorated it along with the black polished ones. The vehicle looked sporty, but not something she would go sit on. Definitely not.

"Scared?" He cracked a smile. Held out another helmet.

Well. Motorcycles were simply... hot. The men driving on them were mostly... hot. Minho was certainly... an annoying ass, but he wasn't ugly. And the fact he owned a motorcycle was pretty cool. And maybe a little hot.

Okay, she had been reading too many books.

"Yes," she admitted. Her eyes flashed over the thing. "You're gonna crash us."

He ran a hand through his hair. "That's not exactly the trust I wished you to have in me. Come on, you'll be fine."

"I'm not even wearing a... suit, or whatever it's called." She pointed at the clothes he wore. "If I fall, my skin will be scraped off to the bone."

Except, on the sides hung two big metal what looked like boxes. Minho lifted an eyebrow. Got the suit out. "There you go."

"How— why do you— what?"

"You're not the first girl I've ever met," he said, and handed her the suit.

Her stomach twisted. "Ah."

"Go change. A friend of mine works in there. I'm sure it'll be okay for you to change in one of the cabins."

With some protests, Sam got dressed inside the changing room. The material slid onto her skin surprisingly easy, and was so thick that her fear of getting hurt calmed.

Then awkwardly, she walked back over to Minho. Motioned at the clothes. "This alright?"

He stared at her. Too long. Long enough for her to get bored. Finally, "Yeah, perfect. Now put the helmet on."

"I genuinely thought I was supposed to throw it away." She rolled her eyes, putting the thing on her head. Little less comfortable, but needed.

"You're backpacking. Just... hold on tight." He stepped closer at her tries of getting on the motorcycle, now fearing she'd knock it over or something.

"I got it," she snapped, elbowing him away.
A minute later, "Never mind."

He laughed while he took her waist and as if it was nothing, sat her down on the back of the motorcycle. Butterflies exploded from... from a cool experience like this. To sit on a motorcycle. Not because Minho lifted her up by the waist, ew.

He sat down too. "Hold on tight."

Hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around his torso, scooting closer as she did so. Minho asked if she was ready, and she gave him an unsure sign.

"Holy fuck!" She cursed at the sudden speed. He could've slowed down a little at the beginning. Jeez, she almost fell off.

Her hands clasped tighter around him. Wind made unnerving noises against her helmet, her stomach was exploding, and she tensed from the experience. She felt like she wasn't able to romanticize anything about it. Too scary.

At a red light, Minho made some movements with his fingers, which she replied with a thumb up to. AKA, 'I'm okay'.

But when they continued speeding over the roads, she pressed into him again, hoping it would be over soon— because holy shit.