"Did you? Love him, I mean," Sam asks.
"No." I don't elaborate. I don't need to. I never loved Robin, I know this without question.
I tell Sam how kissing Robin never felt more than just nice, and that he started to get frustrated with my innocence. I explain how he started to make me touch him, how he touched me even though I'd asked him to stop. I don't give too many details, just the gist of the incidents that a smarter girl would have taken as warnings. As giant, gleaming red flags. I tell him how stupid I am that I stayed with him even then. Even when all the signs were there. But I didn't see them - I didn't want to.
Then I tell him about the night he heard me say 'I love you' to Cam.
"Did you love him?" Sam asks.
"Yes." I don't elaborate on that either. The truth is, sometimes I think I could have grown to be in love with Cam, sometimes I think I already was, and other times I have no idea what I really felt. But I do know I loved him. I've known that since I was three.
I tell Sam about that night. The first night Robin raped me. I explain how he thought I wanted it because I'd been wearing skirts and dresses. And because he thought I was playing hard to get. That when I cried and said no and begged him to stop, he thought it was all a game. He thought I would like it "rough", or so he said. Even though it was my first damn time. I sound bitter, I can't help it. I am bitter.
"That's how you lost your virginity?" Sam is horrified again. But what can I do? He wanted to know.
It's a funny expression - lost your virginity. As if you can just have your virtue one day, and then accidentally drop or misplace it. But the truth is, you can't just lose your virginity. For most people, it's something you choose to give to someone, for one reason or another, but not for me. I was robbed of mine. It was taken against my will. Stolen.
I tell Sam how confused I was afterwards. How Robin acted like he'd thought I'd wanted it. Like it was normal, like it was right. I tell him Robin's explanation about how I was never going to just feel ready, and that I needed to trust him to decide what was right for us. How he cuddled me and told me he loved me and how the following morning he started talking about wanting to marry me someday.
"Did you want that? To marry him? At seventeen?" Sam is astonished. Of course he is.
"It's different where I'm from. Our parents were all married young. And it wasn't like he was proposing, he was just saying he wanted to marry me someday. It wasn't until later that I realized he meant sooner than I'd thought. But no, I never wanted to marry him, but it did confuse me more. I think I was flattered. It was a really confusing time for me in general."
Then I tell him the most humiliating part. I explain how even after Robin raped me, I stayed with him. I went back for more. And more he gave me, again and again. Every time. No matter how loud I tried to scream, how hard I cried or tried to fight, or how desperately I begged. I explain how controlling and possessive Robin became. How rough he got with me even when it had nothing to do with sex. How I had to wear warm clothes in freaking Florida to hide bruises. How I protected the person who was hurting me.
This, though, Sam understands. He says his parents used to make up stories about his injuries, always blaming football, and it made him resent the sport itself, until his father finally left them when he was in the eighth grade. He says his mom did the same thing. Hiding her bruises behind modest clothing.
I'm crying now, and Sam's eyes glisten too, so I start talking faster, desperate to get the story over with. I'm also vaguely aware that although I know this will change the way Sam sees me forever - and not for the better - somehow, like with Cam, the more I tell him, the more unburdened I feel.
"Christ, Rory. So he just kept hurting you, forcing you, again and again and again?" Sam is distraught. I don't answer. I'm not sure he meant for me to.
I tell him about the Gainesville trip. How Robin wanted me to go, but that I told him my parents wouldn't approve. I explain how Robin's dad spoke to mine behind my back, and how my father urged me to go. I tell him that I even tried to tell my father that I wanted to go to NYU instead of UFL to get away from Robin, but that my dad was adamant that I go to school with Robin so I don't screw up our relationship and my father's chance at becoming father-in-law to a future NFL superstar.
I describe the fear I felt at my father's insistence that I spend the weekend in Gainesville with Robin. At his insistence that I will go there, too, for school, and then marry him.
I tell Sam how Robin had only ever been able to get me alone late at night every other weekend - when I stayed with his family - or sometimes in his car when he was feeling especially undaunted. But he forced himself on me every single time he did, and my only salvation was that he was always limited by time and space.
I could only imagine what he would do to me if he got me alone in a hotel room for an entire weekend, and the terror that struck me at the thought of it, encouraged me to finally tell someone what had been happening. Sam takes my hand now, and not gently either. Not tight enough to hurt me, but firmly nonetheless, and I squeeze his hand back. He's offering me support. Strength. And I cling to it.
Sam grits his teeth as he listens to me explain how I was sure that with my confession to my father, my suffering would be over. But that isn't what happened. I describe, in detail, the things my father said to me. How he said it was my fault, that I'd asked for it, and how. How he told me I was mistaken, wrong, that I misunderstood. How I had to listen to my father attack my character while he defended that of my assailant. How I watched any ounce of hope I'd had die with his words, just minutes before Robin arrived to collect me for school, and my father shook his hand and told him he'd consented to my accompanying him for the weekend.
"So your father handed you over to your fucking rapist?!" Sam growls.
I shrug. Yes. That is exactly what he did. "I guess we both have sucky fathers, huh?" I murmur.
"That's an understatement," Sam replies bitterly, and squeezes the hand he still holds. He scoots over, just a little, so that we're sitting closer. "Tell me you didn't go away with him. Tell me he didn't have you to himself for a whole weekend," he pleads soberly.
I shake my head, hastily swiping at my cheeks with my free hand to rid them of tears. "I didn't," I breathe, and Sam's relief is palpable. "I knew I couldn't. But..." I steel myself, and as I do, I realize that I'm saying the same words I said to Cam exactly one year earlier.
"But?"
I sniffle. This is the part that I can't even think about, let alone describe, without reliving every ounce of terror I felt in those moments. Sam slides even closer until we are right beside one another, both turned to face each other, our knees touching. He doesn't release my hand, and his other hand reaches up to tuck my hair behind my ear, lingering to brush my cheek with the pad of his thumb. I close my eyes, just for the shortest second, relishing the feel of his touch, so impossibly comforting to me. I picture Sam as a little boy, terrified of a tyrant father. It is not my experience, but it has some symmetry, and I feel for him deeply. I stare at the man before me, so kind and compassionate despite his violent upbringing.
It's that moment, right before I confide one of the worst horrors of my life, that I realize I've already fallen in love with him. Another tear falls, clinging to the line of my nose, and Sam's thumb gets to it before mine does. But this tear - this tear I don't shed for Robin, or for my father, or even for Cam. This tear belongs solely to Sam - the boy he was, and the man he is.
"I waited until the last minute to tell him I wasn't comin'," I whisper. We sit so close that it doesn't matter how soft my words are. "I was so scared of his reaction, and I didn't want him to have time to get my dad to make me go with him. He met me at school after the basketball game. I had to cheer at it, and we were supposed to leave right from there." I pause and swallow, my throat bone dry. Sam notices, and he hands me the bottle of water that sits in front of us on the coffee table and I take a sip.
"I told him I didn't want to go and that we needed sp
ace. At first he was just, like, sad. He looked like he was gonna cry. And I don't know why I cared - he'd made me cry a thousand times, but... it confused me. I ran off before I could waver, into the girls locker room.
"I didn't hear him follow me. Everyone was gone. They' all changed and left after the game. It was always like a switch would flip, you know? One minute he'd be one person, and the next..." my breath hitches in my throat.
Sam's hand squeezes mine, and in his eyes I can see that, yes, he does know.
"He was real mad. He slammed me against the wall. He... it was worse than before. Much worse." I start to tremble at the memory, and Sam's hand drops mine and wraps around my shoulders, pulling me to his chest. In his embrace, it's easier to continue, or maybe it's because I no longer have to look into his eyes, no longer have to watch him digest what happened to me. What I allowed to happen to me.
"He did it right there in the girls locker room. I tried to fight. He was so rough. So much rougher than usual. He was just so strong and I'm just- I really tried so hard," I sob. I don't know why it's so important to me that Sam knows I tried to stop Robin, but right now, it is.
"I know you did, Ror." I can't see his face since mine is pressed against his chest, my head tucked safely under his chin, but his voice is earnest. He does. He knows I fought.
"He always ripped off my underwear, because I would always try to fight him off. But I was wearing my cheerleading uniform. We wear these spandex spankies over them-"
"I'm familiar."
Of course he's familiar with what cheerleaders wear over their underwear. I push away my jealousy as quickly as it surged. I just don't have time for it right now.
"Well he couldn't tear them. He got frustrated and used his house key."
"Your scar," Sam breathes, and if his lips weren't so close to my ear, I might not have even heard him.
I nod against his chest. "But even that, it wasn't the worst part. He... he'd been real controlling for a while - possessive. So when I told him I needed space, it really got to him, I think. I didn't mean to- I just wanted to make it stop." I take a deep breath and my hand involuntarily shoots to my neck. "He just kept sayin' that I belonged to him, and then... he, uh, choked me. I couldn't breathe at all. I thought I was gonna pass out. And he only let go when he had, you know, finished."
I can feel Sam's adam's apple move with his swallow. Feel his clenched jaw at the crown of my head. Feel the tremors in his arms, his chest.
"That was the last time. He went off to Gainesville for the weekend and left me there, on the locker room floor," gasping, crying, bleeding... I pause, trying to force away the memory, and unsure how to explain the rest. How I finally made it stop. There's too much to tell and too much I'm still not ready to talk about. That I'll probably never be able to talk about.
"Eventually I told someone, and once my mom knew what'd happened, that was it. She swept in and did everything she could. But Robin's dad was the mayor and my dad was the DA and neither of them wanted to get him in trouble. And the whole town loves them."
"So he's not in jail," Sam seethes. It isn't a question.
I shake my head and then pull away so I can look at him. His arms loosen to allow it, but he doesn't release me.
"When my mom found out that my dad knew, she couldn't even look at him. She kicked him out, and guess who he stayed with...? Even after everything he still thinks it was my fault. It didn't help that Robin told everyone that I was just lashing out at him because he broke up with me. He even offered to 'take me back'. That's what most of the town still believes happened. That I'm a crazy bitch who accused their golden boy of doing something terrible because I didn't wanna lose him.
"The last time I saw my father he'd tricked me into being in the same room as Robin. He was trying to broker a reconciliation. Robin kept professing his love and apologizing for 'upsetting me', which he claimed he did by dumping me... I had another panic attack. I ended up in the hospital again. My mother filed for divorce after that, and I never saw my dad again."
"So you're telling me he just got away with it?" Sam growls and I shake my head, but then nod. And then shake my head again.
"They couldn't prove rape. By the time I'd told, it was too late for a, you know, kit. They were only able to prove assault because there were photos."
"He took pictures?!"
"Not him. Cam. I didn't even know about them until later. They were on his cell phone. He took them when I was asleep - of some of my injuries. Just in case. I didn't even think about doing that, but that's Cam, always thinking of everything."
Pain slices through me. I choke back a sob and look away. I can't talk about Cam with him. Not now, probably not ever.
"So this best friend of yours, Cam, he was supportive enough to photograph your injuries for the police, but then he abandoned you?" Sam asks, astonished.
I can't do this. I have to change the subject
"He didn't mean to. That's also complicated."
"Rory-"
"Robin got community service and probation. Which was basically nothing. And everyone thought I'd made it all up."
It's not like they saw the pictures, and it wasn't like I was going to show such intimate photos to random people.
"But my mom, she contacted the UFL athletics board herself, sent them the police report." And the photos, I later learned, because according to my mother, they needed to understand exactly what they were inviting onto their campus.
"Robin lost his scholarship. And that wasn't nothing. But everyone blamed me for ruining his career, his life. Nobody cared that he'd ruined my life, too.
"People were awful. His sister was basically their leader. I couldn't go to school anymore. My mom quit her job and home-schooled me, but even that didn't work. Lacey and her friends -my former friends - started showing up at the house, they even spray painted slut and liar on my driveway. At least I think it was them. It could've been my own father for all I know. I had a restraining order against Rob so he couldn't do his own dirty work. And Mayor Forbes sent men from his office a few times to try and get me to rescind the charges. They even wrote up a whole statement for me, saying I made it all up - all I had to do was sign."
"You didn't, though." Sam is sure.
"How do you know that? Maybe I did. Maybe I just wanted it all to stop." I did want it to stop. It was unbearable.
"Because you're strong. You didn't. I know you didn't." He doesn't doubt me, and his belief in my strength makes me feel stronger than I really am. Or maybe he's been right all along. Maybe I'm stronger than I thought.
"I didn't," I confirm. "I couldn't. He took so much from me - I couldn't let him take back the one thing I took from him. His career, his scholarship, was all that mattered to him. Anyway, as soon as my mom got the house sold, we moved here. And you know the rest."
Moments pass and we simply stare at each other.
"You're remarkable," Sam says finally, as if he's in awe. I roll my eyes. I am far from it.
"What is so remarkable? I let him hurt me for months and then fled when I couldn't handle the fallout. And I left with an anxiety condition and issues I'll probably never get over."
"But you've already gotten over some of them. You beat triggers, remember? You're beating one right now, sitting here with me. In a fucking hotel room, by the way," he reminds me. And he's right. I am sitting alone in a hotel room with a man. I slept in bed with that man last night. And I'd have done more than that if he'd let me.
"I'm just surviving, Sam. It's not remarkable. It's not like there's any other option," I whisper. The truth is, for a while, I was barely even doing that. Surviving.
"But there is, Ror," he breathes, and his eyes show me something profound.
And I feel immediate guilt. Of course there is. He means Bits. And her suicide attempt. He's right - there is another option.
"There is. And surviving is a choice. And you're not just surviving. Not anymore. Look at you - you're on spring break with your friends. Last nig
ht you went out and partied, and if I'm not mistaken, had a pretty good time until you got sick. That's not just surviving, Ror, that's living."
I wince at the reminder of last night. I was having a pretty good time, but not until I got sick, only until I got rejected.
"Yeah. Last night was... somethin'," I mutter, and when I lift my eyes, Sam's are even closer, and there's a heat in them I'd thought I saw last night, but I was mistaken. As I'm mistaken now, surely.
But just below those eyes, is his perfect nose, and below that, his full, pink lips, and they part slightly as his face inches closer. "Sam." I breathe his name. I don't know why, but it's the only word my lips can manage. And then his lips are on mine.
I gasp, right into his mouth. He kisses me softly, almost reverentially, and I let him. And not only do I let him, but I kiss him back.
I kiss him back hard.
Sam groans, like he did last night, and God, the sound lights me on fire. But wait, what the hell is going on?
I pull away. "You kissed me," I breathe.
"I did," he agrees.
"But last night-"
"I kissed you last night as well, yes," he replies. My eyes widen. That is not what happened. I thought I was the one who'd been drunk.
"Um, no, Sam, actually I'm the one-"
"Yes, you kissed me first. But I kissed you back, in case you didn't notice, I kissed you back a fucking lot."
I stand up and take a few steps away from where he remains seated on the couch. I simply can't think with him so close. I shake my head.
"But you stopped it," I argue.
"You were drunk. I couldn't take advantage of you," he says, still unmoving, save for his eyes which follow me as I pace in front of the coffee table. I shake my head again.
"But I told you I knew what I was doin'. God, I even asked you to..." I rub my face with my palm, blushing scarlet, beyond ashamed. Now Sam stands, and gingerly approaches me.
"I couldn't risk it, Rory," he says carefully.
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