NORMAL

by Danielle Pearl

  I slip on a white sun dress and dress it up with a thin black belt around my waist. I pair it, as usual, with my black motorcycle boots. It's a little short for me, but it comes to mid-thigh, and I know it will be longer than anything the other girls have on tonight.

  I know I won't look nearly as dolled up as I did last night without Carl's cosmetic expertise, but it doesn't really matter. I feel more comfortable in just a little mascara and lip gloss anyway, and it isn't as if Sam didn't already know what was under all that powder and shine.

  When I'm satisfied that I'm presentable enough, I knock timidly on the adjoining door to Sam's suite, not wanting to catch him getting dressed. Well, maybe that's not true, but knowing it would be impolite to just barge in as if I had some inherent right to be there.

  Sam opens the door with an inquisitive look, as if he disagrees that I should have hesitated to just walk on in, but his expression changes immediately as he looks me over. He's in jeans, the waistband of his boxer briefs peeking out from the top, and nothing else, making it impossible to look away from the taut muscles of his perfect pecs and six pack.

  "You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around me. I sigh, breathing in the clean scent of a freshly showered Sam. He's freaking delicious. "Let me just grab my shirt," he says as he releases me and heads back into the bedroom. I see his tablet sitting on the coffee table and remember I need to email my mom to check in since my forgotten phone died in my beach bag hours earlier.

  "Can I use your iPad to email my mom?" I ask, sitting on the sofa and picking it up.

  "Sure," he calls from the bedroom, "just, uh, wait a minute-"

  Sam rushes out to me, but it's too late, I'm already powering it on, and my heart stops the instant the screen lights up.

  "Ror-"

  "What the fuck?" I breathe.

  I jump up from my seat and stare with wide, horror-filled eyes, as Robin's deceptively boyishly-handsome face smiles at me from his Facebook page. I gasp in shock as the tablet tumbles from my trembling hands and I close my eyes and start counting backwards in an attempt to control my racing pulse.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder and I flinch back, my eyes springing open, and I stumble, nearly falling, before I catch myself on the arm of the sofa. Sam's face is etched with worry, and I can see that he's beside himself, at a loss for what to do with me. He reaches out to touch me again, and I take a cautious step back. I don't know why. I know he won't hurt me, but I can't think straight right now, and my instinct is to protect myself.

  Sam backs up a few small steps, his hands held up as if to show me he's harmless. I close my eyes again and shake my head, trying to pull myself together.

  Nothing's changed, I remind myself. I'm in Sam's room. Sam, my friend. My something more. He wouldn't hurt me. Robin isn't here. It's only his picture. He can't hurt me now.

  But why the fuck is Sam's Facebook account open to Robin's page?

  I take a deep breath and I lean on the arm of the sofa. I should sit. I should calm down. But I can't. I need to stay on my feet. I'm jumping out of my own skin, and I can’t escape the feeling that I need to be ready to run.

  "Rory, it's okay," Sam says carefully. "I'm sorry-"

  "Why?" I ask sternly, desperate to know why I've just been made to look into the hazel eyes that not only haunt my nightmares, but my every goddamn waking moment.

  "I didn't mean for you-"

  "Why?!"

  "Fuck, Rory, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to see that. I was just... curious. I knew his first name and the town you're from. After everything you told me this morning... I just- wanted to look him up, that's all," he says with a shrug.

  That's all? Is he serious?!

  "I don't want him to be a part of this," I mutter in frustration.

  Sam's brow furrows. "A part of what?"

  "Us!" I shout. Oh, shit, I didn't mean to say that. There is no us, not really. I rake my fingers through my hair. "I mean... us - our friends, and my life now. Just all of it. I'm trying to move on," I backtrack, trying to explain. Sam takes a cautious step toward me and when I don't back away, he takes another.

  "He's not, Ror," he whispers. "I'm sorry, please don't let this upset you. I just wanted to know what he looked like, I never meant for you to have to see his photo," he assures me as his fingers tentatively brush my cheek, and I turn into his touch automatically.

  "That part of my life is over, Sam. He's nothing, he doesn't matter," I murmur, trying to convince myself as much as him.

  Something that resembles resentment flashes in Sam's eyes. "How can you say that? Look what he's done to you, Rory! You can't even see his photo without nearly panicking!"

  I narrow my eyes at him. "I thought you said you were just curious?" I accuse. "But now it sounds like more than that, Sam, so I'll ask you again. Why were you lookin' him up? What are you plannin'?"

  I try to sound calm, but my heart is thumping in my chest like a snare drum. I know this man, and I know this isn't just casual curiosity. His face is hard, impassive. After all the details I admitted this morning about all the things Robin did to me, Sam is not simply curious. I recognize the same thing I saw in Cam's eyes the night I told him the same thing. Wrath.

  I can't allow this. This is why I didn't want to tell him.

  "I'm not planning anything, Rory," he says carefully, and though my gut tells me he isn't lying, he isn't telling me everything either.

  But it's not his job to protect me and it certainly isn't his job to avenge me. Nothing good can come of this, only pain and loss - two things I can bear no more of.

  "You'll swear to me you ain't goin' after him?" I mean to come across as foreboding, but instead I sound desperate and childish. I may as well ask him to pinky swear.

  Sam doesn't respond at first, he just glares at me. "I told you I'm not planning anything," he repeats.

  "That ain't what I asked!" I shout, and his fingers shove roughly through his hair.

  "I don't know what you want to hear, Rory! I fucking hate him! I hate what he did to you, and I hate that he just got away with it!"

  "He didn't-"

  "Don't you tell me again about his stupid fucking scholarship! He deserves to be in jail! He deserves to be fucking dead!" Sam's eyes are heated, his entire body tense.

  "It ain't your job to mete out punishment! I don't want you to!"

  I can't let him put himself at risk. Doesn't he understand that he's the one who could end up hurt or in jail if he went after Robin? Or worse? I couldn't handle losing him! Doesn't he get that?!

  We glare at each other for several moments until my eyes glisten with tears. I can tell he's grappling internally, but I don't care. This isn't his fight.

  Finally he sighs, and I can sense his defeat. "I wasn't planning anything, Rory, I wasn't going after him, but that doesn't mean I don't want to," he says slowly.

  "I don't want you diggin' into my past. It's got nothin' to do with you," I say equally carefully. Sam winces, like I've offended him.

  He watches me for a few moments, considering me, and I can see the cogs turning in his mind. I've never wished I could read minds as much as I do right now.

  He bites the side of his lip and swallows, immediately putting me on edge.

  "Tell me something. Why is it I couldn't find this best friend of yours on any social media sites? This Cam?"

  My heart stops again. Why the hell was he looking up Cam?

  "What?" It comes out as a gasp, and this makes Sam suspicious. But I can't talk about Cam - not with him - not with anyone. I don't even talk about him with Dr. Schall.

  Sam shrugs, but his expression is anything but casual. "Like I said, I was curious. And I couldn't find anyone anywhere close to our year that could go by that name."

  I say nothing, I just blink at him, half in shock.

  "What am I missing, Rory? How does someone go from your best friend who photographs your injuries for the police, to just abandoning you? It doesn't make sense," he accuse
s. What he's accusing me of, though, I've no idea, but I still can't form words. My pulse is racing again at the mention of Cam, and pain slices straight through my heart.

  My fingers gingerly feel the purse strap on my shoulder, just making sure it's there, because I know it contains my pills, and I just need the reminder that they are there.

  "Are you and this Cam more than just best friends, Rory?" Sam asks, his voice more gentle.

  "I... We..." I stammer like an idiot, trying to figure out how to explain what I don't even know myself.

  Sam chews on his bottom lip and nods as if I just made some kind of confession. I can guess what he's thinking, but I can neither confirm nor deny anything, I can do nothing more than stand here like a pathetic fool.

  "And what would he say if he knew what you and I were up to all afternoon?" Sam asks, his voice devoid of any discernible emotion.

  I narrow my eyes at him, scowling at him in what is obviously a defensive maneuver, but it's all I can do. I take a deep breath. "He wouldn't be pleased," I snap. No, as it turned out, I know now that Cam wanted me for himself.

  Sam's eyes narrow even further. We seem to be at a standstill, and I don't know what to do. I don't want to fight with him, but I don't know how to fix it. This is none of his business, damn it! This is no one's business!

  "I see," Sam mutters quietly.

  "No, you don't!"

  "Then make me, Rory! Make me understand!"

  But I can't. I feel beads of sweat break out on the tip of my nose and forehead. My breaths come too fast, too shallow, and I try to get ahold of my emotions.

  "Calculus," I whisper. Sam's mouth drops open, his eyebrows raise in astonishment.

  "Seriously?"

  I say nothing. My fingers drift to my purse, making out the shape of my pill bottle and grabbing it through the thin fabric, just feeling the shape of it, reminding myself again that I have them.

  Sam's gaze follows my hand and he winces. He shoves both hands through his hair, one after the other before closing his eyes, just for a moment, and shaking his head once.

  "Whatever, Rory, forget it," he murmurs defeatedly.

  I open my mouth to speak, but words evade me and we just stare at each other.

  And this, I remind myself, is why we can never have anything real. I knew, at some point, I would fuck it up. My scars run too deep. Like Sam said, I can't even look at a photo of Robin without panicking, and how is that normal? And even that - it's just a symptom of greater damage. Because Sam has a right to ask questions, if we were going to be something more, but I can't give him answers. Not all the answers he wants.

  And I can't even handle the inquisition without relying on medication, and how is that fair? How is it fair that Sam must concede because I cry mercy with a safe word or by feeling for a pill bottle? How could he not resent that? Even I resent it.

  This was always going to be temporary. I've known that from the beginning. Sure, I'd hoped it would have lasted for more than twelve freaking hours, at least for spring break, but better to let go now. If I'm this attached already, imagine how far gone I'd be in three more days? I try to convince myself of this again and again, though in my heart I already know I'm as in love with him as I could ever be. That there's no coming back now. The thought hurts, but really, what difference does it make?

  He could never have returned my feelings anyway. I know the pain is coming, but I don't cry. Not in front of him. Right now, I force myself to feel numb, because I don't deserve any more of his sympathy, any more of his pity, or any more of his protectiveness.

  My only hope now is that we can still stay friends. I told him he was my best friend, and it's true. I can't handle losing him. Not completely.

  My phone buzzes and I hastily grab it from my bag, glad for the distraction, needing an excuse to break our mutually turbulent gaze. Because his eyes see everything - they have since the moment we met.

  It's Carl. I'm late. Which mean Sam is, too.

  "It's, uh, Carl," I say shakily. "I gotta go. I'm makin' us late." My voice is barely more than a whisper. I don't meet his gaze again. I can't. I sniffle, trying to disguise it as a sneeze, and turn away before my tears become noticeable.

  "Rory," Sam breathes.

  I stop, but don't turn back, waiting, giving him a chance to say whatever it was he'd wanted to say.

  But he doesn't. And after a couple moments, I just continue back to my own room and close the door behind me.

  I lock it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Present Day

  I don't go straight downstairs. I go to the bathroom and splash a little cool water on my face, fix my makeup, and try to calm myself down. I think pretty soon I'll be able to compose myself, come across as okay - an act I've learned well - but I need more time and everyone is waiting on me.

  So I take a pill.

  I guess I won't be drinking tonight. Not that I really wanted to after last night.

  When I finally actually feel the numbness that I'd been forcing myself to feign in front of Sam, I head down to the lobby and meet up with the girls.

  I don't want to do this right now. To go out to a fancy restaurant for dinner with a gaggle of seven girls. But I am glad to be with Carl. Hopefully I can help her resolve her Tuck issues and at least one of us can be happy. And Tina too. I hope she appreciates what she has with Andrew. They really do make a great couple.

  We squeeze into two cabs and get to our restaurant twenty minutes late for our reservation. The boys are eating at a steakhouse a few miles away and we are supposed to meet in a couple of hours at a bar less than half a block and across the street from our hotel.

  I'm quiet over dinner as Carl talks about Tuck, and Tina and Lily give her the same advice I've been giving her, and like earlier in my room, Carl seems more receptive tonight. I start to think she might actually consider having an honest conversation with Tucker about their relationship.

  I feel guilty about Sam. It's an impossible situation and I've no one to blame but myself. It was my fault for falling in love with him. My feelings are my problem, I've known that, and now he's probably blaming himself for causing me to nearly panic. God, if he knew I took a pill he'd be so disappointed in me, and he'd probably blame himself for that too.

  And what did he do that was so wrong? Ask about Cam? His big crime was simply asking about someone I've referenced and mentioned to him several times now. Because I talk to him. Like he said, I tell him things I don't tell anyone else. And he said he loved that. I groan inwardly. I loved hearing him say that.

  But why can't I talk to him about Cam? I was so shocked by Sam bringing him up, and so soon after being confronted with the visual of Robin's photo, that I didn't even think about why I couldn't just tell him the truth. I couldn't talk to my mom about him, I couldn't talk to Dr. Schall about him... I guess I'm just so used to not being able to talk about him that I didn't even consider that maybe I could to Sam. I've talked to Sam about plenty I haven't told anyone else.

  And he's done nothing but comfort and support me. He's never pitied or judged me. He's even helped me beat triggers. He's always there for me. He's been there for me since the day he found me freaking out outside of calculus. When I was nothing more than a stranger. And what do I do? Throw it back in his face when he asks one reasonable question.

  No, Sam has been nothing but wonderful to me - of course, that's why I fell in love with him in the first place. Even if he doesn't know it, even if he'll never know it.

  I give myself a small, secret smile.

  In another hour I'll be at the bar and I can apologize to Sam, and if he'll listen to me, and he still wants to know about Cam, I think I can tell him.

  Maybe I don't have to give up the something more just yet. Maybe I'll get to feel his arms around me again. Feel his lips caress mine, the weight of him above me. Warmth unfurls within me, and I bite my lip to keep my smile from growing.

  As we all climb back into cabs to head to the bar just over an hour
later, my apprehension returns, trickling into the security of the confidence I found during dinner. I can't stop picturing Sam's face when I used our safe word. I can't stop thinking about his reaction.

  Seriously?

  And I don't blame him. He's one hundred percent in the right. There's something wrong with me. Of course, we'd both already known that. But despite how well he's gotten to know me, he could never really understand. How could anyone understand that after everything I've already confided to him, after all the time we've spent together, after being vulnerable and intimate with him, after sleeping in his freaking arms, I couldn't just answer a simple question.

  Because it isn't a simple question, not really. Of course, the answer as to where Cam is isn't especially complicated, but it certainly feels complicated.

  ****

  The bar is busy tonight, full of spring breakers, and an overflow of people spills out onto the sidewalk, smoking cigarettes and chatting drunkenly. As we walk inside, most of the girls go straight to order drinks. Carl and Tina go to the bathroom and I hang back, hoping to spot Sam - hoping to have the opportunity to apologize outside of the group setting. I stand just inside the door, scanning the crowd.

  Some guy bumps into me and I recoil from the stranger's accidental touch, taking two steps back. He begins to apologize, before conspicuously checking me out. I hold my breath. I know that look - he's about to make some suggestive comment, or hit on me in some juvenile way - so I turn away from him, my body language unmistakable.

  Back.Off.

  Fortunately, he does, muttering something under his breath that I can't quite make out, but I don't care.

  Just then, my eyes latch onto Sam. It's just the back of his head I can see over the top of the crowd - thanks to his six plus feet of stature - but I know it's him. I'd know those messy locks anywhere.

  I prepare to brave pushing my way through the crowd, a significant endeavor for me - one full of strangers and more potential accidental touches - and in this moment I'm grateful I took a pill earlier. But after just two steps, Sam turns, barely sideways, so I can just make out his profile, but I can see his dimple with utter clarity, indicating his gorgeous smile. I guess he isn't too upset about our earlier row after all. The realization hurts. It's not as if I was expecting him to be drowning in sorrow, but seeing his wide smile only reminds me that I'm the one with the oversized feelings, not him.