NORMAL

by Danielle Pearl

  Sam's fingers play lightly up and down my back and I shiver at his touch. Desire unfurls within me, and slowly threatens to overtake the lingering feelings of fear and pain that this evening's encounter with Robin brought with it.

  But something isn't right. There's too much clothing between us, and I need to feel his skin against mine right now more than I need air. I'm desperate for more intimacy with this man I love so deeply, this man I never believed could love me - or should love me - but somehow does. But for now he seems content to simply hold me in the comfort of his arms. I gingerly reach for the hem of his shirt, slowly lifting my body away from Sam's to peel away the material, and he maneuvers to assist me. When I reach for my camisole, his hand locks around my wrist, halting my movement, and I lean back to meet his eyes inquisitively.

  "Let's not test my self-restraint any more than we have to, yeah?" he says lightly.

  I frown. Self-restraint? "I didn't ask you to restrain anything," I say breathily, and peel my shirt up a few inches more, before his grip on my wrist tightens again to stop me.

  "Baby, you've been through hell tonight. You're hurt," he reminds me as his free hand gently grazes the darkening bruise on my cheek. From his expression one would think it hurts him more than it does me.

  I nearly retort that I don't need him to remind me, but then I realize that, in fact, I do. I am completely distracted by him. By his declaration of love, by my own feelings for him, and right now, more than anything, by my overwhelming attraction to him and his perfect, sculpted body. But what's wrong with that? Robin doesn't deserve my attention, and certainly not Sam's. Sam, on the other hand, deserves everything.

  "I just... need to feel your skin against mine," I breathe.

  Sam removes his hand from my wrist and I quickly pull off my camisole, and before he can stop me, push my shorts down enough that I can kick them off so we are both in just our underwear. Only then do I return to my place in his arms, skin to skin.

  I sigh. This is so much better.

  "God you're beautiful," Sam whispers, and I cuddle into him even more, tucking my face back against his neck. I brush my lips softly back and forth across the soft skin and I feel Sam shudder beneath me. "You trying to torture me?" he teases.

  I shake my head against his throat and he lets out a short chuckle. He kisses my hair, inhaling deeply.

  "Ror?"

  "Yeah?"

  "What were you talking about with him? What did he ask you that you said yes to - you know, that set him off like that?" Sam asks tentatively.

  I hesitate. I'm worried he'll be angry with me if I tell him that I risked angering Robin even more by admitting my relationship with Sam. But he won't understand that telling Robin what he wants to hear doesn't work with him - that even if he wouldn't have been set off to choke me, it wouldn't have stopped him from forcing himself on me, and I'd rather be dead than live through that again.

  "He, uh... he found my scar... He was so damn happy that it did scar - that I had his mark to remind me that I'd always be his no matter what I do..."

  I feel Sam's entire body stiffen beneath me, his jaw clenched in quiet fury, and I pull back so I can look at him. Even in contained rage, the man is positively breathtaking.

  "He heard me scream for you, you know, when you ran past the alley... he's been following us, Sam, for I don't know how long. Maybe he saw us leave the bar last night... maybe he was even around the hotel," I realize, and my breath starts to come short and fast.

  Sam grits his teeth, but his hand soothes up and down my back, reminding me that Robin is locked up, and I am here, safe, with Sam.

  "He's been fucking following you?" Sam asks carefully.

  "Us," I correct him. Sure, he'd been following me, but I've barely been apart from Sam at all since we arrived in Miami, and Robin has certainly noticed. He made that clear. And Sam needs to understand that with Robin, there is a danger in being with me. A danger in loving me. One that may never go away.

  "What did he ask you?" Sam asks again.

  I take a deep breath. "He asked if anyone else has seen his mark. If you had... if I fucked you even though I belong to him."

  Sam tenses even more. "And you told him the truth?" He is incredulous, as I knew he would be.

  "I couldn't bear to deny it, Sam - to give him the satisfaction. Of thinkin' I'd still only been with him, that I still belong to him. I-" I choke back a sob, "I couldn't."

  Sam hauls me to his chest, furiously kissing my hair, and I'm grateful. He understands. He just gets me in some unfathomable way. "You're not his, Ror," he growls intently. "And nothing he can say or do can ever change that. I'm never going to let him fucking get near you again, I swear to fucking God."

  I kiss him. The truth is, I appreciate his sentiment, and in a primitive way, it turns me on even more. But the rational side of me is more frightened by it than anything. I don't want Sam risking himself for me. Not ever. Not like Cam. And tonight he got into a fight because of me. Any number of terrible things could have happened, and they would have been my fault.

  Sam slips his tongue into my mouth and suddenly Robin is far from my mind. I'm back in the here and now with the man I love, who by some miracle or curse, loves me back. I deepen the kiss and reposition myself so that I lay fully on top of him. I can feel his lack of restraint through our underwear and I'm desperate to prove - to him, to myself, perhaps even to Robin - who it is that I actually do belong to. Sam groans deep in his throat before tearing his mouth from mine.

  "You're killing me, baby," he rasps, and I realize he still thinks we shouldn't do this tonight. I slip my hand down between us, over his boxer briefs, and am once again struck by the sheer size of him. I both hear and feel his sharp intake of breath. "Fuck, Ror..."

  "Sam... I need you. I ain't his. I'm yours. And I need you to remind me of that, right now," I say pleadingly.

  And that is all the encouragement he needs. He resumes his perfect kiss, rolling until I am pinioned beneath him, and my legs wrap around his waist automatically, my welcoming thighs cradling his deliciously narrow hips.

  I moan. Yes. This is what I need. To give myself again to the only man I've ever given myself to. For him to take his possession of me. To quell the secret fears that lurk deep within my darkest thoughts that whisper that Robin is right - that a part of me will always belong to him no matter what I do.

  "You. Are. Mine," Sam growls between kisses. "You hear me, baby girl? And I'm fucking yours. For as long as you'll have me."

  ****

  It's so late, and even as I start to doze, I realize that Sam lies wide awake, gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling, looking down at me every now and then, perhaps to see if I've fallen asleep.

  Finally, sleep does come, and I drift into blissful dreams of beaches and hotel suites. And Sam.

  Sam and I walk along the beach, but someone is following us. I don't know who, and I don't even know how I know, because I see nothing to substantiate my suspicions. It's just a feeling. A scary, unsettling feeling that someone - someone dangerous - is watching us from the shadows.

  Somehow I know that I am the target. The target of what, I don't know, but I am who he wants to hurt. I try to get Sam to go somewhere else, out of the line of fire, so to speak, but he won't leave me.

  It's like he doesn't believe the danger is real, or he's just so sure he can handle it that he doesn't take it seriously, but I, on the contrary, am terrified.

  The beach morphs into a city street, and we continue to walk. Sam takes my hand, and my eyes dart from corner to corner, but can't find the danger I'm certain still follows us. I try to pull my hand back, and vaguely I think I'm being foolish - that I'm just once again worried that Chelsea will see us being too friendly and target me for some stupid, malicious, sophomoric revenge. I tell myself that I can handle Chelsea. That Sam was right, this is just my paranoia, not actual danger.

  And then I am yanked into an alley and Sam has magically vaporized.

  "Hello sweetheart," Ro
bin drawls. My stomach plummets and dread fires straight to my heart.

  "No! Sam!" I call before I can stop myself, but it's too late, Robin heard me.

  "Sam?!" Robin snarls with disgust. He shoves me up against the brick wall and pain shoots throughout my entire body.

  Please! No!

  Robin holds my wrists above my head, but then leaves me. But I can't move. It's as if he's secured me to the wall with invisible restraints, and though I frantically twist and pull to free myself, it's no use. And then Sam has rematerialized, but he's walking casually down the street, unaware of any danger. Robin sprints toward him, and I open my mouth to scream a warning, but my voice won't work.

  No! Sam! Look out!

  But it's too late. Robin is on him in a flash, and they fight, both landing punches, until Sam is flung into the street and an oncoming car screeches ominously, unable to stop in time.

  Oh, God! Sam! No!

  I sit up in bed, in the moonlit room, gasping in terror as Sam coos that it was just a dream, that I'm okay, and that he's sorry, he's so sorry. I try to catch my breath as I wonder what he's sorry for, until I realize that he sits atop the duvet - as if he'd just run back to bed to wake me from my dream. He must have gotten out of bed, unable to sleep, surely still rattled from Robin's attack.

  I fling my arms around his neck and weep quietly against his chest, absolutely mad with relief that Sam is here, that the dream wasn't real - that his fate didn't mirror Cam's.

  Not yet, my subconscious whispers unkindly, and I blanch.

  Sam continues to whisper words of comfort, but I say nothing. This was the worst dream I've ever had. Losing Sam. How could I possibly survive such a thing? After everything I've already survived. Surely everyone must have their limit of heartbreak and grief before their heart simply refuses to continue to beat.

  Sam asks if my nightmare was an especially bad one and I just nod against his chest. He has no idea. Perhaps worst of all is that it echoed my darkest fear, and that I know that fear is not unfounded.

  Eventually I calm, and we settle back into bed, Sam promising he won't leave me while I sleep again. He castigates himself for doing it in the first place, and I want to tell him it's okay, that it isn't his fault, but I can't find my voice, and even if I could, I'm not sure I could bring myself to lie to him. Because I know if he'd stayed with me, he'd have kept the nightmares away.

  ****

  It's morning when I awaken, and Sam is still fast asleep, though I've no idea what time he finally shut his eyes last night. I know I should let him sleep, so I gingerly slip out of bed and pad to the bathroom to wash up. I shower thoroughly and creep back into the bedroom, where Sam stirs a little, but remains asleep, and I pull on his boxers and my camisole from last night.

  Sam stirs again and I still until he turns over and settles. Sam had been such a restful sleeper the few times I slept with him, and it unnerves me that he's tossing and turning now. He mumbles something in his sleep and I tiptoe closer to the bed. It's then that I notice his beautiful features are screwed up as if in distress.

  Should I wake him?

  "No," he mumbles, his body tensing. "Away..."

  Suddenly he turns violently to his side and kicks at the covers.

  "Don't touch'er!"

  My jaw drops in horror as I hop onto the bed and start shaking him in desperation.

  "Sam! Wake up!" I beg, but he pushes me behind him and kicks out again at some invisible attacker at his front.

  "No!" he cries.

  I shake him again. "Please, Sam! Please wake up! You're dreaming! Please!" I plead with his unconscious self.

  His eyes shoot open suddenly and dart around the room as if he's still trying to locate the attacker and I just gape at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. I see the moment he realizes he's been dreaming and understands where he actually is. His hand flies to rake his hair and he closes his eyes again to get his bearings. The entire sight is positively heartbreaking.

  So this is what it's like for him to witness my nightmares, I realize with profound despair.

  "You're okay," I whisper shakily.

  Sam lets out a deep exhale and, eyes still shut, nods. I can feel him rally to pull himself together before he opens his eyes and asks if I am okay. I glare at him with incredulity and he sighs. He starts to sit up but I push him gently down and settle on top of him, raining soft kisses on his cheeks, forehead, lips, even his eyelids. It's all I can think to do.

  He takes my face in his hands, brushing my few fallen tears away with his thumbs.

  "It was about me?" I ask hesitantly, though I already know it was. He doesn't answer me, he just turns to his side, repositioning us both so that we lay side by side, facing one another.

  His knuckles graze over my bruised cheek and he winces, though I don't react at all. His fingers trail down to my neck, and I read in his sorrowful expression that he sees the bruise there too. His fingers continue their route, now over my shoulder, and his gaze follows them.

  "I love this shoulder," he murmurs.

  "You... what?"

  "I never realized how sexy a shoulder could be... until I came to your house that day - you know - when you offered to let me taste your muffin," he smirks wickedly and I blush.

  I'm vaguely aware that he's trying to distract me from his nightmare, and that he's succeeding. "You were wearing that NYU sweatshirt that fell over your shoulder, and I couldn't stop staring at it, thinking it was the most perfect fucking shoulder I'd ever seen, and that I'd like to lick it... not that I didn't also want to lick your-"

  "Sam!" I giggle, shoving at his chest playfully before swiping a residual tear from my cheek.

  He smiles wistfully.

  "So you're a shoulder-man then?"

  "I'm a Rory-man," he corrects.

  "Hmm," I ponder, "so what were you before I converted you to shoulder worship?"

  Sam considers me. "I guess an ass-man," he decides, "though I've always been a fan of these too," he adds, his fingers continuing their light exploration, delicately trailing to the cleavage line of my camisole and I break out in goosebumps.

  "Well, I'm glad you like them." I mean to sound playful, but my voice has dropped to a breathy whisper at his touch.

  "Love," he corrects me again. "I love every part of you, baby. Especially this." His fingers move marginally upward, over my sternum, and settle right over my heart, before he kisses me.

  His kiss is gentle and sweet, devoid of the passion that would indicate it was meant to lead to more. It's like he's just trying to reaffirm that his dream was just that - a dream, and that I am really here, really okay. I hate that he is upset because of me. That my life - my past - has come back to bite him.

  This isn't what a relationship is supposed to be. What love is supposed to be. Sam has been through enough in his life and here he is, on spring break - what is supposed to be the epitome of carefree fun - and he's gone from babysitting me, to caring for me while sick, to arguing with me about Robin and Cam, to fighting because of me - being so upset that he needs to walk to clear his head, so upset he can't even sleep - and now he's having nightmares. All because of me. I am flooded with guilt and, once again, wonder if I can truly do this to the man I love. Bind him to me indefinitely when I know what that will mean for him.

  "You ever have a dream like that before?" I ask tentatively.

  Sam rakes his hair, exasperated. "Ror... don't."

  I frown.

  "Look, it's not your fault I had a bad fucking dream, okay? You can't imagine what it's like to see that, Ror. To see that fucking piece of shit pinning my girl to a wall with his hand around your throat, trying to-" his voice cracks and he trails off, closing his eyes briefly. I swallow nervously. I was right.

  "How is that not my fault?" I breathe.

  Sam's eyes shoot open in disbelief.

  "If it weren't for me-"

  "If it weren't for you, I'd be a miserable shmuck with a pathetic rule about not having a girlfriend because I was sur
e as shit that if love did exist, which I didn't think it did, it certainly wasn't possible to find in high school."

  I blink at him.

  "He is the problem. Not you. You are fucking perfect. How many times do I have to say it?"

  I don't respond, I don't even know what to say, but I do know that he believes me infallible. That he doesn't understand that at least in part, my own choices allowed Robin to do what he did back then, and that I'm certain last night was somehow my fault, too.

  My old, familiar blame-demons resurface in the worst way, and my mind reels with all the things I could've and should've done differently last night. That I should've done differently a year ago. And a part of me wonders if I'm simply suffering the consequences of my own mistakes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Present Day

  Carl and Tuck, true to form, took care to ensure that our group was carefully fed the story about the random attacker coming after me in an alley. Besides the two of them, only Tina, Andrew, and Dave know the truth, though not in detail - just that my attacker was my ex-boyfriend. I know Tina and Andrew will keep it to themselves, and I can only hope that Dave can keep his mouth shut.

  But still, I don't feel up to seeing everyone - don't think I can fake-smile my way through a social situation right now. So Carl and Tuck join Sam and me for lunch on his balcony before Sam and I head to the precinct for my appointment.

  I decide not to call my mother until after. If my father had contacted her, I'd already have heard about it, and the fact is that as my lawyer, she would insist on flying down to be present for this afternoon, and that would be the end of spring break for me. I know my choice to keep what happened from my mother, at least for the time being, is a questionable one at best. I know I owe her more than that, especially after hiding Robin's abuse from her last year. We've had countless talks since it all came out about confiding in one another and trust, support and all that, and I know that delaying this phone call is a kind of betrayal. That I'm being selfish. Again.