The Numbers on Her Wrist

10

"I hate small talk. It's silly; you always end up in the same place." I smirk at Sam as we finish the usual pleasantries newly acquainted friends exchange. "I'm serious, Amy!" I lift a hand, setting my water cup on the coffee table as I finish what's left. "Never said you weren't... If you don't want small talk, what do you think first conversations should be about?"

"Personal. Something that reveals who you really are."

I look up at this, my heart picking up a little. "You mean like why you moved to New York City?" He shrugs a shoulder, "There's not much to tell really."

"I somehow doubt that."

He raises an eyebrow at my comment, making me grin. "You're the son of a cop and now a street fighter. Come on, tell me that doesn't scream interesting." Samuel only laughs deeply and I feel my stomach twist like it has never before. "You want my lousy story?"

I nod once.

He smiles and complies, "Uh, well, about three years back, when I was around twenty, I was in Quantico. It was per my father's request and I absolutely hated it; mainly because it was his idea." He smirks and scratches the back of his neck absentmindedly, propping his feet on the arm of the couch he lays on.

It's late, past three A.M., and I am wide awake to listen with my legs cross and placed on the sofa so I can lean my elbows on them.

"It was terrible there," a roguish look twinkles in his eyes. "Too many rules."

I can only grin and bow my head for a second, admitting myself, "I'm not one for many rules either; grew up with too many." He chuckles, "Yeah, I've noticed." I raise an eyebrow, slightly surprised at his response, but I keep quiet and lay down to stare at the dark ceiling; he continues.

"I was top of my class; everyone know who I was and even some looked up to me. I probably wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for a certain teacher." He takes a breath, "It was a man who decided that he was better than the class, both on a knowledgeable level and as a human. I can tell you one thing for sure, he was no saint."

Samuel sighs slowly, "With my luck, I was assigned him as a mentor. We never saw eye to eye and there was more than a verbal confrontation... More than once." I glance to him again, noticing that his leg is shaking and tapping quickly, as though he is nervous to tell me his past.

I sense he is holding something back; I don't blame him, though.

I am holding my entire life from him.

He straightens his jacket and picks at a piece of fuzz on the edge of his sleeve, winking at me. "I dropped from the academy soon after he did something inexcusable, no matter who he was..."

Sam laughs at himself again. "No secrets in a school filled with future F.B.I. agents. I couldn't take the second glances and humiliating whispers that were passed when I walked through crowds." Sam scoffs, "I believed that if I could not be the best in everyone's eyes, then I was nothing; I didn't think that anything i did mattered and I didn't change that view for a long time."

He laughs and looks to my ceiling, hiding his eyes from me. "I have lost so many friends that way, because I believed what others whispered about me. I lost so much family... Then," he takes a rather shaky breath, "I became wrapped up in street fighting. I found that drugs and alcohol don't have as much effect as adrenaline does."

Sam taps the side of his head, "I traded the chance of one addiction for another. And my father no longer claimed me as his son. He wouldn't look me in the eye and rarely spoke to me. Before my habit forced him to arrest his own son, I moved to New York City permanently and I lost contact with both of my parents."

As he turns his face towards me, I meet his eyes and notice the sadness tucked inside the dark color; immediately, I feel a wave of trust sweep over me.

He had people he cared for and he has lost them.

He had parents and he has lost them.

Samuel clears his throat and forces his voice to stop shaking, "Enough about me... I bet I'm boring you with all my self-pity." The side of his lips twitch into a half-smile, "What about you? Why did you move to the famous city that never sleeps?"

I shake my head slowly, running my fingers through my red hair, grunting softly as I sit up and bump my ribs and shoulder. "You surely don't want to hear a story of lonely street fighter..."

Sam also sits up, his arms and elbows now on his knees like mine were only minutes ago, and an attentive look appears on his face. "Try me."

I sigh, repositioning on the couch and glancing at the clock on my wall. I was hoping, begging whoever was listening, that he wouldn't ask for my own past. Samuel seems to sense the tension and his eyebrows are drawn together for a second as he follows my gaze to the clock.

"It's late," I breathe, standing and wiping my hands on my pants, beginning to chew the inside of my cheek. "Amelia," Samuel says quietly. "What will it hurt? You don't have to me everything if you don't want to..." He laughs at himself, "You don't have to tell me anything, in fact. I'm barely a friend."

I smile back at him, leaning my forearms on the back of my couch lightly, my eyes on the floor. "I'm an orphan, Sam. I don't have any fantastic story or anything like that." He smiles at that, flipping his hair to the side and winking at me. "Everyone's got a story, Amy... I just bet yours is one that takes a while to tell."

I let out a relieved breath as he gets to his feet and grabs his jacket from the coffee table. "Thanks for tonight," he says as he lingers beside me and I feel his fingers touch my waist gently. "I haven't had a friend in a while and it's a refresher."

I smile at him kindly, stepping towards the door, his warm hand falling away. "Neither have I," I admit and hold the door open for him, leaning against it. Samuel pauses on the threshold, his money from the fights stuffed inside the pockets of his jacket.

"Going to the next fight?"

I grin. "You bet."

He smiles his goodbye and I close behind him.

I sigh and walk towards my bathroom, setting out clean clothes before I shut the door and turn on the water.