NORMAL

by Danielle Pearl

  ****

  When I awaken it's still dark, save for the moonlight and some bright distant light source that I'm sure is the flashlight app on Cam's phone. I know what he's up to before I even open my eyes - the same thing he always does when he can't sleep. My eyes flutter open and I confirm that he's seated at his desk furiously scribbling away in his journal. I watch him as he writes, his bare, broad shoulders tense, until he peeks over at me and catches me spying.

  "Didn't mean to wake you, Rory girl," he murmurs.

  "Then come back to bed," I croak.

  Cam smiles weakly before leaving his journal forgotten on his desk, and returning to his rightful spot to resume his hold of me.

  "I can't sleep without you," I whisper into his chest. I'm certain I can't live without him either, but I don't say that, not now when I'm burdening him enough.

  Cam tenderly strokes my hair. "You got me, Rory girl. You'll always have me. I love you so damn much, I ain't ever gonna leave you," he breathes. And with those comforting words, despite all of my pain, all the hell I've been living, and the tempest I'm about to unleash on this town with tomorrow's confession - one far more tumultuous than the storm that currently rages outside - I feel contentment and drift off to sleep, safe in Cam's arms.

  I have no way of knowing how short lived my contentment will be. No way of knowing that Cam's words will be his last to me, and thus, a lie.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Present Day

  I am awakened by morning light creeping in through the curtains. I'm alone in the bedroom of Sam's suite, so I take a few minutes to reorient myself and try to recall everything that happened last night. Parts are so very vivid, and others quite hazy. The effort just makes my head pound even more than my hangover does.

  My first hangover. Maybe Operation: Normal Rory wasn't the best idea after all.

  I remember leaving the bar with Sam, and that I forgot my room key. I remember some of our banter and I smile to myself.

  And I remember our kiss. God, do I remember that. Just the thought of it - the memory of him positioned between my thighs, towering over me tall and strong, his delicious tongue plundering my eager mouth - it has my entire body heated and desire simmering low in my belly.

  The door to the living room is slightly ajar - probably so Sam would be alerted if I were to have another nightmare. I wonder when he got up. Vaguely I think it couldn't have been too long ago or another nightmare is exactly what I'd have suffered.

  Could he really have such power over me so quickly? The ability to quell my incessant night terrors with just the security of his arms? It would seem impossible, and yet...

  I slip out of bed and go directly into the bathroom and lock the door. I wash my face and rinse with some mouthwash.

  Scenes from the night before resurface unbidden.

  Oh, damn, I threw up.

  I threw up a lot.

  That's when I remember how our kiss ended.

  Oh, God, and begging Sam for sex! Did I really do that? What the hell is wrong with me?

  I sit on the edge of the tub and try to remember everything I said, everything he said, but I can't. I can only remember remnants of conversation, and none of it makes me feel any less humiliated.

  Knock, knock.

  I startle.

  "Rory, you okay?" Sam asks.

  "Fine," I reply through the door as I use my fingers to tame my unkempt hair. I sigh as I survey my reflection. I've definitely looked better. I gingerly open the door and Sam rises from the edge of the bed where he'd been sitting and waiting on me.

  "Morning, Sleeping Beauty," he drawls with a smile.

  I freeze.

  I can feel all the blood drain from my already pale face and my pulse start to race. I take a deep breath and swallow down my nerves. Sam is not Robin and Sam is not my father. I close my eyes and pull myself together.

  "Ror-"

  "Don't call me that," I say as firmly as I can manage. When I open my eyes Sam is standing right in front of me, his brow etched with concern.

  "I always call you 'Ror'. I didn't think-"

  "Not that. The other thing."

  I stalk out the door into the living room and grab my bra off the arm of the sofa. I face away from Sam to push it under my shirt and secure it without having to remove my top. I'm wearing a white tank top and small or not, my breasts weren't exactly concealed. Idly I wonder if Sam noticed this this morning, or last night, or if the fact that he's not especially attracted to me blinds him to any aspects of my sexuality.

  I'm still working out everything that happened. I kissed him, but he also kissed me back. And God, did he kiss me back. Do guys just kiss any willing girls that way? I can't imagine it - I've never been kissed like that in my life, and I've certainly never kissed anyone like that. Not even close. Except for the one kiss I ever shared with Cam. But still, last night's kiss with Sam was in a league all its own.

  In those moments I was certain he wanted me - I felt his desire, and I was sure it was for me. I'm a stupid, stupid girl. Just as naive as I've always been. I realize now of course that Sam's temporary interest had more to do the fact that I was simply a willing body and he's a guy, that's all. But my realization comes too late to save myself the humiliation. Because if he could break it off so easily, pull away like he did, then clearly he didn't want me. Not really. Not like I wanted him.

  Like I want him.

  "Sleeping Beauty?" Sam asks, perplexed.

  "That's the one," I murmur as I walk around the room searching for my purse. I need to check my phone. And take my birth control pill. Though I've been less than perfect with the whole take-them-at-the-same-time-everyday thing since it's not like I'm actually having sex, I do still take them just in case. Not in case I have a one night stand - that's not something I ever so much as considered before last night - but in case I encounter someone like Robin. Someone who doesn't give me a choice.

  "Okay, I won't. Any particular reason?" Sam asks, and I guess he's frustrated by my wandering around his hotel room and not meeting his eyes because he grabs my hand and tugs gently to get my attention. I don't know why, but this pisses me off. He had my attention last night. My full attention. And he didn't want it.

  "Yes, there's a particular reason," I hiss. "Rory is a nickname for Aurora, remember? I was named after Sleeping fucking Beauty. My father called me that. Robin called me that. Don't call me that. Ever. Okay?"

  Now our eyes are locked, and Sam nods slowly. "You mad at me?" he asks softly, and I look down at my bare feet. I am. I am mad at him, but I know I have no right to be. Surely I can't be angry with my friend for not wanting to sleep with me. Imagine if it were the other way around?

  I sigh. "No, I suppose I'm not," I murmur defeatedly on an exhale, still looking down.

  Sam lifts my chin with his index finger to meet his gaze, a familiar gesture now. "That wasn't very convincing."

  I say nothing. What can I say?

  "You know," Sam murmurs tentatively, "Aurora wasn't just a Disney princess..."

  I narrow my eyes, unsure where he's going with this, and Sam's lips quirk up into a half smile.

  "She was a Roman goddess - of the dawn," he continues. "According to myth, she renews herself every morning and flies through the sky announcing the arrival of the sun."

  I blink at him. I've read only the most basic mythology and mostly Greek, not Roman. But still, it's my own freaking name, how have I never heard this? "How do you even know that?" I ask Sam, who simply shrugs.

  "I might be known to crack open a book from time to time... Come on, I got you some orange juice and aspirin. You must be feeling crappy," he offers, pulling me to the couch which has been stripped of any evidence that anyone crashed there last night. At least until I begged him to sleep in the bed with me instead. God am I pathetic.

  "You mean because I look like crap," I mutter under my breath.

  We both sit and I take the pills and down the entire glass of juice. I glance at Sam who seems p
leased. No doubt he was expecting an argument, but I just don't have it in me right now. And the truth is I was beyond parched and the juice really did the trick.

  "You don't look like crap."

  I roll my eyes. Great, here come the platitudes.

  "You look like a beautiful girl who drank too much last night and is paying for it now," he asserts. Yeah, because men always reject beautiful girls who beg them for sex. I hate that I'm so pitiful he needs to try to console me with banalities.

  Sam is right about one thing though; I sure am paying for last night now. In truth, it feels like I'm paying for a lot of things, and I have been for some time now.

  "Can we talk about last night?" he asks hesitantly.

  "Do we have to?"

  "Rory." My name comes out like an admonishment. Like he's talking to a child who's done something wrong. And maybe, right now, that's precisely what I am. I am the one who is in the wrong here. I'm the one who violated our friendship. I meet his eyes.

  "Look, Sam, we really don't need to do this. I get it. And I'm real sorry. You've made yourself real clear about only wantin' to be friends. I don't know what I was thinkin'. I shouldn't have kissed you. And I shouldn't have asked you to... I just thought..." I thought that when you shoved your tongue in my mouth and pressed your body against mine it meant that you wanted me too.

  "I know you don't want me like that. And I knew it long before last night, so I really don't know why I thought last night you might..." I take a deep breath to stop my rambling. "Can't we just chalk it up to my bein' drunk?"

  "Is that what it was? You being drunk?" he asks, his gaze intent, his voice sober.

  I should say yes. I should blame it all on the alcohol.

  I shake my head instead. What the hell is wrong with me?

  Sam lets out a deep breath. I hadn't realized he was even holding it. He looks down for a second, closes his eyes, and shakes his head once, like he's trying to shake something off. He lets out a short, ironic laugh. "God, Ror, there's so much wrong with what you just said, but I need to talk about something else you said first. When you-"

  "Can't we just pretend like it never happened?" I try one last time to avoid this conversation. I can't seem to lie to this boy and I don't know how it's going to end, but I fear I may give something of my feelings away, and if I do, I could lose my friend.

  "No, Rory, there's no way I can pretend that never happened."

  My head drops and I stare at my lap. I must look like I've just been sentenced to be executed. I palm my forehead and rub my temples with my thumb and middle finger.

  "Rory, last night when we were talking about hooking up, do you remember what you said?" he asks cautiously.

  I shrug. I remember saying that I wanted him, but not specifically how I propositioned him, other than our kiss. "I kissed you," I whisper.

  Sam nods. "Yes. After that. Do you remember what you said? About wanting to do it because you wanted to do it?"

  God, this is mortifying. Why is he making me relive this? I shrug again.

  "I don't really remember what I said, Sam," I murmur, meeting his gaze. "But I know it was me who kissed you. Me who propositioned you. I don't blame you for any of it. I don't understand why we have to talk about last night - it's over. Are you the one who's mad? Are you punishing me or somethin'?" I ask. It was the wrong thing to say, I know that immediately. Sam looks horrified.

  "Of course not, Rory, how could you even think that?"

  I look down again. The truth is, right now, I really don't know what to think. Sam sighs.

  "This isn't about last night. It's about something you said last night, yes, but..." He shoves his fingers through his hair, exasperated, then takes another deep breath. "Please look at me." His tone is gentle and pleading and I comply. "You said you wanted to know what it felt like to do it because you wanted to do it. And when I asked what you meant, you said that you had to. That you didn't always have a choice."

  My eyes widen in horror. I said that?

  Sam glares at me. He's waiting for a response, but I'm not sure I have one. The words he claims I've said, they're too telling, and they can't be explained away. He knows what they meant, he must, so why is he even questioning me about them?

  I do the only thing I can, I shrug.

  Sam takes this as confirmation of his obvious conclusions. His eyes close, only for a moment, as if in grief.

  "I didn't know," he murmurs.

  "Why would you?" I counter. Sam's hand flies to his hair, his fingers raking it roughly.

  "I knew he hurt you. I thought he hit you. I never thought... it never occurred to me..."

  "It's fine," I murmur out of habit, and Sam's brow furrows and his glare intensifies.

  "It's not fine, Rory. How can you say that?"

  "I didn't mean it's fine. I just... what do you want me to say, Sam?" I ask. "You need all the details of why I'm fucked up? You need to feel bad for poor little victim Rory?"

  "Damn it, Rory! Stop saying you're fucked up! You're no more fucked up than the rest of us, remember? You're not the only one who's ever been hurt, you know! I'm just trying to understand you! I-" Sam stops. He rakes his fingers through his hair again and I'm idly aware that I didn't even flinch when he shouted at me. "I care about you," he says more gently, and I'm instantly awash with guilt.

  "Look, I know I'm not the only person who's ever been hurt. You told me about your mom. I get it. I didn't mean to imply-"

  "Not just my mom, Ror." Sam's eyes are utterly solemn, and I understand his meaning immediately.

  His father didn't just beat his mother. He beat Sam, too.

  "I'm so sorry," I utter the words I never found comforting when said to me. "I didn't know."

  "No one knew. No one knows. Except my mom and Bits - well, and Tuck... and now you."

  I look down. The sorrow for Sam that I initially felt upon hearing his admission is evolving into something else. Anger. Outrage for the little boy whose father betrayed him in the worst way.

  "I hate that he hurt you," I grate. Sam offers me a faint smile.

  "Now you know how I feel. Somewhat. It just kills me that you went through that, Ror. After you said that last night... I can't stop thinking about it. I've been thinking about it all fucking night. I just can't understand how someone could do that to a girl... to you. Violence is bad enough, but, God, Ror. He was your boyfriend, he was supposed to take care of you, not-" He takes a deep breath. "Is that why you broke up with him?"

  "Yes. I mean there were a lot of reasons, but yes, that was the main one."

  Sam shakes his head with incredulity, as if he's still trying to wrap his mind around this, and I really don't understand what's so difficult to comprehend. He already knew Robin hurt me. So he thought he just hit me or something, is it really all that different?

  "So one day he's your boyfriend and the next he attacks you? Is he in jail?" Sam has a million questions. Of course he does. But he doesn't understand.

  "It's just so much more complicated than that, Sam. I get that you didn't anticipate this, and I know it's my fault for drunkenly blurtin' it out last night, but-"

  "How is it more complicated? Explain. Make me understand." He's staring at me intently, his words adamant. He wants to know what happened to me to make me the way I am. I can understand that. He's seen so many of my scars. And he knows that I know I can just say calculus and this conversation will be over. But I'm tired of being a coward.

  "Robin was... is a big deal in Linton," I explain. "Football is a bigger deal there than it is up north. And he was the quarterback, the star, and he was real good. Not just small town good. He got a full ride to University of Florida, and everyone said he'd go pro. No question.

  "And it wasn't just Robin - it was his whole family. His dad was the mayor. His sister's Miss Popularity. And I was... just me. I wasn't especially unpopular or anything, just... nothin' special, you know?" Sam narrows his eyes at me and I can sense that he wants to interrupt, but he doesn't, presum
ably afraid that if I stop talking even for a moment, I might rethink confiding my story at all. "I was a tomboy growin' up," I continue. "I liked sports and video games, and my best friend was a boy."

  "You've mentioned him... in the group of men who have only hurt or abandoned you." This time Sam can't help himself, he interrupts, almost accusingly.

  I nod. "Cam would never have hurt me," I assure him, but I move on hastily, knowing there's no way I can talk about Cam. My newfound strength does have its limits, after all. "Robin's a year older, but his sister Lacey's our age, and when I started hangin' out with her, I guess he started to notice me. Everyone kind of knows everyone, it's a real small town, and our dads grew up together - they're real close. But my mom didn't like theirs, so our families never spent much time together, and Robin had never said two words to me. Until the night he asked me out."

  "That's why your dad didn't help you? Because Robin's father was his friend?" Sam is disgusted, and he should be - my father is disgusting.

  "That's also more complicated," I explain without really explaining that my father's chance at being related to a pro quarterback was more important to him than protecting his daughter from a monster.

  "So you and Robin started dating..." Sam prompts.

  I continue. I explain how Robin was my first date, my first kiss, my first everything. I describe how he was at first, and for a long while really. How he was such a gentleman, treating me like a princess, always opening doors and bringing me flowers. How he'd drive out of town to get me foods I liked. But how, despite all these things, I never felt ready to be intimate with him.

  I tell Sam about the time I overheard Robin say he was stepping out on me. How sorry he was, how he told me he loved me, and how like a stupid, naive, little girl, I said it back - even though I really just nodded when he asked if I loved him too.