I feel ridiculous even thinking about it when there are so many more concerning things to think about before then. Real things. Like the motion hearing on Rory's case next week. I have to be there. At least as a witness I have every reasonable excuse and right to be there, but I don't want to just be there as a witness. I want to be there for her. I want to be there with her. It's strange waiting for Monday to learn my fate. Everything will either change or stay the same, and I have no say in any of it.
Tucker sucks on Carl's neck right there at the table and I roll my eyes.
"Do you guys want the room to yourselves? Should we find a table upstairs?" I ask them.
"Would you mind?" Tucker deadpans, his mouth barely letting go of the skin of Carl's throat to respond.
Carl shrugs him off, flushing with mild embarrassment as I fling an ice cube at him, landing it right in the collar of his shirt in true quarterback form.
"Fucker," he grumbles.
"Cut it out, Tuck," Carl murmurs halfheartedly, scooting away from him so she's not practically on his fucking lap.
"Come on, Princess, don't listen to Cap. He's just a bitter bastard these days."
I land another ice cube down Tucker's collar.
"Fucking stop that!" he growls in exasperation, but he's the one who needs to fucking stop it.
I glare at him and he exhales his capitulation. He doesn't mean to be a dick, and he certainly didn't mean to call me out on being in a shit mood over Rory, but he did, and he looks like he just realized it. His expression is his apology, and I accept it wordlessly.
Fortunately, Carl changes the subject. "So, Rory, did you ever talk to that girl? The one you met on Facebook?"
This is news to me. I didn't know Rory had met a classmate and it makes me smile.
Rory nods. "She's nice. I think I might meet her for coffee next weekend…"
But she trails off, and her eyes get this lost look that I've come to recognize. I know immediately what she's thinking about. It's hard for her to look all the way to next weekend when first she has to deal with that motherfucking bastard's hearing.
This is when things are the hardest. When I want more than anything to take her hand, to whisper some words of comfort, but I can't do a damn thing but sit here in silence and try to telepathically communicate my support.
And then, as if she just can't help herself, Chelsea takes care to shift the conversation back to herself, making sure the entire group knows just how excited she is to finally meet her roommate for the first time in a couple hours, how awesome this girl supposedly is, and how much they have in common. Though if the last is true, I can't really see how "awesome" she could possibly be.
I feel guilty for the thought. It's a nasty thing to think about a friend, but it's what came to mind nonetheless.
I order family style for everyone and no one asks for ID when most of my friends order drinks. No one says anything when Dave lights a cigarette either. Most of us have eaten here several times, but it's obviously Rory's first time, and her enthusiasm for the food lifts my mood immensely. She's so into the lobster satay that I quietly order her an extra plate of it and she gives me that sweet smile in gratitude when the server places it in front of her minutes later. I love watching her eat. Is it crazy that I love watching her eat?
"Cap, tell me about the apartment? Is it all ready?" Chelsea asks. It's the third time she's said something to get my personal attention when I'd been focusing it on Rory, and I realize I'm being way too obvious.
"Yeah. Thea did a sick job," I reply.
"I can't wait to see it!" she says excitedly.
I force a smile. I don't remember inviting her to see it. I may have forgiven her, but I'm realizing that once we graduate our family connection will likely be all that's left of our friendship. And that's just fine with me.
Rory downs her crème brulee dessert and I try not to find it erotic as hell as she moans in pleasure as she licks the creamy custard off the spoon. The girl is completely unaware of what she's doing to me. Fucking torture.
In lieu of having to find non-existent parking in the meatpacking district, and pay for parking twice, we all pile into cabs to head downtown with plans to do the same to get back to our cars later.
Thanks once again to Uncle Kelly, we skip the line and are walked right into the club, straight to the two tables reserved on our behalf—again without having to show ID.
Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, dancing, or talking—well, screaming really—over the music. I keep an eye on Rory, but try not to hover. But I do catch her eyes on me quite a bit, and boy is it gratifying. True to her word, she doesn't drink, even though she isn't driving. I sit at our table and sip my soda, watching everyone have a good time. In truth, I'm having a good time myself.
Chelsea sits by me, texting mostly, until she squeals excitedly and jumps from her seat. I eye her inquisitively and watch her fix her face back into composure.
"My roommate's outside," she explains. "Can you come with me to get her in?"
"Just tell her to give my name, they'll walk her right in," I remind Chelsea, who pouts annoyingly.
"Come on, Cap. She's nervous. She's not from New York, she's from some little middle-of-nowhere town. And I don't want to go outside by myself." She exaggerates her pout. "Please? Anyway I want you to meet her and it's loud as hell in here."
I roll my eyes and acquiesce. It's just easier, and it's not like I'm doing anything here anyway other than watching Rory dance with the girls. I wait to make eye contact with Dave, and he gives me a subtle nod. He'll look out for her while I'm gone. It's our deal. After Miami, Dave was pretty shaken by Rory's assault too. We had a little talk, and he promised to help me keep an eye on her, especially since they go smoke outside at parties. He swore to me that he'd never let her go by herself, and as far as I know, he hasn't.
Chelsea grabs my hand, her fake nails scratching the back of mine as she pulls me toward the exit. We make our way through the dense crowd, around sweaty dancing bodies, and I'm actually grateful for the fresh air once we get outside.
The bouncer opens the rope for us and I tell him we're just meeting a friend and we're coming right back in. Chelsea checks her phone.
"She's pulling up any second," she tells me.
"I thought you said she was here…"
"She's around the freaking block, Cap. Relax. She's only been to New York like once before. She's really excited, but nervous. I wanted you to meet her anyway, she's really pretty."
"I thought this was your first time meeting her?" I ask.
"Well, yeah, but I've seen her photos on Instagram and Facebook. Anyway we've talked so much in the past month I feel like I've known her forever. We have a lot in common."
I nod, barely even bothering to feign interest.
"You probably do too, actually."
"Hm." I'm getting the unwelcome sense that Chelsea's trying to set me up with this girl she's never actually met, and I'm confused by it considering it was just a couple of months ago that she was attacking Rory because of her own crush. Nothing Chelsea does seems to make any damn sense anymore.
"You actually have a friend in common."
"Hm." Where the fuck is this girl? I just want to go back inside and get back to the friends whose company I actually enjoy.
"There she is!" Chelsea shrieks excitedly, and titters on her five inch heels around me to where a short, blond girl has just climbed out of a cab.
They embrace and I'm instantly on edge. "Hey girl!" Chelsea exclaims. "This is Cap, the guy I was telling you about." But her tone is pointed, not casual, and I'm suddenly aware this is not the setup I thought it was.
It's far worse.
Because even before Chelsea introduces her to me, I know her name. Know exactly who she is. I don't have to have ever seen her before to recognize the familial resemblance to features that have haunted my fucking nightmares.
I automatically step back from them, half in shock.
"This is my
roommate, Lacey," Chelsea says excitedly as if everything is normal. As if she didn't seek out Rory's fucking enemy—her fucking rapist's sister and personal harasser—to be her fucking college roommate.
"Are you fucking crazy?" My voice is too low, I'm still utterly stunned.
Chelsea drops the ruse at least, and the smile fades from her over-glossed lips. "Cap, you need to hear her out. I know how much you like Rory, but you need to listen to what she did to Lacey's family. Her brother—"
"Her brother is a fucking rapist!" I roar. I'm no longer in shock, no, now I'm enraged. My heart rate skyrockets and my muscles tense, fury rushing through my veins and fuming from my every pore. How could Chelsea do this? How could she bring her here?!
That motherfucking bastard's sister flinches at my words, like she's actually surprised, like it's the first time she's hearing this about her brother. She must be as insane as he is.
"I know what she says," she stutters, her voice shaking. "But she lies, you know? She—"
I step forward, keeping my arms painstakingly at my sides. "What she says?! What about what I fucking saw?! Are my eyes lying too?" I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I shouldn't be engaging here. My top priority should be making sure Rory doesn't see this girl. Not telling her off. "You need to leave. Fucking now. There is no way I'm letting you walk into this club," I tell her more calmly, but she looks puzzled.
"Cap…" Chelsea whines, but I don't even acknowledge her. I have nothing to say to her. Ever fucking again.
"What you saw?" Lacey repeats, still confused, as if she really has no idea what I'm talking about.
I take another deep breath. "What I saw," I confirm carefully. "You know, your piece of garbage brother's hand gripping Rory's throat while she tried to gasp for a breath. His other hand pushing up her skirt, trying to rip off her fucking underwear…" I bite my lip to stop myself from saying worse, because the girl looks like she's about to cry, and for the first time I consider that she isn't in on this whole thing. That she really believed her brother innocent.
"Your brother is a violent rapist," I say slowly. "And if I didn't get to that alley in time, he'd be a murderer, too. Rory's not the liar. And you, Lacey," I practically snarl her name, "are a traitor to your own fucking sex, who harassed and tormented Rory, and helped your evil family destroy her reputation. But that was in your pathetic little town. Not here. This is fucking New York, and here, we all know the truth. Except maybe for your delusional roommate. So I suggest you find another city to go to college in. Because here, you're the one with the shit reputation. And you need to leave right fucking now."
Because Rory is actually having a good time tonight and seeing this bitch will destroy her night, and God only knows how else it might affect her.
Lacey doesn't respond to my rant, she just stands there frozen, and it takes me a moment to realize her teary gaze is trained over my shoulder.
My heart freezes as I turn to follow her line of sight.
Motherfucking fuck!
Rory stands twenty feet away with Dave, an unlit cigarette dangling from her fingers. She is frozen is fucking shock.
I turn to Chelsea. "God help me if you don't make her fucking disappear in the next two seconds—"
But she does. She grabs Lacey's hand and leads her across the street and they keep walking. I don't wait to see where they're going. I don't fucking care. If I ever set eyes on Chelsea again it will be too fucking soon.
I make my way cautiously over to Rory. Dave's brows are pinched together in consternation, the cherry of his forgotten cigarette burning off and falling to the ground. Rory's mouth gapes open and it doesn't even seem like she's fucking breathing. She stares at the spot of the confrontation, not even glancing at me as I approach, though I know she knows I'm there.
"Rory," I breathe. My hand cups her jaw, my thumb brushing her cheek, but still, she doesn't move a single muscle.
"What the fuck was that, Cap?" Dave mutters, but I just shake my head.
"Go inside Dave. Nothing happened, got it?"
He shakes his head and shrugs, as if blaming me for something, and I suspect they both heard every word I said and he knows at least the gist of what went down. Infuriatingly, he looks to Rory first, asking if she's okay out here, as if I'm someone to protect her from.
And maybe I am. After all, it was me who convinced her to forgive Chelsea, who put her in this position in the first place. Fuck, her college fucking roommate… she must have been plotting this since… before even that brunch! Goddamn it. There I was, guilting Rory over being a bitch to Chelsea, asking her to cut her a break, and Chelsea was planning this?
I shove my fingers through my hair in frustration.
"Rory?" Dave asks again when she doesn't respond. My gut churns, terrified that she's going to panic, or that she's actually gone into some kind of literal shock. But then she nods, just once, so subtly we both would have missed it if we weren't watching her vigilantly, and then finally Dave heads back inside.
I grab her hand, pulling her down the block, away from the site of the confrontation, in the opposite direction Chelsea took that witch. Finally Rory shakes her head and blinks, sucking in a gasping breath, but she still doesn't meet my eyes.
"She's gone, baby girl," I assure her. Shit, I shouldn't be calling her that, but it just came out. She doesn't react though, doesn't correct me, and we stop under an awning around the corner from the club.
"W-why…" is all she can get out.
"Look, she set it up. Chelsea. That's the roommate she was all excited over."
"H-her roommate?" Rory asks shakily, finally meeting my gaze.
God, it fucking guts me to see her hurting like this. "I never should have told you to give her another chance, Rory. She didn't deserve it. She set this up."
"But, why?" she asks again.
I want to say I don't know. But I can't lie to her. I step closer to her, brushing my knuckles along her soft jaw. She's so incredibly beautiful, even in distress. "Because she's a crazy, manipulative bitch." I sigh. "Look, she must have been planning this for a while. Maybe ever since your fight. Her apology was bullshit."
I watch Rory take it all in, probably processing every false word, every fake smile Chelsea threw her way these past weeks. I watch her brows pinch together as she silently figures out how Chelsea must have sought Lacey out on Facebook, how the two of them must have plotted this confrontation. How they must have planned for a much more dramatic confrontation, one in which I believed Lacey's story, and in which they accused Rory of the same old bullshit. I can't imagine what Chelsea must think of me to believe that I would have listened to a word of it. If I wasn't so outraged for Rory, I would be insulted.
"She… she's going to FIT?"
My fingers find their way through her loose hair, stroking it gently in an attempt at comfort. "I guess," I murmur. I doubt my threat about her reputation will be enough to get her to change her college plans. She doesn't come across as very intelligent, but she must know that New York is a big enough town that my word won't go as far as her family's did down in her small town.
"Look, Ror, this isn't Linton, okay?" I remind her. She looks up at me, still looking so lost, so helpless, but there isn't a single tear in her eyes. She's too strong for that. "She won't bother you again. And if she does? You're the one with friends who have your back here. Not her. She has no one but Chelsea, and Chelsea just lost most of her own friends, I promise you that."
Rory stares up at me, chewing the inside of her cheek, but she says nothing.
"I'm sorry I asked you to forgive her. God, and I'm sorry I just ranted your private business out in the middle of the street—"
She starts shaking her head fervently and it cuts me off. "No, Sam. Just no."
I blink at her, my brow furrowed in confusion.
"You don't get to apologize for defending me. Again. For anything. Just… no."
I sigh, my arms wrapping around her of their own accord and pulling her tightly to my
chest. She doesn't hesitate; she slides her arms around my waist and grips me just as tightly. She doesn't cry, she just lets me hold her, clinging to me as if I'm some kind of rock for her, and it's all I've ever wanted to be.
Minutes pass like that and neither of us says a word until she pulls away.
"Do you want to go back inside? You were having such a good time…" I ask her.
She shrugs. "I was," she admits. "But I just… Honestly, Sam? I just want to go home. It's already late and I… I don't want to put on a mask and force smiles. I'm okay, really. I just… she just jarred me, you know?"
I nod. "I know. She jarred me too, Ror. I recognized her the second I saw her, even though I'd never seen her before. She looks just like him."
I realize my mistake as Rory's gaze flees from mine the moment I bring up that motherfucking bastard. I'm so goddamn stupid sometimes.
"Let me take you home," I plead.
"You should stay," she whispers.
It's like Miami all over again. It's like every time she's upset and won't accept my help all over again. "I don't want to stay, Ror." I tell her the truth. "I just want to fucking take you home. Will you let me do that? Please. You make me feel so helpless."
Her eyes go wide. "I make you feel helpless?"
I nod. "I'm not asking for you. I'm asking for me. Let me take you home." No more bullshit, no more holding back. Whatever she decides on Monday, I'm not playing any more games.
I realize of course that seeing Lacey probably didn't help my chances. If she ended it in Miami because she couldn't handle everything, then even if she might have been coming around, this incident may have set her right back to that place where she realizes she has enough on her plate without a boyfriend with issues of his own. But I try not to think about it for now.
"Okay," she says, and I exhale the breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding.
"I'll text Tuck, make up an excuse." I take her hand and start leading her to the corner to catch a cab.
Her footsteps falter. "They'll think… they're all gonna think we left to go… you know, hook up," she murmurs, blushing softly. It's beautiful. Everything about her is beautiful.
Okay Page 22