I can’t help it, I laugh. And hope that Tyler’s finally returning to me crests in my heart. “Why wait? I can think of a few things we haven’t tried right here in South Carolina.” Licking my lips, because I know that drives him crazy, I lower my gaze.
He groans and pushes the map off the bed. “You’re maddening, woman. Come here.” He flips me onto my back and moves above me, his knees parting my legs as he buries his face in my neck.
Wrapping my legs around his hips, I pull him closer and run my fingers through his already disheveled hair. “We’re really doing this.”
For the briefest moment, he stills. I feel him tense, and a nervous flutter seizes my stomach. But he quickly lifts up and smiles, the vise squeezing my insides releases me.
“We’re really doing this. Nothing can keep us from doing this.” His lips slowly find mine, and I open my mouth to his, tasting him. He breaths me in, deepening the kiss, as his hand caresses my bare thigh.
I didn’t bother changing out of my pajamas before he came to my residence hall apartment. My black booty shorts have little skulls with pink bows, and they make my ass look good. And my roommates are out for the night at some show that the whole campus has been raving about all week. It’s just us.
As his hand inches under my shirt, I suck in a breath. “I can’t wait to marry you, Tyler Marks.”
A groan rumbles in his chest, and his hand flattens against my stomach, stopping its progression. “Shit, Sam. I forgot.”
I lift up onto my elbows. “About what?”
He shakes his head and drives his hand through his hair as he sits back on his heels. “My brother’s in town, and I promised I’d hang with him tonight. I missed his birthday last week.” His brown eyes crease at the corners. “But I can cancel.” He bounds forward, capturing my arms and bringing them above my head.
My back hits the bed, and his weight presses me into the comforter. I revel in the feel of his strong body on top of mine for a minute before the guilt kicks in. I run my hands along his back. “You haven’t seen Holden in forever,” I say through my disappointment. “You should go.”
“Yeah, I should.” He exhales against my neck, a forced breath. Then he pushes up to look at me. “I can stop by later.” He dips his fingers beneath the elastic of my pajama shorts. “Pick up where we left off . . .”
I laugh. “No. I have an early class.” I sigh, hating that, again, I’ll go to bed without him. “I should probably pass out early anyway. Tomorrow?”
“You know it.” He leans in and kisses me long and soft.
After he slips on his shoes and jacket, I walk him to the outside corridor and lean against the doorway, hugging my arms around myself against the cold. “I love you,” I tell him.
With another groan, he pivots and races back toward me, scooping me into his arms, my toes grazing the floor. “Forever,” he whispers in my ear.
Those were his last words to me.
Sam
I stare down at the orange pill bottles on my bathroom counter. Run my fingers over the white prescription labels.
Celexa. Abilify.
Ignoring my reflection in the mirror, because I know he’s standing behind me, I press down on the childproof top and twist. The smell of plastic and new medication hits my nose, and I dump the pills into my hand. They’re white and small and oblong.
“You don’t need them,” Tyler says. “You’re not crazy, Sam. I’m really here. Those pills will just drug you into a comatose state where I can’t reach you . . . I need you, baby.”
Guilt pools in my stomach, twisting and churning. With a determined but shaky hand, I extend my arm over the toilet and slowly tilt my hand. The white pills trickle from my palm like a little waterfall, plopping into the water.
I reach over and flush.
Then I repeat the action with the antidepressant medication.
“What do you want, Tyler?” I’m a bit put out since my mom and Dr. Hartman have been extra tough on me this week. And Tyler popping up during my session today only makes it harder.
He doesn’t appear every day, and even on the days that he does, he doesn’t always speak. But his presence is constant. I can feel him everywhere. Even in my sleep. Unconscious.
Finally, I look up. He’s wearing the same clothes he had on the night of the accident. His white Polo shirt and dark denim jeans. His hair still mussed from my fingers when he kissed me for the last time.
I squeeze my eyes closed, then open them. He’s still there.
“Just you,” he says. “I always want just you.”
An ache builds in my chest and rises to my throat. “I’m here,” I whisper.