Saving Sam (The Wounded Warriors Book 1)

by Beaudelaire, Simone

  Chapter 9

  Two weeks later…

  Janie watched with a sigh as Amy drifted into the kitchen, looked into the oversized refrigerator, and closed it again without eating anything. She's as bad off as Sam, poor girl. She can't seem to take hold without him.

  “Eat something,” Janie insisted in a no-nonsense voice. “A bowl of granola won't hold you forever, Amy. It's three in the afternoon.”

  Amy met her eyes in silence, her face a study in muted misery.

  “I know it's hard, honey, but this is what Sam needs most. Be patient. He'll be home again soon.”

  Amy's composure cracked visibly. Her lip trembled and her eyes welled. “I hate thinking of him in that hospital, all alone.”

  “He's not alone,” Janie retorted, wiping her hands on a towel and approaching her friend, wrapping her in a tight hug. Amy rested her forehead on Janie's shoulder. She seems so much sadder than even makes sense. Of course, it's no good that Sam is struggling, but the doctor reassures us he's responding well to treatment and should make a full recovery. Yet Amy's grieving as though he died. What's going on with this girl? “He's not alone,” she repeated. “Doctors, nurses and other patients are all around him. He's going to be fine, you know.”

  “No, he needs me.”

  “Amy, I'm sure about one thing. Whether he's said it or not, Sam loves you. I have no doubt about that, but what he needs is some space and some time, so he can get well; so he can love you the right way.”

  Amy turned away, but Janie grabbed her shoulder. “Listen to me,” she insisted, giving her friend a little shake. “Whether you like it or not, you can't save him.”

  Amy's lost expression turned angry. “A minute ago you were saying he would be fine. Now you're saying he can't be saved! Which is it, Janie?”

  Whoa, where did all that venom come from? “No, Amy, you misunderstood. Sam will be fine, but it won't be you who saves him. You can't; he has to save himself. And the best way for you to help him do that is to give him space.”

  “How is that supposed to help?” Amy demanded.

  Janie shook her head. Why is Amy so out of it? She's as messed up as he is. Wrapping her arm around her friend's waist, she escorted her into the living room, pressing her down onto the couch. She never released her from the firm hand she held on Amy's shoulder, commanding attention as she settled beside her.

  “Do you believe Sam is a good man?” Janie demanded to know.

  “Yes, he's the best kind of man; a hero.”

  Janie shook her head. “He's not. He's a man on the brink of losing himself completely, and what sets him off, Amy, is you. Do you think Sam wants to be the kind of man who hits his girlfriend, who abuses her sexually and tears up her vagina? Do you think he wants that, Amy?”

  Amy had both hands pressed to her mouth. Her eyes were bright, a little wild even, glazed with the shimmering tears that threatened to fall. She shook her head once.

  “Then since you know he can't control himself around you, why would you put him in danger of becoming what he doesn't want to be? Why would you jeopardize his recovery? Think, Amy. Is it just possible your desire to save him has more to do with you than it does with him?”

  Amy began to cry in earnest. Janie had been expecting it and wrapped her arms around the girl.

  “You're so lucky, Janie,” Amy shriveled into her shirt.

  “How so?”

  “Your boyfriend isn't… sick.”

  Janie crooked one knuckle under Amy's chin and lifted her face. “He's sick with worry about his son. And, well, he's not exactly boasting to all the world that he's sleeping with the chef.”

  Amy snorted on a watery laugh. “What a pair we are, you and I.”

  Janie nodded wryly. “Sometimes I feel like his dirty secret. But no matter. Right now, it's about you and Sam, and how to get the two of you into a healthy place again.”

  “I'm healthy,” Amy insisted weakly, not wanting to face her own failings, trying to be strong.

  “Really, Amy, you think you're acting in an unhealthy manner?” Janie pursued. “Then please tell me, why it is you have so little faith in yourself that you would accept abusive behavior from the person you love?”

  Amy shook her head again.

  “Well, let's see if we can reorder your thinking a bit. I know you don't want to make him worse, so that means you have to make you better. Setting limits on Sam doesn't mean you don't love him. It means you love yourself enough to be good for him. Do you understand? Does that help at all?”

  Amy shrugged. “I don't know how to think that way.”

  “I'll do some research,” Janie replied. “See if I can find some mental exercises you can do to improve your self-esteem or something. In the meanwhile, try to remind yourself that there's nothing wrong with you, except your unconditional acceptance of Sam's behavior. You're like your mom that way, but unlike Tara, you're a smart, kind, lovable woman. You deserve Sam – the healthy Sam – as much as any other woman. Repeat it in your mind until you believe it, okay?”

  Amy nodded. “I'll try.”

  * * *

  Amy meandered into the office. Her desire for a snack had vanished in the wake of her heavy conversation. Now I understand why Sam wouldn't eat. Nothing sounds good when I'm this down. Feeling weak and exhausted, she sank into her swiveling chair and regarded a stack of invoices that needed filing. They can wait, she decided, not able to move right then. Laying her head down on her forearm, which she'd placed on the desk, she closed her eyes, trying to understand what was happening.

  Am I really so bad for Sam? She wondered to herself. Sadly, she knew the answer even before she asked the question. She knew full well that she needed to change or Sam never would. They were stuck in a dysfunctional pattern where he would do, say, and ultimate get whatever he wanted, while she'd inevitably be forgotten. Still, it had never mattered what Sam did, just as it wouldn't matter what he did in the future. She'd forgive him without a second thought. She couldn't quit on him.

  Isn't that what love is? She thought to herself. Isn't love the unconditional acceptance of someone; good, bad, and indifferent?

  Amy knew exactly what Janie would say about that. She knew Janie would tell her true love was a two-way street; that she'd deserve that same unconditional acceptance, and since Sam wasn't giving it to her in return, she needed to change the dynamics of their relationship. After all, how many times had Janie told her she needed to love herself as much as she loved Sam? How many arguments had they had over Amy's right to be as selfish as he was?

  She'd tell me to learn from my mother's mistakes. It's just… I'm happy to have whatever he'll give me, she mentally asserted. He doesn't owe me anything.

  And there was Janie's voice in her head again, “And you don't owe him anything either.”

  Why does love have to be so complicated? Why can't it just be easy for once? The heaviness Amy felt seemed to be drowning her in darkness.

  * * *

  Forty minutes later, the outer door of the ranch house slammed open. “I'm checking the heifers,” Dusty hollered, jarring Amy awake.

  Awake? Was I asleep? I never fall asleep at my desk. What's wrong with me? While locked in a battle with depression that robbed her of her appetite, unlike Sam, she couldn't seem to sleep enough. Shaking her head vigorously, she scrolled her mouse around to wake up the computer, and saw she had received an email from Janie.

  Take a look at this web site. I think you might find it informative, the terse note read.

  The link brought her to a book called The Empath Path by Sandra Martinez. A quick glance showed it was for the psychically sensitive. Skeptical, Amy rolled her eyes at what seemed like otherworldly mumbo jumbo, but the article Janie had sent was more allegory than anything.

  Used with author's permission

  By the time she'd finished reading, fresh tears were swimming in Amy's eyes. Why can't I stop crying? This is really over the top. But there was no stopping them. I hope Dusty stays out with
those heifers a good long time.

  So this was what Janie had said she was doing, sacrificing herself for Sam's sake, and making herself ill in the process, but her efforts were preventing him from getting well. There's a horrible truth in this. The obvious implication was that if she wanted Sam to get well, she needed to stop making herself sick trying to do it for him. She needed to make his wellbeing his own concern. And after all, if anyone had come to you describing how he's been treating you, you'd have been quick to point it out as sick, and it was. It is. It has to stop. He doesn't want to hurt you, so stop letting him.

  * * *

  That epiphany became a pivotal moment in her life. From that day forward, Amy dedicated herself to thinking healthy thoughts. She found several mantras to repeat to help with her self-acceptance, and began grounding exercises, as well as a workout routine that would alleviate her stress. Though at first it felt strange to take care of herself, to make her well-being a priority, she had to admit it was refreshing. A bit of worry lingered like a knot in the pit of her stomach, but she did her best to ignore it, reminding herself of the Bible verse that dictated a person had to remove the log from their own eye before they could deal with the splinter in a friend's eye.

  About a week after that, Amy entered the kitchen again, stealing an apple from the fridge. She crunched a bite out of it while shamelessly eavesdropping on Janie as she talked to Dusty on the phone.

  “Yeah, they said we should go tomorrow,” she was saying. Then there was a pause. “Yes, her too. The doctor said it would be good for all of us to be there.” Another pause. “No, he said he's responding well to the medications.… Ah, he said he added some medicine after interviewing us all and that seemed to end his delusions. … Okay, talk to you later, honey.” She pushed a button and dropped the phone on the counter.

  “So, what was that about?” Amy asked, taking another bite of her apple.

  “The doctor said we can finally see Sam.”

  “Really?” Amy felt excited for the first time in a long time. “Me too? I mean, Dusty doesn't mind?”

  “Yes, of course” Janie replied, smiling at her hopeful expression. “You especially.”

  That made Amy grin gleefully.

  “Are you up to it?” Janie asked, suddenly serious as she crossed the room to examine Amy's face. “You look a bit pale. Are you sick?”

  Amy's smile faded. “No, just tired. I don't know why though. I guess, despite my best efforts, I can't stop worrying altogether… But you think I'm doing better, right?”

  “Yes, Amy, you are. It's a bit early to say for sure whether it's permanent, but I definitely see improvement. And don't fret too much. We're all worrying. It's terrible when someone you love is sick.”

  Amy nodded solemnly. “I can't wait to see him.”

  Janie gave her a little hug. “We're leaving tomorrow, early. Be sure you get as much done today in the office as you can.”

  “Will do,” Amy replied, returning the hug before leaving the kitchen. The filing had really piled up over the last few weeks, and for some reason she'd had a hard time making herself do it. Feeling encouraged by the coming visit with Sam, she grew invigorated. Now was the moment!

  Chapter 10

  Bright and early the following morning, Dusty, Janie and Amy piled into the ranch's pickup truck and made the long ride to San Antonio, succeeding in getting caught in the morning rush hour. Arriving nearly 40 minutes late for their 9am appointment, they met with Sam in the day room of his medical unit. He looked thin and pale, his face strained, but at least he was lucid. Amy approached cautiously, and he opened his arms, drawing her in and kissing her forehead.

  “I'm sorry,” he said softly.

  “I know you didn't mean it,” Amy replied.

  “Ahem,” Janie cleared her throat in an obvious way.

  “And I forgive you, but you can't do things like that anymore,” Amy added nervously, trying to sound firm.

  Sam gazed into her eyes and then nodded slowly. “I never wanted to hurt you. God willing, I never will again. I love you, Amy.”

  Tears welled. Not again, girl! What's wrong with you? Why do you cry over everything? Choking down the emotional reaction, she drew Sam down for a gentle kiss on the lips. “I'm so glad.”

  “I had to tell you before anything else happened. I'm sorry I waited so long.”

  “It's okay,” she replied. Then, her well-practiced mantra fresh in her mind, she added. “I kind of knew it anyway.”

  Sam smiled, though his eyes remained strained.

  “So, are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, suddenly withdrawing. She could see his connection to her retract. “They have me doped up on some shit that makes me more tired than I've ever been in my life… I can't even describe it. It sucks, but Major Hansen said it's only a temporary reaction.” He laughed without humor at the doctor, who was standing beside him, then he gestured to his apparel. “Not to mention the fashion in this place is horrible. I'd take my ACU's any day.”

  “ACU's?” Dusty looked confused. “Don't you mean BDU's?”

  “Not anymore,” Sam explained. “BDU means Battle Dress Uniform, but that's actually a brand name, like Q-tip or Speed-o. ACU stands for Advanced Combat Uniform, which is actually the proper name for our camouflage.”

  “Oh.” Dusty silently mulled the new information over.

  Amy looked over his scrubs. The pale sea green did nothing for Sam's coloring. “You've looked better,” she quipped as she exaggerated her assessment of him.

  Sam made a soft sound of annoyance, stepping back and turning to face the window. “I hate this.”

  “I know.” She approached and laid a hand on his shoulder. He flinched. “Just concentrate on getting well. I'll still be here.”

  He shook his head, but before he could speak, the door opened with a loud BANG. Immediately Sam dropped to a crouch, whirling so the wall was at his back. His eyes went wild, his gaze distant.

  “Sam,” Janie said in alarm, “Sam, it's okay. It was just the door.”

  It took a moment before her assurances penetrated his stunned brain. By the time Sam started to calm down and everyone realized what had happened, it was too late. In in his panic, Sam hadn't just shouted and flung himself violently towards the wall; he'd also thrust his arms out wildly in a defensive chop. His uncontrolled movement caught Amy, who was standing nearby, in the shoulder, sending her sprawling. Her head connected with the corner of one of the hard plastic chairs then hit the tile. Her wrist, extended in order to catch her, took the brunt of the impact, crumpling under her weight with a sickening crunch.

  Gulping, trying to suppress the urge to vomit from the intense pain, Amy lay panting on the floor while the doctor knelt beside her to evaluate her injuries. Major Hansen barked to Janie to get a nurse while Dusty stepped between Sam and Amy protectively. Without delay, the chef leapt from the room, screaming, “Nurse! Nurse!”

  In the ensuing flurry of activity, Sam remained crumpled on the floor, shivering and unable to move. By the time Amy had been stabilized with a neck and back brace and bundled onto a gurney, he was lost in crazy ruminations – half ugly memory, half wild imagination. Having seen Amy harmed by his own hand yet again was more than Sam could bear. His fragile mind catapulted him from the hospital.

  Sam heard someone bellow in the distance, but the sound of freight trains running in his ears dampened the sound, making it impossible for him to locate the source of the cry. When he heard it again, closer, the voice sounded familiar somehow. He strained to listen past the thundering racket in his ears, only to be rewarded by another holler from the voice. This time, he recognized the voice as his own.

  A sharp sensation pricked into his arm and the edges of the world faded to black. The dark circle closed in and in until the world faded and he was trapped in his bleak imaginings.

  * * *

  Amy whimpered, the pain in her wrist overcoming her natural reserve. It was the same wrist that had been weakened by
the previous injury Sam had inflicted in the shower. Her head hurt and the tickling sensation coming from her temple seemed suspiciously like blood. She also felt a bit dizzy, but not incoherent. Even with her limited knowledge of medicine, she knew it was good she had remained conscious.

  A voice seemed to be babbling at her. She turned slowly, her head throbbing with the movement, and took in a tall black man in scrubs and a funny green hat. “Say that again,” she enunciated clearly. Her ears were ringing.

  “I said,” he replied more slowly, and she watched his lips this time to be sure she understood what he was saying, “I'm Dr. Ramos and I'm a medical resident from the hospital's emergency room. You've hit your head pretty hard. You need a CT scan to check for internal injuries.”

  Amy became aware of a throbbing agony on her left side. “I'm sure my wrist is broken too,” she said, her voice cracking with the pain.

  “Okay, I'll order an x-ray for that as well. I have some paperwork here. Can someone help you fill it out?”

  Amy blinked slowly and turned to look around just as Janie bustled into the room.

  “Is she all right, doctor?” Amy's friend demanded.

  “Are you a family member?”

  “Yes,” Janie and Amy said simultaneously. Then Janie added, “Is Amy all right?”

  “I think so, but we're going to run a few tests to make sure,” he replied. “She thinks her wrist is broken, and she hit her head. She sounds a bit… woozy, so I think it would be best to get a CT scan and make sure she doesn't have a concussion. Do you think you can fill out this paperwork for her?” He extended a clipboard

  Janie accepted with a nod.

  “I can call in the orders while y'all work,” the man said. “Is there any chance she might be pregnant?”