When Desire Bowed to Dream

I can only apologise for how long it's taken to get this out. So much for a month!

There are a few reasons why I wasn't able to post sooner, even though the vast majority of this was written on time. My last remaining grandparent had her first brush with death last summer; we're still living with the aftermath. I lost my job, burned through my savings and had to move back in with my aging folks. And I found myself caught up in a torrid love affair of my own that burned so very bright before it spectacularly crashed to the ground.

Life has a habit of sending you curveballs that force you to live the life you want your characters to aspire to, being present every step of the way. I'd like to think I did my best.

For those who have missed it, this is the second and final part to Jei and Sam's love story. Thank you for helping me get this far. I really hope you enjoy :)

- - - -

"I'm going away," he said. "And I want you to know I'm coming back. I love you because..."

"Don't say anything," Fatima interrupted. "One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving."

But the boy continued. "I had a dream, and I met with a king. I sold crystal and crossed the desert. And because the tribes declared war, I went to the well, seeking the alchemist.

So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you."

- Paulo Coelho

--

I don't remember the specifics of the day Tal called. I remember we were incredibly busy - not least because Sam was at the peak of some kind of mood swing and snapping like a hyena at anyone who dared call him out, so I was once again in the thick of damage control. You could hear warehouse screaming through the windows, and my extension had been ringing off the fucking hook.

"Tal?" I couldn't keep the confusion out of my voice. I'd been expecting yet another representative from the accounts company that kept screwing up our invoicing.

"Yeah, it's me." His gravelly voice was tighter than usual, prickling with irritation. "Where's Samir?"

I looked into the office across from mine. The blinds were partially drawn, but I could still sort of make out Sam's silhouette slouched over the expanse of his desk. "Hold on, I'll put you through."

"Don't bother. The fucker won't answer."

I hesitated as he broke into a tired sigh. Tal had always made me uncomfortable - he and Sam may have been brothers as well as business partners, but their brands of quiet and dangerous were worlds apart. Sam stalked you lazily through the winding grass. Tal liked to hover like a circling bird of prey.

"Is he in today? That's all I need to know."

"He's in," I said quietly.

"Fuck's sake." Tal's growl was rabid. I immediately drew away from the receiver. "Right. He needs to grow up. Tell that fuckwit brother of mine I'm picking him up at four - rearrange his meetings or whatever it is you do. If I have to drag him to the hospital kicking and screaming, fine, but after this I'm done."

"Hospital?" The word sat cold and heavy on my tongue. "Tal, what happened?"

Loud breaths echoed down the line. My wall clock counted the seconds as they passed.

"Mum's in a coma," he said eventually. Gruff and apathetic. He wrapped his words in an impatient sigh. "They said no visitors after six. Pick him up a bunch of flowers or something too, would you?"

I was still staring off into dead space when he deigned to cut the call.

--

The room was done quite nicely. Considering the stench of decaying hospital that still lingered in the hallways, you could almost forget it was the ICU.

I seated myself on a worn fabric chair, taking in the faded blue of the walls and the machines that surrounded her frail form. The blinds by her bed were slatted and thin strips of August sunlight illuminated her withered arms and bedsheets.

I ignored the bruises of endless needles between her delicate bones, hesitated - then held her palm between my hands.

I had no idea whether or not Sam had come to see her, and I decided I didn't really care. I'd excused myself early to avoid that particular family reunion. But the entire drive home I'd battled with a sizeable knot in the pit of my stomach, and it had only grown heavier over the course of the week.

It was during back-to-back Bruce Willis movies on the sofa with my dad as he beamed at his phone, chuckling at the photos my sister was sending of her and the kids on holiday, that I realised this wasn't going to go away.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "Hi, Aunty," I whispered.

She said nothing back; merely communicated the threads of her consciousness through obnoxious monitor beeps and the whirring of mechanical noise. My hands shook and I forced myself to get it together.

"I - uh - I don't know if you remember me." I bit my bottom lip, hard, and ignored all the instincts encouraging me to flee. "Sam introduced us a long time ago. I helped you when he was out of the country, that one time. We went shopping and you haggled a very pretty dress for me at the bazaar." I laughed. "For two gals who don't speak the same language, we cut up quite a good time."

I went quiet, stroking her pallid skin for a moment, and almost jumped when I heard some nurses bustling outside the door. Apologising quickly, I continued. "Anyways, I just... I had to come see how you were. My... my own mum isn't here anymore, and... well. I guess I just have a thing about people being forgotten."

She lay back against her blankets, unfazed and unbothered. In a way, it really did look like she'd gone to sleep. Memories of my mum lying in the funeral parlour came back to me in a rush that I pushed down my gullet like bile.

"I know he cares about you. Of course he does. He's the one who drove you to A&E, after all." I shook my head wildly and tried my best to wrangle my thoughts. "But I don't get how men do it. You know? Shove all those thoughts and feelings into boxes like there could ever be a right time to air them out."

Gingerly, I placed her hand back on the bed. Then I twisted the string on the blinds to shift the garish light away from her face, and began rearranging her flowers.

--

Tal was livid when he found out what I'd been up to. Unmistakeably - understandably -maniacal.

He looked from me to his mother, propped up in her hospital bed on the ward she'd been moved to with a mouth full of croissant and a HELLO! magazine open on her lap, and prepared to lose his shit.

Sam's wordless hand against his shoulder was the only thing that stopped him.

Aunty didn't give two shits. Barely granted them a glance, nudging for me to read the rest of her horoscope and asking if I wanted some juice. I smiled as confidently as I could and hoped she couldn't see me practically shaking from lily-livered fear.

I ducked past Tal with the rubbish from our bi-weekly picnic as swiftly as I dared, leaving him to seethe zealous rage down some poor nurse's neck. The breath I'd been holding slowly left me as I cleared the doors of the geriatric wing, but it was quickly replaced with panicked arrhythmia as Sam began steering me towards the exit.

"Dude, let go -"

"I'm taking you home," he said flatly, "before Talha recovers his attention span and attempts to skin you alive."

"Well at least I'm in the right place for it," I mumbled, cursing as he instantaneously spun me around.

"What is wrong with you??"

I flicked over Sam's face in search of retrospective anger. Instead, I found genuine concern. "I just brought her some pastries, Sam. The food in this place is dogshit. You should have seen what they gave her last Sunday."

His only response to that was a blank-faced stare. But considering how I laughed - fucking laughed - at the athleticism with which he dragged me out of that hospital by the scruff of my neck, perhaps he was right to be alarmed.

"How did you find her?" he wondered out loud, slamming the door of his Range Rover after him. "Fuck that; how did you even get in?"

I debated answering while he reversed quickly out of his parking spot. He glided effortlessly out onto the main road, pulling up to the traffic lights within a matter of minutes as a stream of vehicles gave him way. I eyed them with disdain. Even confined in a glorified tin can, Sam maintained a perfect berth of intimidation and awe.

Resting my elbow against the sill of the car door, I stared out into the road. "I'm a little insulted you even have to ask. I've practically run your company for the last week and a half whilst you were busy shunning all of humanity. You don't think I can put two and two together?"

"So what, you just... figured it out?"

"Yes, I figured it out! This is the closest hospital with geriatric care to her fucking apartment!" Something spiked within my chest, uncomfortable and unwanted, as my heart began to pound. "You're not the only one who was worried about her."

He swore beneath his breath in a low and undecided threat. I tamped down the fluttering in my stomach as he fiddled with the controls on his console.

"A/C or the windows down?" he asked.

Against my better judgement, I glanced over at him. He looked dishevelled. Sure, he still looked like the Sam I knew - bored and removed, powerful biceps poking out of his thin black t-shirt and designer sunglasses slung casually from the vee. But his curly hair was bedraggled, like he'd gotten out of bed and just hadn't known what to do with it. The skin of his face was tight around his eyes and stubble had started to spread in patches down his neck.

I gave a reassuring squeeze to his tree trunk of a thigh, stroking once before I leaned in and messed about with the radio. "You decide. It's your car after all."

I thought I heard a choke of laughter as Britney tumbled out of the stereo system, but that might have been just me.

--

There was a hatch to the roof of the pub we worked in that used to be reserved for maintenance. What kind of maintenance, I'm not sure - shingle repairs and gutter cleaning were my best bets. And despite clear warnings from the council that we were not to go up there, considering it was a fragile and listed building, the roof had devolved into something of a smoker's lounge for anyone fit enough to climb the rust-covered ladder and army crawl through the small square opening. A shabby haven far removed from the constant crush of the warehouse or the pricks who loitered on the street down below.

Santi and I sometimes skived off up there, playing cards or watching clouds whilst I groused and swatted away tufts of his strawberry vape. But most of the time I spent up there was by myself. Drinking in the bird's-eye view of what surrounded this shithole - parks and primary schools and green belts along the A-roads - I surrendered to an airspace free of testosterone or the repressed, pent-up emotions that kept wreaking havoc with my life.

Dad had promised a roast tonight, never mind that it was a Monday, so I had to keep my word about leaving work at a normal hour and make sure I didn't get home to an overcooked mess. Truth be told, I wasn't feeling very excited about it. I felt like fragmented pieces of myself these days, clawing together farces of enthusiasm and interest, when all I really wanted to do was to climb into a castle in the clouds and disappear. It was all very exhausting.

The hatch swung open, hitting the other side of the concrete with a resounding clang. But I barely registered it, let alone reacted.

A few gentle grunts punctuated Sam hoisting himself over the ledge and dusting himself off. The wind whistled as he glanced down at me.

"A hipflask," he noted, hands braced on his hips. "Cute."

I snorted. "You ever try bringing a bottle up here?" I swirled it before shaking a gentle swig down my throat, savouring the whiskey burn all the way down. "You quickly run out of hands."

Sam shook his head as if he didn't know what to do with me. "Budge up."

I did so with a laboured sigh, scrunching in so he could get past without obstructing my view. Before I could straighten up, however, he'd sunk with a thud to the patch of roof behind me.

His long legs uncoiled, caging me in, and he gestured impatiently with one hand for the flask. Grumbling, I handed it over.

"You're ruining my fun Sam," I complained.

He only chuckled, his breath lifting the hairs on the back of my neck. "That was kind of the idea." There was a hum of approval as he swallowed, followed by an immediate hiss.

"Jesus, this is strong." He smacked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "How much of this have you had?"

"Seriously? Party of one, Sam, I already told you." I leaned back against him and sulked. "Seeing as you weren't invited, the least you could do is shut up."

My attention turned to the skyline, head gloriously empty and mind easing towards a semblance of peace. I followed the landscape intently. Twilight was mottling the horizon like a bruise, violet and indigo seeping into rich, rosy skies and tinging the clouds that crawled across in the breeze. Rustles from distant tree branches and screaming from the nearby park churned into a sea of white noise, swelling and sinking with the traffic that came and went. I relaxed into Sam's chest as the tension was dragged from my bones.

When I could feel his heartbeat skipping softly with mine, I heard him rumble in my ear. "Time to talk, babygirl."

I rolled my eyes and sagged. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?" He took another swig of my whiskey and passed it back. "Isn't that what people do at parties?"

If I hadn't laughed, I might have gotten away with it. Instead his answering grin brushed up against my temple and his chest puffed with pride, forcing me to sit up a bit. Cornered and caught, I succumbed to a world-weary exhale.

"What is it with you and getting me to talk these days?" I managed to grumble.

"You don't do it enough," he stated. "I think we need to change that."

I rolled my lip between my teeth. The caw of a raven rang out across the distance, echoing as it did a small loop.

"When..." my voice shook as I faltered, and I took a deep breath. Sam's hand landed possessively on my knee. "When my mum passed away, I became a total wreck. Totally. We had never been close; never had that bond you and your mum have. The day she died, we had an argument about something petty - me going out too much, not focusing on exams, refusing to take life seriously. She called me a spoilt brat and I called her a cow. It sounds really stupid, but I remember it so clearly because that's what I had playing in my head the entire time I was out. I was supposed to be window shopping and getting milkshakes with my friends, but the only thing I could concentrate on was how she never really gave a shit about me unless I was acting up or acting out. Smearing her hard-won reputation."

I picked at the seal of the flask as the memories came back. "Before I caught the bus home, I decided it was time to be the bigger person. Bury the hatchet and all that, at least this once. I went back to this jewellery shop that was having a sale and picked up a necklace... it was only a tenner, almost all the pocket money I had on me, and it wasn't especially fancy. But it was dainty and delicate and seemed like the kind of thing she'd like. Then I came home to an empty house and found out from our neighbour she'd been taken to hospital. Dad and Nina went with her."

Sam said nothing, but his palm clenched around my knee. An unconscious thumb traced small circles along my thigh.

"You didn't get to say goodbye?" he asked, lowly.

I shook my head. "They didn't... nobody called me. I should have fought harder, perhaps, should have found out where she was or what was going on, but I didn't even know it was a heart attack. I thought that she'd be..." my voice hitched on a mortifying croak and I forced back a glug of liquor, grimacing. "Then we had to hold the funeral and bury her, make sure Dad didn't waste away, subsisting off nothing but booze and crackers, and I had to go take my fucking A Levels. And all that time I had that stupid necklace burning through a shelf in my closet."

He exhaled into my hair, looking off into the distance. I closed my eyes and savoured it; relished that small sound of glib, indifferent sympathy that gave me more comfort than the half-flask of whiskey I'd knocked back on a whim and could now feel curdling in my stomach. His fingers ghosted down my ribcage, and I mused how life wasn't fair.

"I'm surprised you didn't take it back," he said.

"Would you have?" I turned my head to look at him.

"You might have figured this out already, Jei, but I'm not one for being sentimental." Something cold crossed over his face; touched the corners of his eyes and spidered over them like sharp winter frost. He let out a derisory snort. "Yeah, I would have taken it back. Or I don't know, donated it, or something."

"I did take it to her tree," I volunteered suddenly. "To gift it to her postmortem, I guess. But I just... I got this distinct impression that she... wanted me to keep it? To hold onto it, for her? I know, it's silly, but -"

"S'not silly," he murmured, looping an arm over me. "Makes perfect sense."

I bit through a whimper as he squeezed around my middle - not to extinguish the sound, but to find the strength to not completely melt into him when the scent of man and musk and Sam made it past my barriers, cloaking me in a crooked cloud of security.

I didn't get round to telling him that I lost the necklace four years ago. That in a surge of desperate accountability and putting wrongs to right, I'd worn it for courage on a few interviews and accidentally bumped into friends from the messy crowd I used to run with. I didn't tell him that in the midst of me finally crawling into that chrysalis, I was pulled back into trashy bars and bad habits and my most toxic traits, pushing past all my limits and spiralling with slovenly grace from club to club until I was throwing up outside a basement gig somewhere in this neighbourhood.

I didn't tell him that, when he found me the next morning, combing through the hedgerows on the perimeter of the supply warehouse with bloodshot eyes and a bird's nest in a bun, I had no intention of interviewing for his stupid office assistant position. That I couldn't have given a flying fuck about having no CV on me and no agency references, or that the words 'unpaid internship' had flown right over my head right until he told me to come back in two days' time.

I definitely didn't tell him that by the time he met me I was too exhausted and too far gone to repair any of the damage I'd done to myself. That the only cause that persevered on my conscience was trying to find my mother's necklace, and make sure it never, ever left my closet again.

As Sam pulled me into his lap and simply held me there, I listened to the beat of his heart and committed it to memory - a stolen moment I could cling to when I next needed proof of its existence.

--

Motorcycles retched and roared as sulphur and smoke stank up the night. Crowds along the metal barriers screamed at the top of their lungs, crawling on top of each other to watch the racers clear the track, and heavy footfalls paced after me as I stalked away from the epicentre of the action.

"JEIDA."

It was his hand on my shoulder, rough and vicious in its vice-like grip that successfully prevented my escape. I turned to him, glaring, and found a similar ferocity schooling his features into a clinical level of calm.

Flickering between light and shadow from the shifting movements of the crowd, Sam tugged me from the path of race-goers and into the small portacabin they were using as a bookies' base. He only had to scowl at the sharks smoking a joint in the corner before they scarpered for the exit, banging the door shut behind them.