But she cuts me off. "I cant? Of course I can, Sam! She was attackin' me! Accusin' me of God even knows what! But you know what? It ain't even her. I can handle her. I've known girls like her my whole life. It's you. You're the problem," she hisses, each word digging the knife deeper into my gut.
I'm the problem?
Fuck that. I'm far from perfect, but I've been a good friend to her, and I don't fucking deserve this.
"I am fucked up. Broken, okay? You can't fix me. I'm not fixable. I don't need you to defend me and I don't need your bullshit about how strong I am. You're not helping, you're only hurtin' me, you know that? And the worst of it is I was almost starting to believe you... but... I am fucked up. The sooner you just accept that, the easier it'll be on both of us."
Her bitter, hateful rant stuns me into a frozen silence. It's probably good that I can't form words, though, because I have nothing wise or kind to say. Because this is fucked up. Not her. This. What she's saying to me right fucking now.
She takes a deep breath, and I ignore the way the sight of her watery eyes grips at my heart, twisting it painfully. Because I'm pissed.
I'm hurting her? Well fuck that. I've only ever wanted to help her.
"I understand if you don't wanna be my friend anymore," she adds sadly.
Well yeah, I bet you do prefer if we're not friends, since I'm only fucking hurting you.
But I don't say it out loud. I don't say fucking anything.
Rory swipes at her eyes and runs away, and I stand there in some semblance of shock
It doesn't even matter that none of it is true. That she isn't broken or fucked up, and that she is stronger than she realizes. Because she obviously doesn't believe a word I've said to her, and apparently, they've only hurt her more.
I slide down to sit on the step again, staring at nothing.
I don't know why I feel like this. Like my heart has been savagely ripped from my chest, and stomped on. Like she's slapped me in the face all over again, only this time, it rattled my brain so badly I can't get a grip on a single cohesive thought.
What. the fuck. just happened?
I rub my temples with my thumb and forefinger, trying to clear my head. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I know it's Tucker looking for me. But I'm fucking lost.
But I need to pull myself the hell together. I don't know why I've let this girl I've barely known a month get to me like this. Just because she's hot? So what? I've known plenty of hot girls. Fucked plenty of hot girls. Though none were beautiful like Rory. But what does that matter? So she's beautiful and smart and fun to be around – when she's not telling me off – and so she's been hurt. She's not the only one who's ever been hurt. Even I've had the shit beaten out me of me plenty of times, by my own damned father. I tried to help her. I tried to be her friend. But if I'm only hurting her, then what the fuck am I doing?
Well no more.
It hurts, I won't pretend it doesn't, but if Rory wants me out of her life, then that's what she'll get.
****
Nothing More Than Friends
I'm in a bad fucking mood. I realize I'm being a fucking pussy, but Rory hurt my damned feelings, and when the last bell of the day rings, I just want to go straight home as fast as possible.
There's a commotion of some kind when I head through Hallway A, and I'm startled to a stop when I hear Tuck – in the girls bathroom – and he's calling my name.
"Cap! Cap!" Tucker's in some kind of panic, and I rush through the crowd, into one of the only rooms in this school I've never been in, and am surprised to find an even more dense, coed crowd in the bathroom itself. Shouts and catcalls fill the room, and from the suggestive comments I half expect to see two girls making out, but what I find is way hotter, but also fucking horrible.
Rory straddles Chelsea, who's on her back on the bathroom floor. Rory is topless, except for a black satin bra, and her tight leggings don't make it any easier to separate this very real fight, from something resembling a hot fantasy.
But it's not a fantasy. They're hurting each other. It's clear that Rory's coming out on top – literally – but they each have a grip on the other's hair and they shove at each other, rolling, bucking, and throwing elbows.
I don't even think. Rory's words from earlier are far from my mind as I push through the bustling crowd.
"Fucking whore!" Chelsea screeches hysterically.
"Fuck-"
I grab Rory and pull her back off of Chelsea before she can spit whatever nasty, probably accurate response she meant to say. She struggles with a vigor that surprises me, twisting and writhing for freedom, trying to go back at Chelsea, but I fold my arms around her in makeshift restraints. Her movement doesn't help the fantasy element, and even her rage is sexy as anything I've ever seen.
"Let me go!" she demands, still struggling, and I have no doubt she knows exactly who's restraining her.
I hold her steady. "No. Not until you calm down," I say right into her ear.
Chelsea stumbles her way to her feet, heaving for breath, huffing in obvious outrage." Cap! Thank God! She's fucking crazy!" she shrieks like an overexcited Chihuahua.
Her words send Rory wriggling for retaliation again, and I have to tighten my already formidable hold. I take deep, settling breaths, focusing on control. Rory is a slim little thing, but she's fierce, and I've never seen her on fire like this. Her tits are barely covered, and with her overexerted breathing, they heave under my arms. Her hair is all disheveled from the fight, and it's impossible not to imagine it's exactly how it would look after an intense roll around on my mattress. Fuck.
Focus.
"Calm down, Chel," I tell her. If she says one more thing to antagonize Rory, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep ahold of her without hurting her. And I won't hurt her. Which mean Chelsea will get her ass kicked. More. "What happened?" I demand.
Already I know that Chelsea provoked Rory somehow. Her nasty bullshit at lunch that caused me such aggravation obviously didn't stop there. But I can't imagine what would have led to such violence for either of them.
"She attacked me!" Chelsea accuses.
"I did not!" Rory shouts, trying to twist out of my grip again, and this time her ass rubs against my dick, and this is starting to be a serious problem.
"Will you quit squirming?" I beg her, but my desperation for her to stop fucking inadvertently arousing me makes me sound irritated with her, and I regret my tone.
But she surrenders, finally, and I feel the rage drain from her body, her spirit deflating right there in my arms.
"She's crazy, Cap! I told you she was hiding something! Look! She had a baby! Her C-section scar is right there! Look!"
I glare at Chelsea. Is she fucking crazy? I've never seen her in such hysterics. When she realizes I'm not giving her insane – and irrelevant – accusation any credence, she changes tact.
"She threw my phone in the toilet! It's ruined!"
I raise my eyebrows. Why would Rory do that? But I can't see her face; I'm still holding her as tight as I can without hurting her.
"You snuck into the bathroom to take pictures of me while I was changing!" Rory growls.
"Is that true?" I try not to sound as horrified as I feel. Chelsea can be a bitch, sure, but I never imagined she'd do something like this. But at the same time it makes perfect sense as to how this whole clusterfuck could have began.
I realize that I've grown even tenser in my anger with Chelsea, and I loosen my grip on Rory, marginally. She's not trying to get free anymore, she's just standing here, affronted, victimized, again, by someone who is supposed to be my fucking friend. I could fucking kill Chel right now. I would never lay a hand on a girl, but if there was ever a time, it would be fucking now. But Rory doesn't need me to fight for her; she took Chelsea down all on her own. Rory – who's not as strong as I think she is. My fucking ass.
"I knew she was hiding something. I needed proof," Chelsea murmurs, but her confidence is waning. She's realizing how insane she's soundin
g. I hope.
It's then that I remember we're not alone. That there's an entire audience witnessing this right now, seeing Rory half naked, and it's sparks something furious in me. I stop restraining Rory, but I don't let her go, I just reposition her so she's half facing me, hidden from the crowd.
"Get out of here!" I bellow. "All of you!" I nod at Tuck, giving him a meaningful look, and he acts immediately. It's barely a minute before everyone has been kicked out of the bathroom, and I'm alone with Rory and Chelsea. Fucking Chelsea.
"What is wrong with you, Chel? What were you thinking?!" I scold her. "Imagine if you were a guy? Sneaking into the bathroom to photograph an innocent girl changing?!" It's fucking inexcusable!
"She's not innocent! She—“
"She's just a normal girl who came to the bathroom for privacy! God, Chelsea! I don't even know you anymore!" I can't understand what could possibly be going through her head to make her think there's anything okay about taking a picture of anyone while changing, and in a bathroom stall! Jesus!
But at least it shuts her up.
But Rory shivers, and I hurt for her. She must be cold, and besides, I can't concentrate with her skin showing like that. She's fucking incredible - a perfectly flat stomach and round, full tits, lifted and pushed together by that goddamned bra. It's fucking with me.
I shrug off my button down and hold it open for her. She blinks at me, tears catching in her long, dark lashes, making her eyes look even wider, more angelic. But she doesn't put the damned shirt on.
"I-"
"Just put on the damned shirt, Rory!" I snap.
I feel instant shame. Rory's the one who's been violated and I'm letting the stress of the situation make me snap at her. She swallows anxiously and a tear slips down her cheek, and I wince. I am such a dick.
But it isn't easy for me to reign in my anger – never has been – and I'm fucking seething for Rory, more than I would be even for myself. She's been through enough shit in her life! Her own father betrayed her! Though I don't know the details. And now she needs to put up from this from a nasty bitch? Goddamn it!
Thankfully Rory slips on my shirt, and I shoot Chelsea a warning glare as I pull it closed in the front, and Rory wraps her arms around herself, holding it around her. I look down at her, and she looks so unbelievably sad that it's strikes me as physically painful. I can't bear it. I pull her back into my arms, and hug her to my chest, and she lets go, crying softly into my tee shirt.
I turn my glare back to my supposed family friend. "Why? You need to start explaining, Chelsea, because right now it looks like you harassed and assaulted Rory for no goddamn reason, and I don't give a fuck how long we've been friends-"
"She had a baby, Cap," Chelsea says tremulously. "She's manipulating you! Can't you see? She's the one who attacked me! I mean, you saw!"
"Just because she wont the fight doesn't mean she started it, Chelsea."
Chelsea looks offended, and I'm even more pissed that that's what she's upset about – the fact that I said Rory won the fight – which she clearly did.
"You're a stupid, stupid girl," Rory murmurs, her wet cheek pressed to my shirt, and I'm glad the fight is returning to her. Not physically, but it's there just the same. I can't stand to see her look so defeated. There is no winner here, but there's only one loser, and I'm glaring at her with such contempt it's a wonder we were ever friends.
"Excuse me?" Chelsea yelps, and I practically bare my teeth in warning.
"I will not excuse you! There is no excuse! You're a stupid girl and the sad part is, you're wastin' your time! If he doesn't want you it has nothin' to do with me!" Rory rants, and I'm completely lost.
I thought this was about Chelsea trying to embarrass Rory with photos of her changing, and Rory handling it the way only a badass like her would. Who the fuck is "he" and what the hell does it have to do with Rory? The thought of Rory and some guy being involved somehow makes nausea crawl through my stomach, though I have no right to my jealousy. Vaguely I realize that it's the first jealous feeling I've ever had over a girl, and I don't like it.
Chelsea looks worried, though, and whatever they're talking about, I've no doubt that Rory has just hit the nail on the head. "What are you talking about, Ror?" I ask her.
Rory pulls back to look at me meaningfully. "She's in love with you. She's in love with you and she came after me because she's convinced herself that I'm the reason you don't want her," she says. My jaw drops.
Me?
I'm stunned into silence.
"But guess what... he doesn't want me either! We've never been anything more than friends, we'll never be anything more than friends! If he doesn't want you, then it has nothing to do with me!"
I honestly can't believe what I'm hearing. But the truth is, the shock over the revelation that Chelsea might have feelings for me is overtaken by the sting of Rory's words. Because no, she's not why I'm not interested in Chelsea –there were more than enough reasons for that before Rory ever showed up – but hearing it spelled out so vehemently that Rory and I are nothing but friends, that we'll never be anything more… it cuts me deeply. And it's irrational, because she's only affirming something I already knew – that I've known from day one. The only thing she said that isn't true is that I don't want her either, and I'm only now realizing just how untrue that is.
Chelsea narrows her eyes at me – at us – in accusation. "It doesn't look like you're just friends. God, Cap, I was just trying to protect you. I knew she was hiding something and I was right!" She points to Rory's hip again, at a small, uneven scar that is definitely not from any C-section, and my thoughts slide from regrets over my nonexistent relationship with Rory back to seething anger. I can't believe Chelsea would do something like this, and for what?
"So it's true? You fucking attacked an innocent girl because you have a stupid crush?!"
That Rory has had to endure even an ounce of hurt because of me is just more than I can take right now.
For the shortest moment Chelsea looks like she might just realize how badly she fucked up, but it's gone in an instant. "So it's true that you're falling for this damsel in distress act? Is she lying or are you really just friends?" she demands.
I don't know how I've been put on the defensive, and my discomfort is a palpable thing in the room. But I need to answer, and the truth is the only thing to say. "We are nothing more than friends," I say slowly. "Which is more than I can say for you and me," I add. Because there's no way I'm going to pretend to be friends with Chelsea, regardless of our history, after this.
I choose Rory. It's an easy goddamned choice.
"Cap!" Chelsea whines and her voice is like nails on a blackboard to me right now.
"Just get the fuck out of here," I order, unable or not bothering to hide my disgust with her. "Now!" I add when she doesn't go. I don't want to look at her for another moment. And I want to make sure Rory's okay.
Chelsea exhales a huff of righteous indignation, and she's completely delusional to think there's anything righteous about her. I shove my hand through my hair, trying to rid myself of this frustrated energy so I can refocus on the girl who actually deserves my attention.
It kills me that she can't stop the tears that slowly rain down her cheeks, because I know she's trying. I know she wants to be fearless and strong. Not to cry in front of me another time. But she doesn't have to hide from me. I won't judge her. I've already promised her that, and I meant it.
But she won't even look at me. She just holds my shirt around her protectively, trying to stop her tears, and looking at some invisible spot that I suspect is just anywhere but me.
"You okay?" I ask. Please look at me.
But I don't push her. I'm the reason we're here.
"God, Ror, I'm so sorry," I breathe. I don't know how to make her understand how damned sorry I am. I'm the reason Chelsea targeted her. Attacked her. After everything she's already dealing with, and for the first time I wonder if maybe she'd be better off we weren't friends, a
fter all. Maybe I am only hurting her. And the thought makes my breath catch.
But her eyes finally shoot to mine, and they're fierce again. They're her. "Why?" she demands. "Why are you sorry? All you did was help me. All you ever do is help me! And I've been nothing but a bitch to you… I'm so fucked up." She starts crying harder, and it absolutely guts me.
My arms reach for her without even a conscious thought – they just know they need to hold her. Her fingers clasp the material of my tee shirt, still damp from her last tears, and she presses her face to it and adds to the wetness. I hold her even tighter. I want to absorb all of it for her, and I hope to God that with it I can also take on some of her pain.
I rub my hand up and down her back, the other stroking her hair, just like that time she'd panicked in the library. This comforted her then, and I hope it helps now, because holding her is certainly helping me. I breathe deeply, inhaling the honey vanilla scent I've now come to associate with her, and that, all on it's own, stirs that too-full sensation in my chest. Now, having her close like this, it feels as if it might explode.
"You're not," I swear to her. I told her this at lunch, and it caused an argument. And though that's the last thing I want to happen now, I can't let her say that about herself and not correct her. It's just total bullshit.
But she snorts. It's adorable and irritating all at once. I look intently into her eyes. Hear me.
"You're not," I repeat.
She stares at me, but she doesn't say anything, she doesn't disagree, so I take my chance.
"We're all fucked up, Rory. I've got problems too, and you know that. You know better than anyone," I remind her. Besides my immediate family, Rory is the only person other than Tucker who knows my father was abusive at times. Violent enough to leave bruises, and a broken bone in my mother and a sprain in me. And still, that feeling remains - that I can tell her anything, that I want to tell her everything. And I want to know everything about her.
"Chelsea is the one who sneaks into bathrooms to photograph girls while they're changing, and you think you're the one who's fucked up?" I need her to see this from the right vantage point. Just because the guilty party tried to justify her actions doesn't mean Rory is anything less than innocent in this whole ordeal. She fucking tried to take a photo of Rory while she was half naked! That's completely insane. That's fucked up. Not Rory.
ReCAP: A NORMAL Novella Page 4