"Yeah... um, so I'm real sorry about that," she murmurs contritely, that sexy little southern accent peeking out. "Actually, I think I'm probably sorry about almost everything I've said to you since we met." She laughs ironically at herself, and I want to interrupt - to tell her she has nothing to apologize for, but I love her words, and I can't bring myself to stop them. "Look, I kinda had a rough year, and I'm still kinda dealin' with things. It's not easy for me, even just this friends thing." She waves between the two of us.
I can't help my grin. I love her honesty. More than that, though - I love that she feels comfortable enough with me to be so open.
"Well being honest is a pretty good start," I tell her. I want to touch her. To comfort her somehow. But I'm painfully aware that Rory is not up for casual touches. And honestly, it's not usually my thing either. "You know, that friends offer is still on the table. Anytime you're ready, okay?"
She smiles, and this time, it's not a shy, little smile - it's practically a grin. And I feel it again -- that unfamiliar tug in my chest that speaks of something I know nothing about, and the one in my gut that speaks of physical attraction, but it's more potent than ever before. Immediately I know that there isn't much I wouldn't do to bring that smile to her perfect face.
"I was homeschooled for a while," she says. "When we moved here, my dad didn't come with us. My mom needed to work, so I had to, you know, come here."
I know why she gives me this small admission. It's because I told her I wouldn't tell her about my sister being homeschooled because we weren't friends. This is her way of saying she wants to be friends. I want to latch onto it, but I don't want to come across too eager, so I start walking again, and try to sound casual.
"You're from Florida, right?" I know this because Carl mentioned it to Tucker, and Tucker mentioned it to me.
"Yeah."
"We're all going down to Miami for spring break. The seniors go every year, it's kind of tradition." Great, now I'm making small talk.
"Not that part of Florida."
But I barely hear her. I'm going back and forth in my mind, uncertain of what to say and what to keep to myself. But I always keep everything to myself, and I want to give her something in return for her admission, and honestly, it's also selfish, because in some visceral way, I just want her to know me.
Fuck it. "Beth, my sister, she went through a bad breakup last year. She's doing fine now, but for a while...anyway, she just fell behind a little and it's easier for her to catch up at home with a private tutor, which is why I'm so ahead in calc."
Okay, it's far from the whole story, but it's something true - something real.
"Oh," she replies.
Yeah, oh.
I ask her if I'll see her later at Andrew's, and she nods, making me look forward to that party exponentially more than I had been.
She pauses when we pass the main lobby, murmuring about going out this way. But I don't understand why. She's been at the school over a week, has no one told her where to park?
I explain that this exit leads to the faculty lot - that the student lot is past the gymnasium wing, but she nods, saying she already knew that, and just walks around the building from this exit.
What the fuck?
I don't want her walking around alone in the dark, and I tell her so. She seems suddenly nervous, as if she's only just realizing that it's not necessarily the safest idea, but I watch her bury her anxiety, and take a deep, settling breath.
"So, look, you saw me have that panic attack my first day..."
I stare at her a moment before I realize she's waiting for an actual answer, and I nod.
"So I have these triggers. I know it's weird-"
"It's not weird," I tell her. Whatever she's been through, whatever she's dealing with, I suspect she's handling it better than most would, and I have no doubt that these triggers - which likely have something to do with her anxiety - are not weird, considering the circumstances I know nothing about. And I won't judge her, and I won't let her judge herself if I can help it.
"Well, it's not normal," she retorts.
I don't even respond to that one. What the fuck is normal, anyway? Certainly not me. Certainly not an abusive father and a suicidal sister. Certainly not "rage issues" at fifteen.
"So, triggers?" I prompt her.
"Um yeah... I just really don't want to walk past the locker rooms if I don't have to," she admits.
"Okay." No problem. Clearly something about locker rooms reminds her of whoever hurt her, and if so, I don't blame her for not wanting to go anywhere near them. "I'll walk you," I tell her.
But she doesn't move when I do, and I frown.
"So if we're gonna do this - this friends thing - I need you to understand somethin'."
I nod. Hell yeah I want to do this friends thing. I want to be around her. I want to know more about her.
"Some of these... triggers... Look, I can't walk out there with you," she waves toward the doors. "Not alone. It's not personal, okay? It's got nothin' to do with you. I really don't wanna offend you, like I've said before, you've been nothing' but nice to me."
I watch her through her nervous, adorably accented rant.
I recall our conversation from earlier about where we would study, and how she wasn't allowed to have me over, and couldn't come to my house either. I deduce that being alone with me might be another one of these triggers of hers, but it's not personal, so that means it's probably the case for any guy. And I can understand that. A guy hurt her. And though I've no idea who he is, and I probably never will, I feel a deep contempt deep that transcends anything I've felt before. I want to beat him bloody, I want to punish him for whatever he did, whoever he is.
"Okay, Rory. I get it," I say intently.
"You do?" She's astonished.
I nod. "I do," I tell her, and then I offer her a deal. I tell her that if she's ever uncomfortable she could just tell me, and promise not to get offended or judge her. "We can even have a safe word," I offer. I know it sounds silly, but it would serve the purpose.
She laughs. It's the most adorable laugh I've ever seen or heard. Her lips twist up into those round cheeks, her eyes crinkle, and it's sweet and real. "A safe word? What is this, BDSM?" she jokes, and I chuckle in amusement.
"Hey, if you want me to restrain you, just tell me, Ror," I joke right back. Though, the suggestion slams an incredible image into my brain - one of Rory in my bed, her hands tied to my bedpost. Shit. Not helpful.
But her entire body stiffens. And her discomfort is palpable. I inwardly chastise myself for my stupid fucking joke. I'm teasing a girl who's obviously suffered some kind of abuse about bondage. I want to punch myself in the fucking face.
"Safe word," she whispers tremulously, and I hate myself even more. But I'm also impressed. By Rory. Because she didn't panic or even get upset, though she was obviously distressed by my playful suggestion. She used the tool I'd just given her. And in a way, she's trusting me to honor it, and I'm going to fucking be worthy of her trust. I need to watch my damned mouth from now on.
"See... It works," I say, and I watch her relax. I feel a swell of pride. "But you have to pick an actual word, not just 'safe word'."
She suggests "calculus", and I laugh again. I agree wholeheartedly, and tell her I'm going to go bring her car around for her.
I appreciate that she doesn't argue, though I suspect she wants to out of her own pride. But she doesn't want to walk out there alone any more than I want her to, and I race to the student lot before she can change her mind.
****
Stronger Than You Think
I roll my eyes at Chelsea.
"So which is it? Is Dave into Lily or not? Because she's going on about how she going to hook up with him before spring break, and get him to take her to Prom. And I mean, ugh, it's so annoying. But if he doesn't like her, I was thinking we could set him up with Rory."
That gets my attention. I'm pretty sure Dave has every intention of hooking up with Lil
y, but she'll be lucky if it lasts through spring break, and there will definitely be no Prom for them. I've never seen a girl keep Dave's interest for long after she sleeps with him, and I doubt Lily will be any different.
But I don't discuss my friend's business, and Chelsea shouldn't be either. But what has me on alert is the suggestion that Dave should go for Rory.
"I don't think Rory is interested in being set up, and anyway, I think Dave can handle his own love-life, or screw-life, since I don't think love has anything to do with it. And so can Lily, for that matter," I admonish her.
"Well I'm just saying, if he's not into Lily, maybe he and Rory would hit it off. Is she coming with us on spring break?"
Chelsea was much cooler when we were younger. She was funny and she liked to do fun things, but the older we get, the more her jokes are at her own friends' expense, and the more superficial her interests become. I suspect we'll always be friends, but we don't really have all that much in common anymore.
I'm about to tell her that I doubt Rory wants to come on break, and that even if she did, we won't be trying to fucking set her up with fucking Dave, but Chelsea's eyes lock on something over my shoulder.
"There she is, your little student," she says and I turn to see Rory at the library entrance behind me. "I was just asking Cap if you're coming to Miami for spring break."
"Oh," Rory says, startled, "Um, no, I don't think so."
"Oh, but you should!" Chelsea is overly enthusiastic. "We're all going, you know, our group of friends. Think about it, it's not too late," she calls as she turns to leave. But I'm pretty sure Rory doesn't like Chelsea much, considering she makes an excuse to leave any time the girl is around, so if her plan is to get Rory to come on break so she can move ahead with her set-up plan, I don't think she'll be especially effective.
But I'm practically seething at the suggestion of Rory and Dave as I follow Rory to our usual table toward the back of the library. Even though rationally I realize that Rory's not interested in a relationship with Dave or any guy. Her signals have been pretty fucking clear. And I consider that maybe it would be a good idea for Rory to come on break. I'm not worried she's going to hook up with any of my friends, or anyone else. And she gets along great with Carl and Tina, and I can look out for her.
In truth, I now realize that if she doesn't go, then I'm looking forward far less to it myself. I enjoy her company more than most other things lately, and I enjoy most other things more with her company.
So I give Rory a pathetic pep talk about only being a senior once in an effort to get her to consider joining our trip, both for selfish reasons, and for the fact that I mean every word. She can handle it. I know she can.
Rory seems a little out of it, maybe a little more tired than usual, and we work longer than we usually do. There's a big test on Monday, and I know how badly she wants to do well, and how badly I want to help her achieve that.
By the time I'm looking over her last test problems I feel confident that she's got the material down.
"Where's Ms. Pitser?" she asks. I'm distracted, looking over the last problem, and I don't understand why she cares where the librarian is.
"Hmm?" I glance at her before returning my attention to her work. "What time is it?" I ask.
"Almost seven."
Oh. Well then she's gone for the day, and I tell Rory that I'm pretty sure Ms. Pitser leaves at six.
Suddenly her chair is scraping roughly against the floor and I look up in time to see her shoot out of her chair like the building is on fire. I watch her inquisitively, trying to gauge what the hell is going on, but there's no sign of what's rattled her.
I see her entire demeanor change in an instant, and I feel dread unfurl in my gut. She flushes, first her cheeks then all of the skin visible around her plain black tee shirt, her breathing grows shallow and quick - too quick. She moves backward, away from me, as if I'm some predator waiting to pounce, and I can't understand what has changed, but I'm worried for her.
"Rory? You okay?" I ask her, trying to keep my voice calm and level.
"You- you said the library's open 'til seven," she chokes out. I hate the way her voice sounds - utterly terrified.
I stand slowly, not wanting to startle her, but needing to figure out what the fuck is going on. Why the fuck is she worried about the library being closed when it's clearly still open?
"It is," I remind her.
"But the librarian left!" she shouts.
I walk toward her carefully, and she takes an equal step back.
"You knew she was leavin'!" she accuses me. I flinch. I'm transported back to that first night at Andy's -- when she'd thought I'd been luring her away from the party to hook up. But that was before we were friends -- before she told me about the men who all hurt or abandoned her, before I told her about Bits. It stings, seeing her look at me like that again. God, does it sting.
"She leaves at six, but the library stays open 'til seven. See? The lights are on, the doors aren't locked," I remind her, desperate to make her see sense, to see that just because Pitser left doesn't mean she's not safe. That I'm here, that I'll keep her safe. But I'm the one she's afraid of, and it feels all wrong.
Suddenly she snatches her backpack from the floor and reaches for her calc book, and I take another step toward her, desperate to remind her that I'm not her enemy, that I'm her friend. But she backs away from me again, and her eyes fill with fucking tears, and it rips my chest right open, twisting my heart painfully.
Fuck. It's unbearable - seeing the terror in her eyes, having it aimed right at me. I would never hurt her, how does she not know I would never fucking hurt her?!
"Calculus!" she sobs, and it completely guts me. That was supposed to be our safe word – so she could feel comfortable in our friendship, not so she can prevent me from... what? Beating her?
Shit. I haven't even actually done anything and I fucking hate myself right now.
I'm desperate. I need to fix this. I need to help her. And I don't know what the fuck to do!
"Oh, God, Rory. Don't cry. Everything's fine. We're fine, okay?" Please, please believe me, I silently beg.
The honor I felt when she showed trust in me has been shaken and turned upside down. I am murderously angry at whoever hurt her so badly that she thinks it's what every guy would do. I am ashamed of myself for not having the foresight to prevent this situation. And I am completely devastated at seeing her so helpless, so afraid.
I reach for her arm, needing to comfort her and not knowing what else to do, and she shakes so violently that I'm almost starting to feel as frightened as she does.
"Please!" she begs. But what she's begging me for, I don't know, because I swear to fucking God, if I did, I would give it to her. Right now I would give fucking anything to take away her pain, her fear.
Before I know what I'm doing, I pull her into my arms. She tries to push me off, but I hug her tightly. She cries against my chest, still trying to push me away, and I rub my arm up and down her back, whispering for her to calm down, that I'm not going to hurt her - that I would never hurt her.
I squeeze my eyes shut and continue my mantra. Telling her that she's fine. That we're fine. That I would never hurt her. I am desperate to keep her safe, and it's a visceral, physical need to protect her, even from her own fear.
I'm terrified that I'm doing the wrong thing. That holding a girl against her will – especially one who's been abused – even in a hug, is probably a really bad idea.
But I can't let her go.
Slowly her breathing grows deeper, calmer, and her trembling eases. Her arms gradually make their way around my back, until she's holding onto me, gripping my shirt and clutching me to her. The relief I feel is immeasurable, and I just continue to hold her, rub her back, and whisper reassurances.
I feel overwhelmed. Too many emotions swirl through me - rage at whoever did this to her, compassion for her suffering, and not least of all, a deep, unexpected anguish. I think my eyes even water, thoug
h I honestly can't remember the last time I cried, but it couldn't have been more recently that a decade ago.
"That's it, Ror. See? You're okay," I whisper, masking my emotional reaction as best I can.
I move my fingers to her hair, stroking it softly, and we stand there, holding each other in the empty library for long minutes.
Eventually one of her hands releases my shirt, and I look down to find her reaching for the front pocket of her backpack where I know she keeps her pills. But she doesn't need them. She's not panicking. She's okay.
"You don't need them, Rory. Look at you. You're fine. You're calming down. You don't need a pill," I tell her, and she actually listens.
Finally, she pulls back to look at me, and I hope I look composed enough. I don't want her to see me rattled. I want to be a rock for her - someone she can lean on, not someone she needs to worry about.
She releases her other hand and I relax my grip on her, though I don't especially want to. I hate the reason she's here, but I have to admit she feels good in my arms. My chest feels too-full, and I swear there's a tangible, physical pull between it and her. It's like nothing I've ever felt before, and, I realize, I wish we could have something more than a friendship. Of course I've wished that from day one, but now it isn't only a physical attraction, it's something deeper – something I barely even understand.
"You're okay," I promise her.
She nods, and it's beautiful. I back away, fighting my instincts to keep her as close as possible. But she blushes again, this time in shame.
"Oh, God, I'm so sorry!" she says, but I won't have any of it.
"It's fine, Ror. I mean it," I say intently, hating the way she shakes her head.
"Oh, God," she cries. She falls into a chair and drops her head in her hands, but I kneel in front of her.
"Hey." I try to get her attention, but she shakes her head again. I need to get through to her. I won't allow her to be embarrassed over that. That wasn't her fault. That whoever hurt is to blame. And, if anything, she should be proud as hell that she just beat a panic attack without having to rely on her medication. It's crazy – she's the toughest girl I know, and she has no idea. "Hey," I say again, and though I hesitate, I take a gentle hold of her wrists and pull them down so she has to look at me.
ReCAP: A NORMAL Novella Page 2