Always Remember

pastels up his ass.
    Of course, it ’s not bad enough I’ve spent six hours at university when I haven’t yet completed the given seventy-two hour mourning period for a relationship, and had my sister’s words buzzing around my head like an annoying fly – my final class is all on expression of emotion.
    I ’ll tell you emotion. Emotion is the growing want to impale Mr. Hummingbird here with not just my pastels, but quite possibly the sharpest object in my art kit.
    I clear my throat, and he glances at me. I give him a meaningful look. He carries on his humming.
    “Ahem!” I cough out. He turns his face towards me and stops humming.
    “Can I help you?”
    “In fact, you can. Please stop that dreadful noise, or my project for today will leave my canvas and move onto a live object.” I smile sweetly.
    He grunts and turns back to his work. Silently. Oh, thank the Lord of witty comments.
    The rest of the class passes without incident – or humming – and I breathe deeply when I step outside. I finish before Lexy today, so I head straight to the bus stop situated outside of the campus. I’m distracted by a familiar red car and my steps falter. No. A weekend is not long enough.
    Samuel steps out of the car and walks around it, opening the passenger side door. He raises his head, his eyes clashing with mine.
    “In,” he orders. I shake my head silently. I can’t. “Jen, there’s no point you going home on the bus when I’m here. Just get in the damn car.”
    I glance at the timetable. It is a fifteen minute wait – but looking at him is like seeing my heart walking around outside my body. It ’s like seeing my future dangled in front of me, and it’s having everything I want and need in touching distance.
    I take a deep breath in and walk towards the car, pausing before I get in.
    “Thank you,” I say quietly.
    He takes a bit of my hair between his fingers and runs it through them. I can feel it tingling through my scalp.
    “Don’t thank me, Jen. Don’t ever thank me for caring about you.”
    I close my eyes and sit down, settling my bag by my feet.
    This is what the break-up with Carl should have been. Instead of a mutual parting, it should have been forced. Like this one. Except this doesn’t feel like the parting of a relationship. It feels like the parting of my heart from my body, because my love for Carl and my love for Sam are two completely different things.
    My love for Carl was a first love, a teen thing never destined to last.
    My love for Sam is like a roaring bush fire, swallowing up and taking out everything in its path without rational thought. It’s unpredictable, burning furiously without an end in sight. It’s once in a lifetime and near impossible to put out, a constant raging flame.
    “Shouldn ’t you be at work?” I ask softly.
    “Dad gave me time off to work with Mitch on the upstairs of Red this week,” he replies. “He said it this morning. Hence the dust.”
    I nod slightly. “They’re still working up there? Saph said they’d be done for this weekend last we spoke.”
    “She was right. They should have been done, but the small company Mick hired to work under Mitch went bust. They couldn ’t finish the job, so Mitch has called in all the help he can get.”
    “Right. Makes sense.” I look out the window to avoid staring at him. It ’s bad enough being in the car with him – his distinct scent is everywhere, that indescribable yumminess that makes me bury my face in his neck every time I smell it. This time is no different.
    I want to lean over the gearstick and hook my arm through his. I want to rest my head against his shoulder and dig my nose into the soft spot just below his ear.
    I shift in the seat and run my fingers through my hair instead, brushing it away from my face. I catch his gaze flicker to me a few times as he drives. How did I notice that if I’m looking out the window?
    Oh, because I ’m not looking out the fucking window, am I? Nope. I’m looking at him. Why would I look out the window, huh? I drop my eyes.
    He pulls into the car park outside my block of flats, and I yank the seatbelt out. I need to get away from him. My need for him is suffocating me, and I need to breathe. I push the door open, grab my bag, and half-fall from the car. I hear his door open and shut before I feel his hands grip the top of my arms.
    He pulls me into his body, and my bag drops from my fingers. One of his hands spreads across my back and the other