NORMAL

by Danielle Pearl

  Carl offers to stay with me tonight, but I'd just keep her awake with my nightmares if I ever did manage to fall asleep, and anyway, I still want to apologize to Sam. And to thank him. And I know I'll feel unsettled and restless until I do. Carl is reluctant to leave me alone, but when she gets Tuck's text informing her that Sam is done with his statement and they're both heading back to the hotel, I insist that I'll be fine and that I still want to talk to Sam tonight anyway. Carl texts Tuck to meet her at my room and she stays with me and we talk until he knocks on my door.

  I walk Carl to my door and hug her fiercely. She'll never know how much I appreciate her, how much I value the sincerity of our friendship.

  When she steps outside, Tuck grabs her and kisses her hard on the mouth and I blush. Their PDA is usually more lustful than affectionate.

  "I missed you," Carl whispers timidly, completely out of character, especially for how she usually interacts with Tuck.

  Tuck smiles. "Me too, princess," he admits, and I can't help but smile at what a difference a day makes. Tuck turns to me. "You okay, Rory?" he asks.

  I shrug, but nod. I don't know how to react to this serious version of Tuck.

  "Cap's really beating himself up over what happened."

  "But it's not his fault," I argue.

  "Well Cap doesn't seem to agree," Tuck replies, and by his tone I would think that he agrees that Sam is at least partially to blame for what Robin did, and I can't help but wonder why? "But just so you know, that guy would have to have a death wish to come near you again. Cap made it very clear what would happen if he did. I got a few in myself. We got your back, Pine. You know that, right?"

  I blink at him for a moment, truly touched. It's not that I didn't consider Tuck a friend. I did. Of course I did. I just never really considered whether or not he'd be there for me if I needed him. I suppose I never considered a situation in which I would need him. But I guess I did, and I guess he was.

  "Thanks, Tuck. I mean it. Really," I say hoarsely, and he smiles sympathetically. "Is Sam back in his room?"

  Tucker shakes his head. "Nah, he went for a walk on the beach. Said he needed to clear his head."

  "Oh." I try to keep the disappointment from my tone, but I fail, and they both look at me in pity. "Well, I guess I'll see you guys tomorrow," I murmur.

  "Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you, Rory?" Carl offers one more time.

  "Thanks, but I'll be okay," I insist, and hastily say goodnight and close the door.

  I hurry into the shower, washing every inch of my body, including my hair, scrubbing furiously where I can still feel Robin’s hands on me. I scrub my scar raw, unable to stop picturing his fingers proudly stroking his mark. I don't feel totally clean, but it's not nearly as bad as the last time. Because he didn't succeed - didn't get what he wanted - and the thought is gratifying.

  I slip on a camisole and the boxers that I stole from Sam last night, knowing they'll provide some comfort.

  I know I'll need to tell my mother what happened. I know it won't be long before she hears it herself. Because I'm eighteen, the police didn't contact her themselves, but I've no doubt that come morning, Robin will have contacted Mayor Forbes to bail him out, and Mayor Forbes will call my father, who will call my mother, accusing me of God knows what. I wonder how they will try to make it my fault this time, but I've no doubt that they will.

  One thing keeps bugging me though. Robin said my father told him I'd be down here, but how did my father even know? I was under the impression that he and my mother barely even spoke, why would she tell him about my spring break plans?

  I decide I will call my mother in the morning and tell her what happened. I know she's going to freak out; I know she'll demand I come home, but I'm not going to allow Robin Forbes to ruin my spring break. He's ruined enough of my adolescence. I hope my mom gets it, because I know she's going to be upset - understandably - but I'm not going home early. Tomorrow I will have to go into the local precinct where they will explain the logistics of the charges and how everything will work with the restraining order and the case.

  But tonight, the only thing I want to deal with is Sam. I still owe him an apology for our fight about Cam, and I also owe him a serious thank you for saving me tonight. Saving me from being forced once again, and - I truly believe - saving my life.

  I wonder if he's still walking the beach "clearing his head". I hate that I've complicated his life. That he's spending even a moment of his own spring break upset because of me. I want to go down to the beach to find him, but I know there's no way I can handle walking around the resort alone right now. Not at night.

  I decide to check if the adjoining door on Sam's side of the room is locked, and if not, to just wait for him there. I won't be able to sleep until we talk, though I expect he probably did lock the door after our argument. I wouldn't blame him.

  I'm astonished to find his door isn't even closed, let alone locked. I pad though the room, just in case he did come back and is asleep, not wanting to wake him, and I notice that the room has been cleaned since I was here before dinner. When I determine that the main part of the suite is empty, I tiptoe into the bedroom and find the bed made up and undisturbed. I'm almost disappointed that the evidence of our intimate afternoon has been eradicated. Like it never even happened.

  The whisper of an ocean breeze caresses my skin, raising goose bumps, and I look to my right, finding the sliding glass door that leads to the bedroom balcony open. I walk toward it but slow my gait when I realize that he's there, sitting on the chaise lounge, looking troubled. I pause when I get outside, waiting for him to look up, but he doesn't.

  "Sam." My voice is a shaky whisper, betraying the stress of the night. He startles and turns to me and immediately makes to stand, but I gesture for him not to.

  Sam blows out a deep exhale, and rakes his fingers through his disheveled hair, before settling his hand on the back of his neck. His eyes skate around the balcony, meeting every surface but my eyes.

  "Can I, uh, sit?" I ask trepidatiously. So much has happened in the past twenty four hours, and my earlier confusion over where we stand has only compounded and multiplied.

  Sam's brow furrows, and he nods. I can't help but think how beautiful he is, how especially stunning he looks with his bemused expression, and my fingers itch to touch the soft crease of his forehead, but I don't. I'm not sure he wants me to touch him right now, since we haven't resolved our argument from earlier, even though I realize it's been overshadowed by what happened with Robin.

  I settle on the foot of the same chaise, and Sam scoots back, bending his knees to make room. We're so close, but not touching, and it's strange considering how accustomed I've become to his casual touches, even before we hooked up. He shoves his fingers through his hair again and unconsciously licks his bottom lip before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression radiating both intensity and resignation.

  "I'm so damn sorry, Rory. I fucking saw you. I know you, and I know you would never do that even if we-" He takes a deep breath and sighs. "I know you wouldn't just go hook up with some guy. You couldn't. But- "

  "Sam-" I want to stop him. I don't need him to apologize for not having psychically known what was going on, and the last thing I want is for him to wallow in this self-recrimination when in fact he was the one who saved me, but he shakes his head, cutting off my attempted interruption.

  "Rory, I don't even fucking recognize myself anymore. I don't want to be this guy. I don't want to gives ultimatums, and the last thing I want is to cause you any more stress, but I can't do this with you."

  My heart stops. This is it. I'm too much trouble; he's ending it.

  "I want to give you all the time you need. I know this isn't easy for you, and I know how hypocritical this is, especially after everything you told me about him - how possessive he was..." Sam scoots a little closer and takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. "But you don't know what you're doing to me - how I felt
when I thought you were just with some other guy. I felt sick, Ror."

  Now I'm the one who's confused.

  "I can't do this half way, not with you. It's messing me up, you know? Everything I know about you tells me you would never do that, and yet when I came outside looking for you and saw you with him-" Sam practically growls the last bit before pausing to regain his composure. "I turned into an insecure, jealous little girl."

  He looks down for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts, and when his gaze returns to mine, he is uncharacteristically nervous, but also determined. But I still don't understand what he's trying to say - if he wants to give up on us because I come with too much baggage, or if he still wants me. One thing is clear though - I'm almost positive this is Sam's first experience with jealousy, and I feel guilty at how gratifying the thought is to me.

  "If you can't handle it, then just tell me. We'll go back to being friends - I understand, okay? But if you still want me, Ror, I need to know that it's just you and me. I'm sorry if that makes me possessive, but I can't help the way I feel. I want- no, I need, for you to be only mine, if we're going to do this, I mean."

  He wants me to be only his? I stare at him, stunned and completely overwhelmed. I open my mouth to speak, and then close it again, and take a deep, steadying breath.

  "Do you know why I left the bar tonight in the first place?" I ask finally, aware that my voice betrays my emotionally drained state, but unable to do anything about it.

  Sam furrows his brow. Gorgeous.

  "When I got there, I was looking for you, and when I saw you, you had your arm around some pretty girl, and... I couldn't take it. I left," I explain.

  Sam shakes his head. "Rory, I'm not interested in any other girls, the only girl I was even talking to was my cousin-"

  "Thea, yeah, I know that... now," I murmur, and the corner of Sam's mouth twists up in the beginning of a faint smile, but it fades quickly.

  "This is my point, Ror. You left a bar alone, walked right into his trap, and I saw you! Believe me, I wanted to beat the living shit out of him just for touching you, before I even realized who he was - what was happening. I should have known, I could have stopped it right away, but this jealousy... this not knowing whether-"

  "I know."

  Sam swallows anxiously and takes a deep breath. "So you don't want anyone else?" he asks cautiously, and I stare at him like he's crazy. Who would want anyone else when they could have Sam?

  Who the hell else could I want?

  And then I remember our earlier fight, and I deflate. Of course. I look down.

  "You don't understand," I whisper. But he doesn't argue, not this time. He doesn't demand I make him understand, and for some reason, because he doesn't press me, I decide that I can, in fact, tell him. "I don't talk about him with anyone. Cam I mean. Not to Dr. Schall, not even my mom."

  "You don't have to, Ror, I should never have pushed you. I feel like a huge dick for it; I'm sorry."

  "No, Sam, I'm sorry. In fact, I was looking for you at the bar tonight so I could apologize-"

  "Rory-"

  "Please, Sam, just let me explain, okay?" I plead, and he nods.

  "Okay, baby," he whispers, tightening his hold on my hand, "but not over there."

  Sam scoots over to the side of the chaise before pulling me next to him. He slings his arm around me and I cuddle into his comfort, inhaling deeply and letting his intoxicating scent fill my senses.

  "Cam and me... we were just friends - best friends, but just platonic friends - since we were three. We lived next door to each other; we did everything together, literally. It wasn't until after I broke up with Robin, after that last time, you know, in the locker room, that Cam told me he loved me. I mean, he’d always told me he loved me, but that night he said he was, you know, in love with me. And I realized I had feelings for him, too - that I'd had feelings for him even while I was dating Robin." I shake my head in self-condemnation, ashamed, knowing how it makes me sound, but the truth is the truth.

  "Once Robin started hurting me, and, you know, forcing me, everything changed for me," I add in my own defense, but Sam just stares at me, betraying no emotion, and if he's judging me, he's reserving it so that he can at least hear what I have to say. "We kissed that night," I admit.

  "Cam is the person I told, in the end, and telling him was the impetus for making it stop, but..." I choke back tears, it's so hard to talk about Cam, especially about that night, and even more so the following morning. "I honestly don't know what would've happened, what we would've been. We never figured it out, never had the chance because... the next morning..." I close my eyes and take deep breaths, holding up my hand when Sam tries to stop me, because I know he thinks I'm panicking, but this isn't panic. This is just plain, old, gut-wrenching grief.

  "He died, Sam," I whisper, "and it was all my fault."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Spring Break, Last Year

  I wake up just after seven alone in Cam's bed. I assume he must have gone to the bathroom because the boy would never get up this early if he didn't absolutely have to. I groan inwardly, knowing I'll have to feign sleep until he returns and falls back into a deep slumber - deep enough that I can slip out of bed without waking him.

  I have it all planned out in my head. I'll drive to the sheriff's station, tell Sheriff Chipley what Robin did, file the complaint, and then come back here. By then Cam should just be waking up, but just in case, I'll leave him a note that says I went to the store to buy "girl stuff" which he will take to mean tampons. He'll give me grief for driving in the rain, but fortunately the storm has already begun to quell. It's still pouring out, but the winds have died down. I'll have to drive extra cautiously, but as long as the roads aren't too bad, I should be able to get to the station okay.

  I hate lying to Cam, but it's my only option. Because if he knew where I was really going, he'd insist on coming with me, but not before making me agree to wait until after he has time to go confront Robin.

  And that's the last thing I'd ever want. Even though Cam would certainly hold his own in a physical altercation, Robin can do damage, I know that better than anyone, and I couldn't bear it if Cam was to get hurt. Especially because of me. He'd also likely be brought up on assault charges if he went after Robin, and that's the last thing he needs. God, if he did anything to jeopardize his plans to go to school in New York to study writing, I could never forgive myself.

  I force myself to keep my eyes closed and regulate my breathing, waiting for Cam to climb back into bed beside me. When five more minutes pass, I risk peeking, and find the room still empty.

  Can he really be up already? And where the hell would he have gone?

  I roll over to the night table on my side of the bed to get my cell phone.

  Where is my phone?

  I definitely left it here, I know because I wanted it handy to check the time to make sure I got up early enough, and I didn't want to have to pull out of Cam's arms to see the cable box, for fear my movement might wake him. I slip out of bed and look all over for it - under the night table, under the bed, under my pillow, but it's nowhere.

  Great. No Cam and no phone.

  I tiptoe into the hall, still in just Cam's football tee shirt, but the bathroom door is wide open, clearly showing the empty room. I pad downstairs and find the kitchen empty, along with the rest of the house. I check the garage, thinking he may be working out - probably beating the sand out of his punching bag again - but it, too, is deserted.

  I hurry back upstairs, increasingly unnerved. Where the hell is he?

  I grab one of his portable landline phones and dial his cell, but it goes straight to voicemail without even ringing. I pull on my sweatpants, thinking he must have gone next door to my house for some unsurmisable reason. It's strange that he didn't leave me a note, but he probably assumed I'd still be asleep when he returned, just like I did of him.

  Then I realize I didn't even look for a note. I walk over to his desk knowing that if
Cam did leave one, it would be in his journal, which he would have left open to the appropriate page for me to find. He used to leave notes there for me before we were old enough to have cell phones, and the habit didn't die when the reason for it did.

  But his desk is empty. Where the hell is his journal?

  I distinctly remember him getting up last night to write, and then abandoning it on his desk when I asked him to come back to bed.

  I look around again, my brows pinched together in confusion, and then I see it. Cam's journal is open on the foot of his side of the bed. It's completely out of character for him to just leave it so carelessly around like this. He treats that thing like a priceless treasure.

  A quick glance shows me that there is no note, just a long - and judging by his handwriting - rushed and angry, journal entry. I quickly avert my eyes, knowing that he would never want me to read one of his journal entries, and in my hasty glance, I saw my name, so I know it's about me.

  Of course it's about you!

  I cringe, knowing that Cam got up in the middle of the night to vent because of me. Knowing that he was so preoccupied about me and Robin, and everything I told him last night, that he forwent sleep to unload in his journal. I never wanted to be a burden to my best friend, and now, I fear, that's exactly what I've become.

  But where the fuck is he?

  I try his cell from the landline once more with the same frustrating result.

  I don't know what to do next. I need to get to the sheriff's station soon, or my plan won't work.

  I war with myself. I know that Cam's last journal entry might give me a clue as to where he went, but I've never betrayed his trust in the fourteen years we've been best friends, and I really don't want to start now. I change my mind back and forth at least twenty times before I compromise with myself. I decide I will read just the last sentence, because if the information I need is in there, that's likely where it is, and if it's not, then I'll just need to find him some other way.