You knew it wasn't love. Whatever Sam had with Ruby. He was an addict, and she was a supplier. But it didn't hurt less. When he'd disappear from motel after motel in the small hours of morning, you'd lay secretly awake until he returned, pretending to be asleep when he'd brush your hair out of your sleeping face. As if maybe it was you he wanted. But his quiet footsteps to the door every night told a different story. The blood dried on his lips was proof enough that it wasn't you he really wanted. You shut your eyes tight as you hear the motel door creak open again, the clock reading five a.m. Sam's footsteps softly enter the room, the door clicking shut behind him. You feel him sit next to you on your bed, remaining quiet. His labored breathing has your fist clenching at the sheets. Fingers lightly brush your cheek, his hand warm and slightly clammy on your skin.

"M'sorry…"

He whispers, knowing you probably couldn't hear him. Sam pulls away, leaving his scent lingering behind as he gets into his own bed and tries to convince himself he had never left.