"I don't know, maybe that plastic smile you've had on all night? Something's off. Tell me, Ror, what's up with you?" he asks, and I'm momentarily stunned at how perceptive he is of my moods. It isn't the first time Sam's noticed I was upset about something while Carl and Tina hadn't a clue.
"Why didn't you tell me you're a football player?" I counter, steeling myself for this conversation. "I mean, I know I didn't ask. I know it's not like you lied or anything, but-"
"No, Rory, actually it is like I lied," he says carefully and I blink at him. Sam sighs. "I did. I lied. You know, you weren't exactly easy to get to know. Your trust in me was never more than tenuous at best, and you'd been pretty open about how you feel about football and football players in general... I didn't want to give you a reason to dislike me before you even got to know me," he explains with a shrug.
I'm astonished. He's right of course. If I'd learned he played football when we'd first met, I never would have given him a chance. I wouldn't have let him tutor me... we'd never have been friends.
"I never asked," I whisper, vaguely wondering why he's the one convincing me he lied and I'm the one defending him.
"Yeah, but every time it came up and I said nothing, I felt guilty as hell, Ror," he admits. "You mad?" he asks anxiously. The truth is I'm not mad. I'm just confused, and I don't know why Sam cares either way.
"Football players are a real bad trigger for me," I reply, my voice low and shaky, and I can't look at him.
"Well I'm not a football player anymore, am I? The season's been over for months, it's not like I'm playing in college," he qualifies.
I don't reply. Honestly, I don't care that he's some football star. General trigger or not, I'm standing out here alone in the dark night with him. If he were any other man, I'd be freaking out. If he were any other football player, I'd have hyperventilated by now.
No, Sam isn't going to trigger a panic attack. Not tonight, probably not ever again, and no sport he plays or played is going to change that. I realize I only even said it to make him feel guilty, and I only wanted to make him feel that way because of Kendall. But he has nothing to feel guilty about, though his expression tells me he doesn't agree.
In my heart of hearts I know this whole football hang-up is stupid. I remind myself that Cam also played football, it just wasn't as much a part of his identity as it was for Robin. But, of course, maybe that's because I knew Cam so well. Knew all of the building blocks that made him him. And football, for him, was just one miniscule, unimportant detail. Not a defining quality. Not his life; not his future. And if I'm willing to admit it to myself, I know Sam too. I know who he is. And whether or not Sam plays football, he's not a football player, at least not in the way I've defined it for myself.
It bugs me that he didn't mention it before, but I understand why, and I can't deny that it would have changed things for me if I'd known earlier. It's him and Kendall that has my stomach in knots, and that I could never explain, so I continue to say nothing and pick at my nails.
"Come on, Ror, I'm still just me," Sam argues.
"I'm tired. I just wanna go home. You should get back to your girl," I murmur, then turn to continue to my car.
"Rory, I need to know we're okay!" he calls out when I've nearly reached the driver's side door.
I take a deep breath and turn back to him. "We're the same as we've always been, Sam. Friends," I reply, and climb into my car before I can turn back again.
Through the rear view mirror, I do notice that he stands in the street until I drive off, before he returns to the party, and to Kendall.
****
Wednesday is a half day, and we're all flying out early Thursday morning. There's a party at some junior's house tonight, but I stay home with my mom, who's stressing about me leaving, even if it's only for five days. I help her do the dishes after dinner, then head upstairs to pack.
I've waited until the last minute, as I do with everything, but it's not a difficult trip to pack for. Most of my what I own are warm weather clothes anyway, and besides my purchases from my shopping trip with Carl, I just throw in my old jeans and cutoff shorts, some tee shirts, tanks, and sandals and I'm good to go.
I set my alarm for 4:30 AM. JFK is only about twenty minutes away, but with a 7:00 AM flight on such a busy travel day, we all agreed to meet at check-in by five. Being just about the exact opposite of a morning person, I'm not looking forward to the travel part of the vacation, but maybe I'll fit in a nap when we get to the hotel.
I'm exhausted as my mom drives me to the airport. I sip my coffee in vain, knowing nothing is going to wake me up. I call Carl to tell her I'm almost there, and hear Sam in the background telling her to go get her boarding pass - that he'll wait to help me with my bags. Ever the good friend.
My mom pulls up to the airport drop off right on time and squeezes me zealously until I tell her she's cutting off my breathing.
I wince at my own joke.
As he promised, Sam is waiting for me in front of the outdoor check-in counter and he opens my door for me.
"Ready?" he asks excitedly, eyebrows raised, with a giant spring break grin.
I yawn in response, even as I think to myself that he looks adorable - and freaking sexy - when he's all excited, too, and he chuckles.
"Wake up, Pine. You can sleep when we get back."
After my mother shakes Sam's hand and makes him promise to look out for me, she drives off, and Sam tosses his duffle over his shoulder and reaches for my bag.
"I got it," I murmur through another yawn. "It rolls."
"Why don't you just focus on walking straight, sleepyhead, I'll check the bags."
I'm too tired to argue, so I just hand it over and follow him to the counter where we hand over our ID's and get our boarding passes. Everyone else has gone ahead, so it's just Sam and me going through security and I remove my jacket and shoes in a daze as Sam places our carry-ons on the belt.
A TSA agent pulls me aside for a random additional screening and I sigh. Great, I get to go through the machine that allows strangers to see through my clothing. A machine called "Rapiscan", as if there could possibly be a more poorly chosen, and perhaps aptly fitting name.
Sam follows me to the screening area and I'm confused when we pass by the machine.
"Hold out your hands, ma'am, and spread your legs," the female agent directs, demonstrating how she wants me to stand. I blink at her with wide eyes as my pulse starts to race. She's going to touch me.
Now I'm awake.
"What about the- uh, scanner?"
"It's not in service," she murmurs disinterestedly, "now please stand like this," she repeats, showing me again.
Oh shit. I don't know if I can handle this. A stranger touching me. A stranger touching me everywhere. I look around in panic and find Sam's worried eyes. He knows. Without me having to say anything, he knows.
"Ma'am."
"I uh, is there anything else you can do? I can't... I..." Fuck. They're not going to let me get on a plane if I refuse a pat down. I don't know if I can handle a freaking pat down!
"Ma'am, are you alright?"
I concentrate on my breathing, I can't hyperventilate here. I don't even have my pills, they're in my bag, and the TSA agent took it after bringing me over here. Oh, God.
Sam's fingers find mine and wrap tightly around my hand. I hadn't even noticed him make his way to my side. I'd thought he was still waiting just past the screening area.
"Ror, it's okay. You're fine," he whispers.
"Excuse me, sir, you need to wait over there," the agent instructs, a warning.
"Can I have a quick word?" he asks. I don't hear the agent's response, I can't concentrate on anything other than controlling my breathing. Sam's fingers release mine and my breath catches, I lose control of it.
I'm vaguely aware that Sam is several feet away talking to the agent, but I can't focus. I close my eyes and count and count. My mouth is dry as a bone and I break out into a cold sweat.
; I blink a few times to help get my bearings.
A stranger touching me like that. Anyone touching me like that! Oh, God.
My chest constricts painfully, constrained by an invisible, unyielding steel band that continues to tighten incrementally, and I can hear the sound of my own wheezing although the gasping breaths sound disembodied somehow.
"Ror, take these," Sam's voice is back, right in my ear. I close my palm around my pill bottle. He's gotten them for me. "Lidia here needs to pat you down. You're going to be okay, but if you need to take one, then take one, okay?" He waits for my shaky nod. "I explained to her that you don't like being touched, so she's going to make it as quick as possible, right Lidia?"
"It will take less than a minute," she assures us.
"I'm not allowed to hold your hand, but I'm going to be two feet away, see?" He waits for me to make eye contact and then takes two steps back. "Keep looking at me, Ror."
I do. I keep my eyes locked with Sam's midnight blues as Lidia, the TSA agent, touches me in places I've never allowed anyone to touch me, but that Robin did anyway.
"You're done," Lidia announces, and makes some gesture to Sam that I don't see since I'm looking only at him. Sam is back holding my hand in a flash.
"See? You're fine. And you didn't even take a pill," he praises.
I whimper.
"Oh, Ror," he murmurs, and pulls me to his chest and wraps his arms around me.
In his embrace, I can breathe again, and I do, I breathe him in.
It's over. Sam was right. I'm fine. We stand there like that for minutes, until I'm sure I'm back to normal, or as normal as I'll ever be again, and then finally, I pull away.
"Thanks," I murmur.
"Anytime, Ror. What are-"
"Friends for, I know," I grumble, and Sam smiles.
****
While everyone chats excitedly at the gate, I curl up in the cheap upholstery of the terminal seating and close my eyes. I don't sleep, though I'm tired enough that I probably could, but I really just need this time to get myself together. I hadn't even anticipated a TSA pat down, didn't even consider it in my many reasons why this trip wouldn't be a good idea. I wonder how many other unforeseen issues might arise.
I hope seven pills is even enough.
JFK is a bit overwhelming. I've flown back and forth from Gainesville to JFK many times as a child, and it always struck me - the juxtaposition between the terminal here and that of my small town airport.
But this time I'm flying into Miami International. I'll never see Gainesville again.
The early spring air sends a chill through my energy-drained body as I board through the gate, and I pull my hoodie tighter around me.
Tina and Carl are seated together since they booked their tickets at the same time. Sam is with Tuck, and the rest of the group is paired off as well, except Lily and me who are both seated with strangers since she was supposed to be with Chelsea and I booked my ticket alone. After a quick game of musical plane seats, though, Carl and Tuck end up together, Lily and Dave, and Sam's with me. We both want to watch the Batman movie so we partnered up to save money by buying it on one tv and sharing ear buds, though I vaguely suspect Sam asked Tuck to switch with me because he knew how much I'd hate sitting so close to a stranger.
Sam seems enthralled with the film, but fifteen minutes in, and I can barely keep my eyes open. I yawn, like I've been yawning all morning, and pull my legs up to get more comfortable. Sam lifts the arm rest that separates our seats and holds out his arm, an invitation to sleep on him.
I'm tempted.
God, am I tempted. All I want to do is curl up into that clean, masculine scent, close my eyes, and pretend that I'm his for the next two hours. But it would just hurt more when we land and I'm back to reality.
"I don't think that's such a good idea," I whisper wistfully.
Sam frowns, but nods. I know he thinks I can't handle it. Being so close to him. Especially while unconscious. He thinks I don't trust him enough for that. But I trust him just fine. It's me I don't trust.
Sam resumes watching the movie but doesn't replace the armrest between us. I glance at him, he seems pensive, but then again, it's probably just Batman.
I lean away from him, against the window, and let my eyes flutter closed.
I'm at a football game. It's fall in Port Woodmere, and I'm cheering again. I cheer for Sam as he throws the winning touchdown, and he takes off his helmet to reveal his triumphant grin. He's happy, and that makes me happy, but then I notice the girl cheering next to me. It's Kendall, and she runs onto the field and jumps on Sam, who kisses her.
It's then that I notice the opposing team is Linton High. Robin has removed his helmet, too, and he's angry. Cam is nowhere to be found, and Sam is otherwise occupied with Kendall, as Robin locks eyes with me.
I turn and try to run away, but Robin catches me under the bleachers. Somehow, all the fans, all the other players and coaches, are too distracted to hear my cries for help. Fans stand just overhead, on the bleachers cheering, but no one looks down, no one sees that just below their feet, Robin has me pinned to the ground.
"Please!" I beg, but he doesn't relent. I fight and cry, but it just makes him more determined. I'm wearing my uniform, but I'm not wearing anything over my underwear.
Where are my spankies?
Robin tears through my underwear and suddenly he's inside me. I scream in pain, but still no one even turns my way.
I fight and scream and-
"Ror!"
I'm gasping for air.
"Rory, wake up!"
My eyes spring open.
I whimper and wheeze in air.
I'm on the plane. I fell asleep. It was just another nightmare.
Oh, God, and Sam saw it.
I should have known it was a dream when I continued to fight. When I didn't just give up.
"You're okay, it was just a nightmare," Sam says soothingly as he strokes my hair, but his eyes are anything but calm. I've frightened him.
I'm mortified.
It's only then that I realize that although I took care to sleep leaning into the plane window, I've ended up on the opposite side of my seat, clutching him desperately. I loosen the grip of my fingers and release his sweatshirt.
I look around to see if anyone else is staring at me. It seems I've only got the attention of Sam, at least for right now. I swallow anxiously.
"I didn't scream, did I?" I whisper, praying that whatever I said or did, it wasn't loud enough to garner widespread humiliation. I know I must sound desperate and frightened, but this isn't my first nightmare. Or my hundredth.
Sam follows my darting gaze.
"No one else noticed," he replies, obviously recognizing my concern. But he still looks distressed.
"I, uh, sorry," I murmur, gesturing to where I'd clung to him in my sleep. He looks at me like I'm crazy, and I know it's for apologizing to him, not for whatever I said or did while I was asleep.
"What did I, um, say?" I ask hesitantly.
Sam shoves his hand through his hair. "God, Ror, you were sobbing and saying 'please' and 'stop'," he chokes out. His eyes are glazed and I wonder if he's holding back tears.
God, I'm that pitiful. Without warning, he grabs me and tugs me to his chest. I allow myself thirty seconds to savor his embrace before I lift my head.
"I'm okay, it was just another nightmare," I murmur.
"You have them a lot?" he asks softly, and I can tell he's working to keep his voice casual.
I let out an ironic laugh. "Only when I sleep."
His expression is right back to horrified. "God, Ror."
"It's fine."
He looks at me as if he's in awe. "It's so not fine, but you.. you're amazing, you know that?"
What's so amazing about suffering through the wreckage of my life? "Can we just forget this happened?" I ask pleadingly, and I can tell he doesn't want to, I can tell he wants every detail of the nightmare I just had, and probably every one I've ever ha
d, but I can't do it. "I, uh, need to use the bathroom," I murmur unconvincingly, and then unceremoniously climb right over his lap and rush to the front of the plane, thanking God that the lavatory is unoccupied.
I stay in the restroom until the flight attendant announces our initial descent into Miami, and when I return to my seat, Sam makes no further mention of my bad dream. Instead, he goes on and on about our trip, and even gets me to agree to try jet skiing. The reformed tomboy in me can't wait.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Spring Break, Last year
Robin has been talking about Gainesville nonstop since my father told him I could go. I've forced smiles and cursory conversation, and Robin has barely noticed. When he climbed on top of me in his car last night, I didn't even fight it. I didn't even say 'no'. I didn't beg, I didn't plead, and I didn't scream. I just let him do it. But I couldn't stop my tears.
I thought it would go by faster, but it didn't. And afterward Robin asked why I didn't "play your little hard to get game". I guess that's what he calls begging and pleading for him to stop forcing me. I think he even sounded a little disappointed. I never realized that he liked it when I fought back, but now that I think about it, looking back, the more I fight, the more excited he gets.
I still feel numb. On autopilot. Like my mind has been all but shut off all week. But I'm finally getting myself together. I've decided that whatever my father thinks, he can't control my life, and whether or not he believes me about what's happened - what's happening - he can't make me stay with Robin and he can't make me agree to marry him when the time comes either.
But the upcoming weekend is the most pressing matter. Every time I think about it, my precious numbness melts away and I'm nearly overcome by terror. I can't go away with him. No matter what.
I know it's not very considerate to wait until the last minute to tell him I'm not going to go, but honestly, I'm afraid of how he'll react.
So I waited until now.
It's Friday afternoon, the basketball game has just ended. Almost everyone has left the school, and Robin is here to pick me up. I want to talk to him here so he can't flip out. He never loses control in public or when there are other people nearby.
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