"That's my girl," Sam whispers.
His girl. If only I could be his girl. And I'm quickly overcome with grief and regret. Regret for what could never be, and for my pathetic self and my inability to control my feelings for this boy.
"Can I please have some privacy now?" I ask pitifully.
Sam mulls it over. "Sorry. Nope. Come on, let's get you cleaned up. I was going to call downstairs for someone to bring up a key for your room, but honestly, Rory, I think I should keep an eye on you," he says as he helps me up and guides me to the sink. I turn on the faucet and rinse my mouth out before splashing water on my face.
Sam pours some mouthwash into a glass and hands it to me and I rinse thoroughly.
I glance in the mirror and as I expected, the pound of makeup that made me look exceptional earlier, has ended up all in different places than originally intended. I'm pretty sure that eyeliner and mascara aren't meant for my cheeks.
"Face wash?" I ask, and Sam hands it to me.
I have to wash my face four times before it looks clean again, but I still look awful. Pale and worn. Sam is bustling around the suite when I come out - he's making up the couch for me.
"Sam, I think I'm okay, I just wanna get to bed," I murmur.
"That's the plan," he replies.
I walk over to him and eye the couch without enthusiasm. It does not look especially comfortable. Especially not with a big comfy king bed on the other side of the wall. I look at the door that adjoins our rooms longingly. I should have just listened to Sam.
While he goes back to use the bathroom I kick off my boots and socks. I can sleep in my tank top but...
I pad back into his bedroom. How come he gets to close the bathroom door for privacy?
Feeling like I'm doing something illicit I open the drawers in the bedroom chest and find his underwear in the second drawer. It's organized pristinely, every item - even his underwear - neatly folded. I feel a little naughty going through them - mostly boxer briefs - and I ignore the simmer of desire that reignites low in my belly. Sam was right, I do feel much better now that I've thrown up, but I'm thoroughly mortified. I find a pair of blue striped boxers and snatch them, scurrying out of the room before he can come out, and hastily close the door.
Once I'm back in the living room, I step out of my skirt and slip on his boxers. I take my bra off under my shirt and fold it neatly with my skirt on the arm of the couch. I slip under the blanket Sam laid out on the couch and curl up on my side. I was right, it is definitely not very comfortable, but it will do. I wonder if he will just go to sleep or come out and say goodnight. I'm not even sure which I prefer right now. I'm so damn embarrassed.
Operation: Normal Rory was a complete disaster. I don't know why I thought I could have even one night of happiness. Why I thought Sam would want to hook up with me in the first place. He's certainly never given me any indication that he wanted me like that. I don't know what I was thinking. And then I threw up! Right in front of him. God, what is wrong with me? I close my eyes and drown in shame.
"What are you doing?" Sam asks. I hadn't even heard him come out of the bedroom. I don't answer, I just look up at him, confused. "You're not sleeping there," he says.
I sit up, humiliated once again. He said he wanted to keep an eye on me and made up the couch, what else could that possibly have meant other than that he wanted me to sleep here?
"The couch is for me, Rory. You take the bed." He holds out his hand to stop me when I open my mouth to argue. "Not a chance. Come on, Ror, let me be a gentleman."
"I wish you were less of a damn gentleman," I grumble under my breath in reference to his stopping whatever it was that might have happened between us earlier. Sam chuckles. I hadn't meant it to be funny.
I take his proffered hand and climb off of the couch. He looks me over and his breath catches. Oh damn, I forgot I stole his underwear.
"Sorry," I murmur as I drag my feet to the bedroom.
"Help yourself," he replies with another chuckle and follows behind.
I turn up the cover and begin to crawl into the big comfy bed. "You gonna tuck me in?" I tease since he's followed me in here.
"Something like that... You're okay, right? That I'm here, I mean." Now he's worried I'm going to panic. Not even close.
I lie down in bed and roll over to face him. "Yeah, Sam. I've told you, I trust you. I'm pretty sure you can't trigger me anymore. Not unless you did something intentionally to."
"I would never-"
"I know."
Sam sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. He leans down and kisses me chastely on my forehead. It's incredibly intimate and affectionate and it warms my heart that he still cares for me after tonight's embarrassing display. He's a good friend.
"Goodnight, Ror. Look, if you wake up and you don't feel good, or you need something, anything, wake me up, okay? I mean it," he says softly.
"Thanks," I breathe.
Sam smirks. "I got you, Pine. What-"
"are friends for, I know."
And with that, he leaves, shutting the door gently behind him.
****
The championship game is over. Sam hugs me and smiles. We've won. He's happy.
Robin glares at me from across the field. He scowls. We've lost. He's angry.
"Don't leave me alone," I plead to Sam.
He smiles wistfully. "Sorry, Ror, we're just friends, remember?"
He turns and walks toward the lot. It's the Linton lot, and he walks toward Cam's car. But where is Cam?
"Sam!" I call out as Robin stalks toward me. I'm terrified.
"Sorry, Ror! You're his, not mine, nothing I can do!" he calls back, and gets in Cam's car and drives off.
Why is he driving Cam's car? Where the hell is Cam?
I watch in horror as a tractor trailer races head-on right into Sam's path.
"Sam, look out!" I scream as tires screech and loud crashing bangs and booms echo ominously into the night air.
My elbow is yanked and I'm forcibly turned around so I can't see what's happening. I'm panicked; all I want to do is make sure Sam is okay.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing? You stupid bitch."
"No!" I plead, but Robin drags me up the steps and into the hall that leads to the gym. He turns and pulls me into the locker room.
I'm frozen in fear. I can't breathe. My throat is closed and I can't get air. What is wrong with me?!
Suddenly Robin slams me back into the wall. "You're fuckin' mine, Rory. No matter what you do. No matter where you go. You'll always be mine, and no one else will ever want my messed up fuckin' leftovers," Robin spits and he starts to savagely tear at my clothing.
"Please, Robin! No! Not here!" I cry and plead, but as always, my pleas are ignored.
He rips my panties off, and again, even though I'm wearing my cheerleading uniform, I have no spankies on. Where the hell are my spankies?!
He slams into me and I cry out in pain.
"My girl likes it rough," he growls threateningly.
"Please stop! No!" I sob, but he closes his fingers around my throat and I can't breathe.
This is it. He's really going to kill me this time.
"Rory, wake up!"
I gasp for air.
"Rory, you're okay, just wake up, please." It's Sam's voice.
I open my eyes. Where am I?
Oh, right. The hotel.
Oh, right. Sam's room.
Oh, right... last night...
I'm out of breath, like I am after many of my nightmares, and I lie back and close my eyes and relive the mortification of last night, or perhaps earlier tonight since it's still dark.
"You okay?" Sam asks gently. He's in the bed, although on top of the comforter, holding me and stroking my hair.
"Yeah... just another dream," I murmur when I've caught my breath.
"God, Ror. What can I do? How can I help?" he asks, desperate.
I should say "nothing". I should send him back to the couch to sleep in
peace, because chances are I'll wake up screaming or crying again in a couple of hours and Sam needs his rest.
The nightmares started not long after the first time Robin forced himself on me, and they got progressively worse after that last time, when he gave me my scar. My scars. Though only one is physically visible. But the few times I slept in Cam's bed with him, I had no nightmares. And right now, although I know I should spare my friend, I'm still reeling from my dream, and I'm feeling a little selfish, and I'm wondering if Sam might offer me similar comfort.
"You could sleep with me," I whisper.
"Ror..."
"Just sleep," I qualify. "Just... you know, hold me?" My voice is barely audible, and I know I'm just embarrassing myself even more after last night, but that was an exceptionally bad dream - the ones where I can't breathe are the worst - and I'm feeling real vulnerable right now.
"You sure that'd be okay? I don't want to make it worse, Ror," he murmurs hesitantly, and if I didn't know better, I'd think he actually wanted this right now. To hold me.
"Please, Sam."
And with my plea, he scoots over to lift the comforter and then slides in next to me on his back. He holds his arm out and I snuggle into the nook of his shoulder, resting my head on his chest. Sam's arms wrap around me, holding me in place. He sighs, and I take it as encouragement and rest my arm over his perfectly chiseled abdomen. Who ever knew something so rock hard could be so damn comfortable? I'm tempted to entwine my legs with his, but I know this would be inappropriate, and I neither want to make Sam uncomfortable nor do I want to make this so-close-and-yet-so-far situation any more blurry for myself. I force down any amorous feelings and cuddle into him, delighting in the comfort my friend is blessing me with in this moment.
No, I don't think I'll have any more nightmares tonight. I feel safe.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Spring Break, Last year
In Cam's arms, magically, my nightmares are far away. Even after yesterday. But I awaken before the sun in a jolt of panic. Last night, I was so desperate for the comfort that only Cam can give me, that I didn't quite think everything through. I can't let Cam see me like this. In the light of day it will take no more than a glance for Cam to see everything that Robin did to me.
Even with the worst of it - my back, my breast, the bandage on my hip - covered by his tee and boxers, the bruising and bite marks on my neck are visible. As is the swelling and black and blue of my wrists.
I still feel sore between my legs, but it's gotten much better over night. I've found that this has become a resilient part of me, mercifully almost always healing before Robin could hurt it again.
I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Cam. I tiptoe out of his room and carefully close his door, then pad down the stairs and out the back door.
Once inside my own house, I quickly dig out my black cotton turtleneck, grateful that it will cover both my neck and wrists. I check my cut and am relieved the bleeding has stopped. I leave on the butterfly bandages and replace the soiled gauze before I pull on loose black sweatpants. It's seventy five degrees outside and climbing, and my outfit makes no sense for the season, for any season here in Linton really, but I've no other choice.
I don't know what to do next. I just want Cam, or my mom, but mom's out of town, and Cam's asleep. I realize I've left my phone in Cam's bed and try to remember if I powered it off or not.
I curl in a rocking chair on my back porch, hug my knees to my chest and weep while I watch the sun rise.
I don't notice Cam approach, but he doesn't startle me either. I know he'll chalk up my tears to my breakup. Silently, he sits in the chair beside me and hands me a mug of Earl Grey tea. I take a welcome sip. He's sweetened it with honey just how I like it. Of course he did.
"You look like you're going to a funeral," he gestures to my clothing. "A casual one, anyway."
I crack a smile and shrug. I peek over at him and see he's still in his pajama bottoms, though he's pulled on a tee shirt. He notices me looking. Cam nods back toward his house.
"I gotta shower and get dressed. Then we can go down to the lake and talk?"
I nod. "I'll come with you," I murmur climbing out of the chair. I've had enough alone time. Cam slings an arm around my shoulders and I lay my head on his.
"You gonna try and watch me change again?" he asks, his voice alight with humor. I smack him on the chest and he laughs.
"Shut up," I mutter, but I can't hide my mirth. In truth, I wouldn't mind watching him change.
****
I sit on Cam's bedroom floor and digest the short story he's allowed me to read. He always tells me the pages I'm allowed to see, and is very clear that I'm not to look at any other pages. It's been the same system since we were like twelve and he started writing his stories down. I've never broken his trust, and I'm sure he's never doubted me.
Cam dresses in the bathroom and emerges in his trademark jeans and white tee shirt, his hair still damp and I get up and stand on my tip toes to style it. He laughs. I haven't missed an opportunity to do this since he first asked me to before our first school dance in the sixth grade. The truth is his hair needs no styling at all. It flows in perfectly thick, chocolate wavy locks all on its own. I think I just like to run my fingers through it, and Cam just likes to indulge me.
"Am I presentable?" he chuckles. God, it's like his laugh has healing qualities for me. If I just spend enough time today listening to him laugh, I think all of my injuries just might disappear.
"You'll do," I smile and pat his cheek playfully.
****
We sit in our spot by the lake, under the weeping willow, and I listen with my eyes closed as Cam reads aloud another story he's deemed me worthy enough to hear. Or that he's deemed worthy enough to share with me.
Since we were kids he's had this recurring protagonist, a girl I've always suspected is at least loosely based on me, though Cam has always teasingly denied it. I know he thinks the similarities of character are glaringly obvious, but in truth, she's nothing like me. She's tough, strong... unbreakable. Everything I'm not.
The wind blows stronger than usual and I wonder if that storm is going to wait until tomorrow after all. But it's still pretty warm, and I'm not exactly comfortable in my black turtleneck.
Two hours have gone by and Cam has yet to ask me about Robin, but his inquisitive glances have increased in frequency, and I know it's coming. Finally, he closes his journal. He scoots over closer to where sit, hugging my knees to my chest. I can't lay on my front like usual, my gash hurts too much. I can't lean back against the tree as Cam was, my back hurts too much. I can't even lean back on my hands because my damned wrists hurt too much. Cam's eyes meet mine.
"You got somethin' on under that?" he asks, throwing a nod at my turtleneck.
"No, why?"
Cam grins. "Because you're sweatin', Rory girl,"
I smack him in the arm. "Hey! I am not." I totally am. "And anyway, girls don't sweat, we glisten," I correct him.
"I see. Well, in that case, you're glistenin' like a pig," he teases, and I swat at his arm again and we both laugh. But after another minute he gets to the point.
"You gonna tell me about Forbes?" he asks softly.
I sigh. "It just wasn't workin' out. We broke up. It's over," I murmur.
Cam's gaze doesn't waver. "Now I have a hard time believin' he broke things off with you, Rory girl," he replies as I start playing with a tall blade of grass I'd ripped from the ground.
"No. Not exactly. I guess I broke up with him," I concede. I rip out two more blades of grass and begin weaving them together with the first.
"You think it's gonna stick?"
I nod. "Yeah, Cam. I'm done," I reply, locking my eyes with his so he knows I mean it.
Now he nods. "Your daddy know yet?"
I shake my head.
Cam lets out a long, low whistle. "He ain't gonna be happy."
I busy myself weaving the braided grass into a second and third braid. "Nope
. I doubt he'll ever speak to me again," I mutter numbly. He probably won't ever even look at me again. Water fills my eyes as I internally acknowledge that any relationship I had left with my father is over. He will never forgive me, of this I have no doubt.
"Like I said, he ain't gonna be happy, but he'll get over it, Rory girl. He'll understand," Cam counters.
I shake my head. "He won't. Mayor Forbes told him that Robin's been talkin' about proposin'. Gettin' married. Daddy told me not to fuck it up. Even though... no matter what, I mean," I catch myself. "He won't get over my throwin' away the chance at makin' him father-in-law to a pro quarterback. Not a chance."
Cam takes the braided grass from my hand in an effort to get me to make eye contact with him. "Even though what, Ror?" he asks. Of course he caught that. I look back down and yank another blade of grass from the ground.
"Even though I told him it wasn't what I wanted," I reply quietly. It isn't exactly a lie, which is why I'm able to say it to Cam. But I can't bring myself to look him in the eye as I do.
"Forbes ain't as stupid as I thought," he murmurs under his breath.
"What do you mean?"
Cam shrugs. "I mean about wantin' to marry you... Did he.. did he talk to you about it?"
I nod. "Not about proposin'. Just like in general, I guess."
Cam takes a deep breath. "Were you, uh, considerin' it?" His voice has grown quiet and tentative. Not like Cam at all.
I shake my head. No. I was never really considering it. "Not really. Like, in the beginning I guess it sounded okay in the abstract. When it was like 'I wanna marry you someday'. Someday just never seemed real, you know? I think I was mostly just flattered. But as soon as it became a potential reality... No. I was never considerin' it."
Cam breathes a sigh of relief. He takes my hand and places it in his lap. I'm careful to grip the end of my sleeve to keep it from riding up and revealing my bruised wrist. He wraps the braided grass around my cotton clad wrist and begins to weave the ends together.
"I ain't sure I coulda handled that, Ror... you marryin' Forbes, I mean. Now... someday... ever."
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