It has the opposite effect on her, quite clearly. The stress evaporates entirely from her, all the tension releasing, the minute she sees that look. She clearly concludes that I'm a nasty liar and her happy ending is peacefully undisturbed.
I can imagine her thoughts. 'Oh, Leah. It's really not her fault. This is hard for her, I know it is. I'm too hard on her, I have to remember her dad just passed. I really wish we could be friends again. I don't see why she can't understand that Sam is meant for me… I should have known better than even to doubt. Of course he loves me. Why was I being so ridiculous?'
For a brief moment, I'm inclined to agree with her last three sentences. Just with a "doesn't" inserted conveniently between "he" and "loves."
And then Sam turns away from her.
It isn't easy. I know it isn't, I can see him freeze solid, every muscle in his body straining, his jaw set as though in rock, while he pushes forcefully against the bonds that tie him.
He faces me. Slowly, deliberately, he looks into my eyes, and a broken, bleeding smile spreads across his face. It's jagged, uncertain, hurt.
But it's mine.
My Sam. Not since the first time he phased did I have this, this lack of secrets, this easy trust.
With my father dead and my body useless and my cousin standing here clueless, with all the pieces I thought made me up scattered broken on the floor… as long as I have this, I'm Lee-Lee again.
Sam speaks. "Emily, I… Listen to me." He turns away. He's careful to avoid her eyes, to look only at the side of her face.
She notices this and turns it a hundred and eighty degrees, so the scars are facing him.
Even in this position, where I can't see his face or any part of him except the back of his head, really, I can tell.
They say I'm cruel. And I guess I am. I think nasty things. I tease Embry about his dad and rub salt named Bella in Jacob's wounds and call Quil a pedophile incessantly (I actually do that just for the fun of it, but that's besides the point.)
None, none of the things I do even come close to the pain Emily has just intentionally caused.
I grab Sam by the shoulder and throw him back, shaking.
"Emily Young. You listen to me right now. Sam is a person. He is not a plaything, and he is certainly not yours. Right now, he's suffering from what basically amounts to a mental disorder preventing him from making rational decisions and you're manipulating him so you can play at happily-ever-after. It's fucking sadistic. Right now, I can't imagine how the hell I ever called myself your friend. You say you love this guy, presumably enough to marry him, spend the rest of your life with him… and then you do that. It might seem like nothing. Oh, just moving your face, no big deal. But you can't be dumb enough that you don't know what it does to him. Look, I thought it would be okay for you to make your decision here. I figured you'd do the right thing, let the poor guy go, but obviously I was wrong. And I'm not going to let you get away with torturing him like this. If you want to keep him prisoner, that's your prerogative. Whatever. But I'm not going to stand here and watch you hurt him." I turn to Sam, look at him for half a second, and then whisper, "I would never hurt him."