Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1) (46 page)

Finally, I crawled into bed.

When my parents came home, I pretended to be asleep. They didn’t check up on me. They trusted me.

Dependable Samantha Smith. I never got in trouble.

The next morning, I watched the news before school while pretending to eat breakfast. I was sick to my stomach the whole time.

The local newscaster laid it all out.

“Taylor Lamberth, a local high school senior, is hospitalized this morning after a nearly fatal hit-and-run accident. According to Taylor’s parents, Taylor went out for an evening jog last night, as usual. When Taylor didn’t return home, her parents called local police.

“An anonymous 911 caller tipped off authorities to the location of Taylor. Emergency crews rushed to the scene. Taylor was taken to St. Mary’s Hospital, where she is listed in critical condition. The extent of her injuries has not been determined. Police ask anyone who knows anything about this case to please come forward.”

If I had actually eaten any of my cereal, I would’ve thrown it up into my bowl right at the table.

I spent the entire day at school nearly comatose.

All I could think about was poor Taylor Lamberth. I had contributed in some way to her injuries and worried she might die. I had no idea how bad a shape she was in.

Damian stalked me in the hallways that day, never talking to me. He shot me threatening looks at every opportunity.

He quickly spread word about our break up, claiming I was a huge slut, the campus pump, that he’d dropped me as soon as he’d found out.

I was labeled a bitch, a slut, a whore, and a tease. I never understood how you could be a slut and a tease at the same time, but I was now classified as both. It seemed like the entire high school shunned me. Everyone gave me dirty looks, stuffed nasty notes in my locker, the works.

I was so freaked out about the incident with Taylor, I stopped talking to my friends completely. I was afraid I would spill everything if I opened my mouth at all and that Damian would find out. The repercussions of my involvement scared me more than anything. I feared I was somehow an accomplice.

Over the coming weeks, my friends drifted away. They claimed they didn’t know me anymore. I couldn’t blame them because they were right. I used to tell them everything that went on in my life. Now I told them nothing.

To further distance myself, I started wearing black clothes, black makeup, and a black mood at all times. That’s when I was labeled Emo, and Goth, and Witch.

Nobody really knew what was going on. But everyone saw how withdrawn I had become.

That’s when they started calling me Suicide Watch. They all thought I was going to kill myself. Some days, I feared they were right. But mainly, I was too busy obsessing about Taylor Lamberth to think about myself. I desperately awaited good news in the local media.

I found out Taylor was eventually released from the hospital. She was supposed to go to University on a full-ride soccer scholarship in the fall, but due to the severity of her injuries sustained in the accident, her soccer days were over.

Both her knees were basically shattered and had to be bolted back together with titanium pins and rods. She would still be able to walk, doctors said, after tons of physical therapy. But she lost her scholarship, and her extensive medical bills were bankrupting her parents. The last I knew, Taylor was going to the local community college.

The day I got my acceptance letter from SDU, almost two years later, my parents celebrated. But I was miserable. I felt guilty because I was going off to have a great time while Taylor had to give up her childhood dreams.

And Damian got away with everything. He even went to Columbia, like he’d planned.

The cops never figured out who did it. I mean, how could they? There was no evidence. I imagine they found my high heels, but they had no way to connect them to me. I wasn’t in any criminal databases.

I considered tipping off the police a thousand times, but I was too afraid of Damian.
 

He would know it was me.

Chapter 25

PRESENT DAY.

Tears had run freely down my face the whole time I told the story. My coat was wet with them. I sniffled and looked at Christos.

His blue eyes blazed. Was he angry? I felt cut off from him, like he wasn’t even there. Maybe he wasn’t anymore. Maybe his heart ran away the second he’d heard my story. I deserved it for what I’d done.

“It’s not your fault, Samantha.” He unbuckled his seat belt and reached over. His thumb brushed tears from my cheek. “You did everything you could. You called 911 as soon as you were able. So what if Damian got away with it? If he’d been caught, it wouldn’t have helped the doctors fix Taylor’s legs any better than they did.”

“I still feel responsible,” I sobbed.

“For what? If you hadn’t called 911, who knows how long she would’ve been lying on the road? You said yourself she could’ve frozen to death.”

“But if I’d just had sex with Damian, Taylor would be fine.”

“Hold on a second.” He pulled back and leveled a stern look at me. “Don’t even go there. You can’t tell yourself that. There’s no way you could’ve known. Besides, you did the right thing by turning down sex with Damian. You weren’t obligated to go through with it. He should’ve controlled his temper instead of flipping out and speeding on that road.”

“Yeah, but would it really have been so bad? If I’d just had sex with stupid Damian? Taylor Lamberth would still have a soccer scholarship. Now her dreams are ruined. Because of me.”

“Stop it, Samantha. That’s insane. You did not need to have sex with Damian to save her.”

I leaned back in my seat and sobbed.

Christos put an elbow on the center console and hugged me with his free arm. “Shh, shh, shh. Let it out. You did the best you could.”

“I didn’t though.”

“Come on,
agápi mou
. It’s not your fault.”

“I should’ve realized long before that night that Damian was a total jerk. I should’ve seen what an asshole he was in advance.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I should’ve known he was a terrible person beneath his looks and his money.”

“That’s crazy, Samantha. How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Nobody knows their way around relationships at that age. I mean, seriously, didn’t he come on to you all romantic, with the flowers and the dinner and the fancy mansion?”

“Yeah.”

“And I bet he was doing that shit all along, playing the part of perfect boyfriend until he got you into bed.”

I sniffled. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

Christos froze. “What?” he asked in a low voice.

Oh no, I was ruining everything again. There was no way I could retract my words. There were out, and they had way too much power.

He frowned. “I’m sorry, but can you please repeat what you said? I want to make sure I heard you correctly before I say another word.”

Fuck!
What had I just done?

“Samantha? I need you to talk to me. Right now.”

I quivered with fear, trying to burrow closer to him. He released me and sat back in his seat. I could tell he was done with me.

“Christos, please.” I was crying again.

“I’m not him, Samantha. I’m nothing like Damian.”

“But you
are!
You were arrested on the first day of school! That guy
shot
at you at Jake’s party because you smashed him into the side of a car! I could’ve been killed! Those bikers at Xanadu chased us! You speed, you get into fights, you do crazy things all the time! When are
you
going to hit some girl jogging in the middle of the night and take away
her
dreams?!”

Dead silence.

“My parents were right! I need to give up all this craziness about art! I don’t deserve for my dreams to come true! Taylor Lamberth doesn’t get hers! Why should I get mine?!”

I was destroying everything I cared about.

Maybe it was for the best.

I opened the door of my parents’ Honda and ran down the street. Tears poured from my eyes and I wailed as I ran. I needed to get away from everything and everyone.
 

But I couldn’t escape
myself
.

I walked around Taylor Lamberth’s neighborhood for over an hour. Even though the sun was out, I was chilled when I got back to the car. Christos sat on the hood, his boots resting on the front bumper.

He had to have been freezing in his leather jacket. I felt like a jerk.

I walked toward him tentatively, stopping a few feet away. My arms were folded across my chest, my chin tucked in my coat. I was afraid to look him in the eyes. “I have to fix what I’ve done,” I said, shivering.

He stood up and walked to me. He placed his hands gently on my hips, and touched his forehead to mine.
 

“Whatever you decide, Samantha,” he murmured, “I am here for you,
agápi mou.
”

I leaned into him. “I love you, Christos.”

Chapter 26

We climbed back into the Honda and I turned the engine on, running the heater full-blast.

At some point while I was gone on my impromptu walk, the Lamberth minivan had returned. I hoped both Taylor and her mother were inside.

“I have to apologize to Taylor,” I told Christos. “I need to tell her what I know. Then I’m going to tell the police. If they end up arresting me for being an accessory or covering up, or whatever, and I go to jail? So be it.”

“Are you sure?” Christos asked, looking distinctly pained.

“I love you, Christos. But I have to do this, no matter what happens.”
 

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“I need to do this on my own. It’s my responsibility.”

“Okay,
agápi mou
. I’ll be in the car, waiting for you.”

I got out of my mom’s Honda, took my old backpack out of the trunk, and walked up to the front door of the Lamberth house. Something I’d considered doing countless times, but never had the courage to until now.

I rang the doorbell. Taylor’s mom answered.

“Yes?” She stood with the door open only a crack, keeping the heat in the house.

“Is Taylor home?”

“Yes. And you are?”

“A friend of hers,” I lied.

The mom turned and hollered into the house. “Taylor, your friend is here to see you!” To me, “What’s your name again?”

“Samantha Smith.”

“It’s Samantha Smith,” she hollered into the house. “Hold on a second. I’ll be right back.”

She gently closed the door.

A minute later, Taylor opened the door. The mother stood behind her. Taylor looked confused. Of course she didn’t know me.

“I owe you an apology,” I said. “And I wanted to return these.” I pulled her shoes out of my backpack.

Painful recognition widened Taylor’s eyes. “My shoes,” she gasped. “Those were my favorite running shoes! I was wearing them the night of the accident! Where did you get them?”

“From you.” I didn’t know how else to say it. “From the night you were hit by that car. My jerk ex-boyfriend was driving too fast. I used your shoes to run for help. I was wearing heels, but I found your shoes in the road.”

Taylor’s mother’s brows knit with concern. She stepped protectively in front of her daughter. “Who are you? Is this some kind of a sick joke? What are you doing here?” She demanded angrily.

I panicked. “I need to tell your daughter what happened that night! I was the only person who knows and is willing to say anything. My boyfriend threatened to kill me if I ever told anybody,” I pleaded.

Taylor’s mom appeared both angry and confused. “We don’t need you opening old wounds!” she spat, looming toward me.

“But wait! I—”

“I remember,” Taylor said softly. “Your voice. You’re her.”

“Who?” Her mother halted, surprised. “Who is she, Taylor?”

 
“I know her voice, Mom.” Taylor’s eyes started to tear up. She locked eyes with me. “She was the one who talked to me, she told me she was going to help me. I always thought she was one of the EMTs.”

I cried softly, nodding my head.

Taylor addressed me directly. “You told me to keep my shoes on next time.” She laughed while weeping.

I nodded. “I thought it was a stupid joke.”

“It was,” Taylor smiled and laughed through tears. “I—I don’t remember getting hit, but I remember pieces of what happened afterward, before the ambulance arrived. I remember lying on the side of the road in the darkness and being cold.” She sniffled. “And I remember you.”

I wanted to hug her, but I was afraid.

Taylor’s mom was shocked, to say the least, but she seemed to understand what was happening between her daughter and me.
 

“What’s your name?” Taylor asked.

“Samantha Smith.”

“Would you like to come inside, Samantha?” the mom asked, opening the front door wide for me.

“Yes.” I started sobbing when I crossed the threshold of the Lamberth’s front doorstep.

“I never got to thank you,” Taylor said. She threw her arms around me and hugged me fiercely. “You saved my life,” she whispered into my ear.

I hugged her back.

I think she had just saved mine.

Epilogue

I told Taylor and her mother the entire story, from start to finish, over hot coffee and cookies. I began with my plan to lose my virginity to Damian, his ensuing tantrum, and his awful behavior and threats after the accident. I cried during most of it.

Afterward, we drove to the police station together. The Lamberths followed behind in their minivan while Christos sat beside me in my mom’s car. He held my hand the entire way. At the station, I retold the entire story for the third time that day to a pair of detectives.

There’s some old saying about the third time being the charm.

It turned out the police weren’t going to arrest me for not reporting the crime. Because it was an accident, and I was not the person at fault, it wasn’t a felony merely because I didn’t come forward sooner.

The District Attorney eventually decided not to press charges against Damian. His BMW from that night had been sold a long time ago. Although the police tracked it down, they found it in a wrecking yard somewhere in New Mexico, battered and crushed beyond recognition. No surprise there. As a result, there wasn’t enough evidence to press charges against Damian. All they really had was my testimony against his. The D.A. thought it wouldn’t be a strong enough case to hold up in court.