Crashing Into Blue

Chapter 22

I plan to meet Samson out at the bluffs tonight. It's been one of our favourite spots since we were kids, when we used to go up there and run along the edges with our arms straight out beside us like the wings of a plane. There were times when the wind was so strong I could have sworn they wrapped around my arms and lifted me up for just the quickest of moments, but Samson never believed me. Our parents would have freaked out if they knew we were playing along a cliff's edge, but it was one secret that we managed to keep between us. As we got older, the bluffs morphed into a hangout spot where we would go to de-stress from school or from our home lives: there's something about the great blue expanse that can make you feel both as infinite as the universe and as a small as a speck of dust. It's strangely calming and humbling. This is the spot where Samson cried after his father passed away when we were twelve, and where I opened up to him about Patrick last summer. Throwing our words and feelings into the wind, and having them be carried away without even knowing if they reached the other person, was always a draw to this place. It kept us honest.

Tonight, I make the familiar climb up the rocky steps to our piece of the bluff. It's a flat expanse with a few perfectly placed smooth rocks that are ideal to lean against. I lower myself down, feeling the blades of grass tickle against my legs and the cold touch of stone through my tank top, and I wait for Samson. Soon enough, I hear the scuffle of shoes against rocks, and as I look over my shoulder I see Samson's familiar shape. He jogs over and occupies the empty spot next to me, dropping down against the stone. Samson takes in the view for a moment.

"It never gets old, does it?" he asks me. Or maybe it was rhetorical question. Either way I answer him.

"Never," I agree while the wind whips my hair in all directions. I reach up to grab it and I tie it into a bun at the nape of my neck. One piece doesn't make it, and I tuck it behind my ear.

Samson breaks his gaze from the sunset before us, all fiery oranges and deep pinks, and looks towards me.

"It's been a while since I've been summoned to the bluffs; what's going on?"

I look at Samson and immediately feel at ease. There's nothing that I can't tell him while up here. I run my hands through the grass beside me.

"It's just been a really messed up day," I say sullenly. He doesn't interrupt me or ask questions; he knows that there's more to come.

"First off, Patrick comes over to my house and just..." I throw my hands up in front of me as if that explains it all.

"Gets you all in a twist?" he says with a small smile playing on his lips. Somehow he always seems to know, or maybe I'm just becoming predictable when it comes to this topic. I'm almost tired of hearing it myself.

"Yes, exactly. He thinks he can just strut on over and have me in the palms of his hands. And I'm so weak that I let it happen. Just like I always do."

Samson looks at me and then looks away.

"But you didn't let anything happen, did you?"

I shake my head. "No, but I think it was potentially heading in that direction. I stopped it though. Is it wrong that I felt myself waver, even just for a second?" Samson stretches his arms over his head and the hem of his t-shirt rides up a little. I feel my eyes drift to the tan stretch of skin peeking out, but I quickly look away.

"As your current fake boyfriend, I guess I should be acting jealous or something, but I'm not. So, you felt something for your ex for a split second; the important thing is that you didn't act on it, and that you won't act on it."

I think about that pesky voice in my head earlier this morning, asking me what I would do if Patrick suddenly became available. I push the thought aside as Samson continues talking.

"I know you're not that kind of person anyway; you wouldn't do that to Jasmine, or to yourself. It was just a blip, Lia; it happens to everyone. It was all chemical."

"Chemical?"

"Yeah, you know, your body was just reacting to a stimulus. It was a natural response."

I shove him and I feel some playfulness reenter our conversation.

"I know I have you playing my fake boyfriend right now, but I'm not that fickle."

Samson just rolls his eyes. "I'm not saying that you are; I'm just saying that yearning, or dare I say, lust, is a pretty simple feeling to evoke."

"Oh okay, and is this coming from the expert on making girls swoon?" Samson shrugs his shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest confidently. "Well, I didn't do too bad for myself in high school."

I feel myself laughing. It's true, Samson did date a few girls throughout our high school years; there was Janice in the ninth grade, Emma for a few weeks as sophomores, and then there was Alice who he dated for almost a year and who he took to our senior prom. But none of those girls ever lasted.

"What," Samson says to me, "you don't believe that I have the moves?"

As I turn to answer him, I see that he's moved closer to me. His eyes are trained on mine, big and turquoise in this dimming light, and I suddenly feel like I'm one step away from falling into them. I feel my heartbeat pounding steadily in my chest and goose bumps form on my arms. The piece of hair that I lodged behind my ear comes lose, and Samson reaches out to tuck it behind my ear, letting his hand trail down the side of my neck to the start of my collarbone. It feels as if he's leaving a trail of stars on my skin, and for a moment I think my eyelids flutter shut.

I swear I hear his breathing quicken, but before I can be sure he suddenly breaks contact with my skin, letting the cool air calm my rising flush.

"See," he says to me after clearing his throat. "Nothing to it."

As we sit there, I wonder what the hell just happened, and I ask myself: when did I suddenly start swooning around Samson?

I shut my eyes tight and listen to him breath next to me. This was so not part of the plan, but it seems like the plan has been coming off the rails since it started. At this point, I'm just trying to hold on.