She understood why Harrison was so angry with her. She hadn’t
been
putting nearly as much effort into the relationship as he had. Her
emotions were lukewarm towards him at this point. She wanted it to
be love, but she knew it wasn’t. She had come to a point where
she
felt a growing resentment toward him for simply wanting to be with
her. The problem was that she didn’t want him, she didn’t
know what
she wanted. She had all these new ideas cycling their way around in
her head, and right now she wanted to go back to bed and sleep until
prince charming woke her up in a world where everything turned out
perfect. Did she really want that though?

If everything were perfect would she really be satisfied. Wasn’t
searching for the beauty in the flaws of people rewarding? Like when
Sam bit her lip it turned white at the point of pressure and it was
imperfectly beautiful. When Jane had started getting stretch marks
due to baby Mac’s impending arrival she had been nothing but
glowing. Spirits would not be so beautiful if they were not made to
struggle. This is what reading had done to her. She was think to
sound like Sam wrote. She had been snaking a peek at Sam’s
computer
when she was in the room sometimes. Occasionally, she went in there
just to watch her type, making sure the brunette was not aware of
her appearance. Mostly Sam was so wrapped up in the weaving of words
that she never noticed she had an admirer.

There was a single minded focus about Sam that frightened Brooke. It
was scary because it was what she found so attractive about her.
What else could she turn that focus towards? When Sam had been with
George she had recognized the trait. She had been in her element.
Brooke envied George for having experienced that. She and Josh
hadn’t fit even though on the outside they were perfect. The true
story lies in what people can’t see. She and Josh weren’t
even able
to see the truth in their pushed coupling.

The doorbell rang and the inevitable waited for her in the form of
one, Harrison John. The bane of her existence was her own
unwillingness to do what she truly felt when she was conscious of
her decisions.

"Time to face the music," she muttered.

Sam watched Brooke pass by the kitchen on her way to the door. She
scrunched her face and finished applying the last of the peanut
butter to her sandwich. She placed the pickles on top and smacked
the other piece of bread on to finish it off. She had been craving a
peanut butter and pickle sandwich ever since last night. She only
wished that her mom had gotten the good crispy pickles. She enjoyed
the fresh feel of a good crunchy pickle as much as the next socially
stagnant girl.