EIGHTEEN

 

P R E S E N T   D A Y

 

I’M A DIFFERENT person in Miami. The sun is shining, and I let the vitamin D seep into my skin. Here I don't have to be Rory: victim, survivor, or damaged mess. No - here I'm just another high school senior blowing off steam on Spring Break.

I walk alone on the beach as the sun begins to set. We all spent the day by the pool, relaxing and swimming - just messing around like normal teenagers. And here, now, I can pretend I'm one of them.

I've showered and slipped on my cutoffs and a tank top, and decided to sneak in some quick alone time on the beach before I head up to Carl and Tina's room to submit to Carl's insistence on doing my hair and makeup. Tonight, we're all going out to dinner and then to club and bar hop. Dave has the scoop on which establishments don't ask for ID, and I'm surprisingly looking forward to continuing Operation: Normal Rory.

I was shocked when I saw the room Sam's uncle put me up in. It's more like a giant studio suite. A contemporary king bed dominates the large space, with a huge modern marble bathroom with both a shower and tub, not to mention a vanity area and a bidet. It has its own living area and an incredible balcony overlooking the white-sand beach. But that's not what most shocked me.

When I texted Sam that there must be some mistake with my room since the rate I paid shouldn't cover even the most basic accommodations in this hotel, an immediate knock sounded on my door.

But not the main door. No, the knock came from the door to the adjoining room.

My room attaches to Sam's suite.

And a suite it is. It's a freaking luxury apartment.

Sam's suite has a separate bedroom, living room, and even a small kitchen with a dining table. His uncle sure took care of him.

Sam even offered to keep the doors connecting our rooms open, or at least unlocked, since he has a separate bedroom anyway, but I told him I didn't think it was a good idea. I know he thinks it's because I don't trust him, not fully - not to give him unfettered access to my bedroom - but the truth is, I'm worried I'll let this new Normal Rory thing go to my head. That after a couple of drinks, I could crawl into his bed in the middle of the night like I used to do with Cam, but without the element of innocence.

I'm sure Kendall wouldn't appreciate us keeping our rooms open to one another anyway, and as jealous as I am of her, she's never done anything to me, and I wouldn't disrespect her like that.

I make my way up to Carl's room, and I'm instantly shuffled into a whirlwind of clothes, makeup brushes and sponges, hair irons, and eye shadows and lipsticks of every fathomable color. Carl wants to dress me, but I insist on wearing my own outfit, and she only agrees when I promise not to wear jeans.

Tina styles my hair in long, loose waves - a more polished and dramatic version of my natural look - and Carl goes to work on my face. Even when I wore makeup regularly it never took me more than twenty minutes, but Carl spends almost an hour doing God only knows what. She applies products I've never even heard of, and I start to worry she'll make me look like a hooker.

"You are going to get a lot of attention tonight, Rory," Carl murmurs while she works. I roll my eyes. "Hey! Don't do that, do you want your liner uneven?" she asks, and I laugh. I really couldn't care less about uneven eyeliner.

"I don't want attention. I just want to have fun with my friends. You guys aren't gonna ditch me for Tuck and Andy, right?"

Tuck and Carl have been bickering like crazy. They still consider each other a casual hookup, but it's plain for anyone to see there are real feelings there, though neither of them will admit it, and it's causing friction between them. I'm hoping this trip will bring them some perspective, because Tuck is obviously head over heels for Carl, and Carl is way too stubborn for her own good.

"We promised we wouldn't leave you alone. Relax. And I'm sure Cap will be watching you like a hawk anyway," Tina murmurs flippantly while she teases my hair.

"Why on earth would he do that?" I ask. Tina doesn't know about his promise to look out for me.

"Uh, because he always does, and you usually wear jeans and no makeup. Tonight, you're a freaking knockout," Carl replies as she turns and holds up a hand mirror to show me her finished product.

Holy shit.

"Damn, you guys are fucking miracle workers," I murmur as I glare at a version of myself I don't even recognize. They both laugh, but I'm utterly mesmerized.

I'm not a vain person. But Carl is right, tonight I look a damn lot better than I normally do.

"You're a good canvas, Rory," she replies

"You should do this professionally," I say, and we all laugh.

Of course, she fully intends to. Carl has said a hundred times how she wants to own her own salon one day. I don't know how I seemed to miss this fact when she offered - demanded - to doll me up tonight, but the girl knows what she's doing, that's for sure. Tina, too.

"Alright, go change. We're all meeting downstairs in fifteen minutes! Hurry up," Tina shoos me out of the room.

I smile to myself when I see my reflection in the mirrored elevator doors. I really look something special tonight, I think as I enter my room. As long as I don't get triggered in some way, tonight is going to be a blast.

I can't let anything ruin tonight.

I decide to preemptively take a pill - just to make sure I don't freak out because some guy ends up in an elevator with me, or bumps into me in a bar, or some other normal occurrence that for me could be catastrophic.

I pull out the semi-short, flouncy pink skirt I bought with Carl, and pair it with a plain white tank and my motorcycle boots. I'm not exactly comfortable in a skirt, but I know that compared to all of the other girls in micro-mini skirts, halter tops, and skyscraper heels, I'm basically a nun. And I have pharmaceutical help to calm my nerves.

I grab my purse and head out the door just as Sam does the same. Okay, pill or not, now I'm nervous. He's never seen me even remotely dressed up, and I'm not sure if I'm more worried that he won't like it, or that he will.

He's ending a call when he sees me, and freezes with his phone mid-air. He blinks at me, but doesn't speak, only heightening my nerves. An awkward moment stretches interminably.

"Well, say somethin', will ya?" I murmur, southern Rory in full effect. I must learn to control my accent better.

Sam is wearing jeans and a fitted white tee shirt with a stylish navy blue blazer. He looks freaking edible. I can see the definition of his chest muscles through his clothing, and his perpetual just-rolled-out-of-bed hair is still damp from his shower. My knees start to feel a little weak and I swallow anxiously.

I force myself to mentally shake it off. I need to gather my wits if I'm going to go out on the town with my crush who's supposed to just be a close friend when he's looking like something to eat. More so even than usual.

"Uh..." He's still completely frozen.

"Sam," I admonish. His silence is freaking me out!

Sam finally unfreezes and runs his fingers through his hair. "Uh, yeah. Sorry, Ror... You look... nice." He averts his gaze.

"Yeah?" I'm not fishing for a compliment. I know Carl and Tina did an amazing job with my hair and makeup, but I'm not sure it's me. And my outfit... I doubt I'll fit in with any of the other girls out tonight.

Sam takes the steps that separate his door from mine and returns his gaze to mine. "Yeah, Ror. Really, really, really nice," he assures me, his voice low and unsure, as if my looking nice isn't necessarily a good thing. "Gonna get me in a fucking fight tonight," he mutters under his breath so low I can barely make it out as we start walking toward the elevator.

I guess his frozen reaction was concern over my attracting attention, and making it more work to keep up with his protective promise. But if he thinks I might attract attention, then he really does think I look good, and the thought makes me smile to myself.

For some reason it's awkward as we wait for the elevator, and I start to feel apprehensive about the whole evening. I don't know why it's taken me until now to remember that I don't want to attract attention - that it's exactly what I've been dressing to avoid for the past year.

"I don't look like I'm, you know, askin' for it, do I?" I ask, suddenly worried I've made a huge mistake wearing a skirt. It's not too late to go change into jeans.

Sam's brow furrows in confusion. "Asking for what? What are you talking about?" 

I'm hit with a wave of embarrassment, and I look down at my boots, stammering like an idiot. "I just don't want anyone to think, you know, that I'm lookin' for somethin'. Because I'm dressed like this... in a skirt. I... I-"

Sam lifts my chin to meet his midnight gaze. "Rory, no one is going to think anything about you because you're wearing a fucking skirt. They'd have no right to. I don't know where you'd get such an idea." He sighs. "You look beautiful. Really beautiful... just stick close by when we're out, okay? It'll be fun. Relax," he insists, and with his words, I do, I relax, clinging to the sound of Sam's voice calling me beautiful, and the burst of emotion that feels an awful lot like hope.

The elevator arrives, we both step in and I press the button for the lobby.

"Ready to go over the rules for tonight?" Sam asks.

The what now? "What rules?"

"For the bars. I want you to stick close to the girls and make sure you don't get separated from the group. If they go pair off with their guys, which they will, make sure you find me first. Don't let them go off without first-"

"Why do I get rules? It's spring break, it's supposed to be fun - you've been saying so for weeks! Why doesn't anyone else get rules?" I grumble.

"They've all been out to clubs and bars in the city a hundred times, Rory. How many have you been to before?" he asks.

I purse my lips. "None."

Sam smirks. "Don't pout, you're too adorable like that and we need to go over the rules."

"Fine," I huff like a preschooler.

"First, don't accept any drinks from someone you don't know... In fact, don't take any drinks from people you do know either. I'll get your drinks for you," he decides.

"And what if you're off workin' on some random hookup when I want a refill?" I push down the flare of pain at the thought.

I don't know what would be worse, him flirting with some stranger right in front of me or him not doing so because he's being faithful to Kendall. I think the idea of him being committed, exclusive, maybe even in love... I think that'd be far worse.

I'm an awful friend.

"Don't worry about that, I'm not going to abandon you, okay?" he says meaningfully.

I've heard that before, too. But people don't always have a choice. Sometimes they don't mean to abandon you, but they do anyway. Even when you need them the most.

Like when you're out at a bar dressed like a hussy with more makeup than a call girl and all your friends have paired off to go hook up...

Maybe this whole night was a bad idea.

"Hey. Ror. I mean it, it's going to be fun. We'll stick together, okay?"

I nod hesitantly. I don't want to ruin his night either.

"Okay, so drinks only from me, and don't put it down once you get one either. Keep an eye on it at all times. If you need to put it down, don't pick it back up, I'll just get you a new one."

"You sure I'm not gonna be attacked by some random girls jealous that I'm bogartin' all of your attention?" I tease.

He really is something to look at. Carl joked that I'd be getting attention tonight, but Sam doesn't go anywhere without every female head turning in his direction, including mine. And some male ones, too.

We walk out of the elevator and head to the lounge off of the lobby where we're meeting everyone. "Don't be ridiculous," Sam says dismissively.

"Ridiculous? Chelsea came after me in a bathroom stall because you spend time with me. Kendall tried to pimp me out to her own brother to keep me away from you! I'm not bein' ridiculous. They all think-"

"Rory, you have no idea what you're talking about. Kendall doesn't like me like that. That's not what that was about," he argues.

"Oh, really? Then what was that about? She sure seemed eager to set me up with... Randy, was it? You can't really think she just met me for two seconds and immediately thought I'd be perfect to 'settle down' with her brother..."

Sam takes a gentle hold of my elbow to halt our progress through the lobby. I see our friends over by the bar, but we're still far off enough that they haven't seen us yet.

"Kendall wasn't being possessive, Ror. We're really just friends. She was just messing with me," he explains, explaining nothing at all.

So the idea of me dating the "super hot" Randy was a joke? She was messing with him? I know I'm scowling, but I can't help it, I'm offended.

"No, Ror, you don't get it," Sam says, exasperated. He shoves his hand through his hair and sighs, as if deciding something. "She was just trying to make me jealous, okay? Kendall, she's a good friend - just a friend. But she thinks she knows everything, and she thinks that you and me... she just thinks I should, you know, make a move or something. With you. See if we might be more than just friends - because we've gotten so close and whatever. But I've told her you're not looking for that. The thing with Randy - she was trying to light a fire under my ass, so to speak. Push me to make a move, that's all."

That's all? I'm about to ask him why Kendall would think he should make a move on me - what he meant by "and whatever", but I stop myself. It's no different than Carl seeing all those little things she took as evidence of some secret love affair. Or crush. But Carl turned out to be right, at least about my feelings for Sam.

Could it be possible that Kendall is seeing the same thing in her friend that Carl saw in me?

I stop myself. I shouldn't let myself hope for such things - there's just no point. Because even in some crazy world where Sam could want me, it could never be enough. My feelings are too strong; I'm in too deep. And I'm not girlfriend material, even if he would ever want me as one. I'm just too fucked up, and he knows that better than anyone. He's seen my panic attacks, witnessed my nightmares, knows my triggers, seen my scars.

No. He could never want that. Who would choose that? And he doesn't deserve it even if he could. He deserves a normal girl. And, of course, there's his "no girlfriends in high school" rule.

"You and Kendall are really just friends?" I ask so softly I'm not even sure he heard me.

"Yeah, Ror. I mean, I'm not gonna lie to you, we used to hook up. But it was just that, a hookup. Physical. Kendall's got a boyfriend now - a serious one. She's in love. It was never like that with us. She's a good friend."

The relief I feel is just more evidence of how out of hand my feelings have grown. I want to ask him if it would actually make him jealous if I were to go out with Randy, but I don't. I'm not sure I'd want to hear the answer.

We meet up with everyone at the bar and pile into three taxis to head to the Mexican restaurant for dinner. I'm not usually a drinker, but since everyone ordered pitchers of sangria, I decide to have a glass. I've never had it before and it's actually really good, sweet, so I doubt it has too much alcohol.

A few glasses later and dinner is over. Everyone is having a ball - laughing, joking. Andrew and Tina are kissing, and Tuck and Carl are arguing over gender normative practices and feminine independence and who should pay the check on a date.

Lately every issue that's come up has turned into a full blown battle of wills between those two and it's getting kind of old. I wish they'd simply profess their love for one another and put the rest of us out of our misery. Because it's obvious as hell to everyone but them.

By the time we're at the third bar of the night, it's clear it's where we'll be ending the night. Everyone's drinking and dancing and flirting, and I doubt anyone would even recognize the change in venue if we did decide to go somewhere else. Carl and Tuck have gone from making out in the first bar, to screaming at each other in the second, to a mixture of both now.  

I watch Tina and Andrew climb into a cab to go back to the hotel and I've no doubt as to what they're up to.

True to his word, Sam has barely left my side all night. As Carl predicted, I have garnered more attention than usual from the opposite sex, but I'm confident it has more to do with the amount of alcohol they've consumed and their desperation for a random hookup than with my appearance tonight.

The few guys who had the nerve to hit on me in spite of Sam's bodyguard-like proximity all night were let down easy either by me or Sam. The one guy who took hold of my arm and almost caused me to panic nearly got his ass kicked before I could talk Sam down, which in itself distracted me from panicking.

Bottom line: I'm having fun. Other bottom line: I'm drunk.

It turns out that new Normal Rory goes out and gets drunk with her friends. I giggle at the thought and Sam shoots me an inquisitive look.

"You, my friend, are drunk," he observes dryly as he leads me out of the bar to hail a cab, and I giggle again. Who knew I could be so giggly?

In fact, I'd probably be even drunker... more drunk? Whatever, I'd be completely hammered if Sam hadn't cut me off and insisted I'd had enough about thirty minutes ago. Instead, I'm delightfully tipsy.

"So are you," I reply as he slips an arm around my waist to help me walk straight. I cuddle into him and inhale his scent, now complemented with a little liquor and smoke from the bars.

Sam chuckles. "Actually I'm not. I only had a couple, and I can hold my liquor better than some people," he teases. Sam helps me into the cab and slides in behind me. I look him over. No, he's right, he does not appear to be especially drunk, and I giggle again. Sam grins. "You're a cute drunk," he murmurs.

"You're cute all the time," I counter. I'm vaguely aware I shouldn't be saying this out loud, but right now, I just don't care.

"Yeah? You think?" he asks.

I narrow my eyes at him and purse my lips exaggeratedly. "You know you're gorgeous. You ain't foolin' me," I hold my chin high in challenge. He's not going to trick me into showering him with compliments. He's an Adonis, he knows it, I know it, and I know he knows it. He isn't blind, after all.

Sam laughs a full, head thrown back, eyes closed chuckle and I giggle in turn, not even knowing what's funny. "I didn't know you thought so, Rory. Anything else you want to share while you're feeling generous with information?"

I bite my lip and think a few moments. "I love Carl," I tell him.

Sam's eyebrows shoot into his hairline. "Is this where you tell me you like girls?" he asks and it sounds like he's only half kidding. "Cause I won't judge-"

"No, shh, don't interrupt!" I whine.

Sam makes a gesture like he's locking his lips and throws away the invisible key, still making an only mildly successful attempt to hide his amusement.

"I love Carl, she's been a real good friend to me, but... you're my best friend. Not her, you," I confess. Sam's face softens, draining of mirth, and he smiles almost shyly. He opens his mouth, but before he can respond, I blurt out, "and you're super hot," and we both laugh again. I realize my accent is also extra prevalent when I've been drinking and make a mental note to try and remember that.

"I like drunk Rory," Sam says with another chuckle.

I scowl at him. "And what? You don't like sober Rory?" I pout.

Sam's face grows suddenly serious and he leans into me. Holy shit, he's close. It feels real hot in here. Is it hot in here? I feel hot.

"Oh, I like sober Rory a lot. I just like hearing you tell me what you're thinking. And I told you, don't pout, it's too adorable," he says softly, no more than a couple of inches from my ear. His fingers inch up to my shoulder and he twists a lock of my hair between his thumb and forefinger before tucking it behind my ear.

"You think I'm adorable?" I practically gasp.  

Sam smirks. "You know you're gorgeous. You're not fooling me," he whispers my own words right back to me, and I suck down an anxious swallow.

"I tell you what I'm thinkin' all the time," I counter his earlier comment. "I tell you all kinds of things."

"You tell me things," he agrees. "But usually not what you're thinking. Not in the moment, anyway. It's refreshing."

"Tell me what you're thinkin'," I challenge. "Drunk or not, it's only fair." I bat my eyelashes at him and wonder where this bravery is even coming from. Oh right, the alcohol.

Sam's lips twist up into a half smile. "I'm thinking... you look beautiful," he breathes, and my heartbeat takes off, but not in panic. My whole body is flushed, inside and out, and I feel it - that unfamiliar feeling. Desire.

"Carl and Tina did a good job makin' me up," I whisper back.

Sam bites his lip to suppress his laugh. "Not just tonight, Rory."

I stare into captivating midnight blue, breathing so hard my chest is practically heaving, when we arrive at our hotel and the valet opens my door. "Oh!" I yelp in surprise, and quickly compose myself to climb out of the car. I stumble. Damn, I'm drunker than I thought.

"Hold on there, Ror." Sam rushes around the car and slings his arm around me. "I got you." He guides me into the elevator and doesn't let me go as we ride up to the top floor. "Come on, give me your keycard. I'll open your door," he offers.

"But I'm not tired," I grumble with another pout.

Sam brushes the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip and a shiver shoots through my entire body. "I told you not to pout."

"Okay," I breathe, not sure what I'm even agreeing to. I'll agree to anything he says right now.

"Give me your purse." I hand it over without question and watch as he digs through it. "Where's your room key? It's not in here."

Oh, shit. I slap my hand to my forehead. "I may have left it on the writing desk... in my room."

Sam sighs. "This is why we should have left our adjoining doors open." He leads me one door over to his own room. I follow him in.

"I was worried we might end up in bed," I admit without thinking, then slap the same hand that just smacked my forehead to my mouth. Did I just say that out loud?

I peek over at Sam and he looks horrified. Oh, shit. He thinks I meant sex.

Did I mean sex?

He walks right up to me, and I may be drunk, but it seems like he's mad. "I would never take advantage of you like that, Ror. Jesus, how could you think-"

I press two fingers to his lips to stop his words. "No, Sam, I wasn't worried about you, I was worried about me," I admit. Sam furrows his brow. "You look so cute when you do that," I add, sliding my fingers to the small crease between his brows, gently feeling the soft skin.

"What are you talking about? What do you mean you were worried about you?"

We stare at each other, barely a few inches apart. I want him. I can't help it. I've never felt this way before - emotionally, physically - and I doubt I ever will again. I only ever felt anything close once, and I never explored it - I never had the chance.

My fingers move of their own volition to the back of his neck, I lean up on my tip toes, and before my intoxicated mind can remember why this isn't a good idea, I press my lips to his. After a sharp gasp of surprise, Sam responds almost instantly.

His lips move over mine, slowly, gently. God, they're soft, and somehow also firm. I push my hands up, into his hair, and tug lightly, like I've wanted to for so long. Sam moans, the sound rumbling from deep in his throat, and it's an incredibly sexy sound.

I'm on fire, like I'm possessed, wanting like I've never wanted before. Sam grabs my face and he takes control, picking up the pace of the kiss as his thumbs reverently brush over my cheeks. His lips tease mine, and when his tongue licks the seam of my mouth, I open for him, welcoming more. Desperate for more.

Sam's tongue works its way into my mouth and I revel in it. Having a part of him in a part of me. His hands caress down my neck and shoulders until one threads through my hair, holding my mouth to his, and the other slides around my waist until he's pulling my body flush against the hard planes of his own.

I tentatively move my tongue with his, twisting and licking, loving the exploration of his mouth, the taste of him - a delectable mixture of mint gum and scotch.

He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and I moan, unabashed. The sound encourages Sam, who takes two steps forward toward the wall and I move with him until I feel a desk or table of some kind behind me. With no effort at all, Sam lifts me and sets me on its edge, pressing himself against me, never ending his kiss. I open my legs so he can get closer. I need him closer. He complies, but he's being careful, and I can feel him everywhere except the one place I really need him. I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him as close as physically possible, and I moan again as I feel confirmation that he really does want me.

I'm aware that I'm "asking for it". I'm giving him more of a green light than I ever gave Robin, and though I know I'm probably coming across like some wanton slut, I can't bring myself to care. I know that come tomorrow I will be hurt. I know I'm falling in love with my friend, and I also know nothing has changed. He doesn't return my feelings, and why should he?

This version of me - this version that goes out and gets drunk with her friends, who gives into her attraction and feelings and has the courage to kiss the boy she's been pining over - this Rory is an illusion.

I know Sam could never want the real Rory. I know he deserves more even if he could. More than a broken, damaged mess. But tonight, just for one night, I can still be Normal Rory. I can allow myself this glimpse of what it could've been like if I'd never said yes to that first date with Robin. If I went to NYU and maybe just met Sam in New York by chance. If I was really just a normal girl and he could want me.

I've never been kissed like this. Only once had it ever felt close, but it wasn't like this. And Robin - even in the beginning, before things went bad, never elicited these feelings in me, in my body or my heart. I'm desperate to know what it feels like when I'm not being forced. When I really want the person I'm with.

I kiss Sam back with all the passion I possess, running my hands up the front of his tee shirt, and I shiver again at the feel of his hard muscles. I can feel his erection firm between my legs, and a heat I've never felt before. An ache. And I know without a doubt that here and now with Sam, the act that's only ever caused me unimaginable suffering with Robin, is the one thing that can soothe that ache.

I rock my hips into him.

Sam makes a deliciously amorous sound before he unexpectedly tears his mouth from mine and wrenches from my grip. He takes two steps back from me and I sit on the table where he's set me, trying to catch my breath. Sam does the same, panting for air, and we blink at each other, like we don't know what just happened.

But I know exactly what happened. And I know before he speaks he's going to apologize, to try and back track, but I won't let him. I want this.

"God, Ror, I'm sorry. I-"

"I kissed you."

Sam stares at me, confused, like he's inwardly grappling with something profound. I know he doesn't want to lead me on - doesn't want to mess with our friendship - and I get all of that. I do. But my feelings for him, they're my problem, not his. They shouldn't preclude us from doing this, not right now when we both want it. At least I think we both want it...

"Rory, you're drunk. Whether you kissed me first or not, I shouldn't have let that happen. You're my friend." His words are shrouded in guilt.

I slide off of my perch and cover the distance between us, looking intently into his eyes so he knows I mean what I say. "Please, Sam. So, I'm drunk. So what? Half the girls in Miami hookin' up with strangers tonight are drunk. And you ain't a stranger - you're my friend. I trust you." I look up at him through my lashes. I tentatively run my hands up the front of his shirt,  just feeling his body under my fingertips. "It's not like I'm a virgin. You don't need to worry. I've never felt this way before, please, I just wanna know what it feels like to do it because I wanna do it. Because it makes me feel good. Please, Sam." I say the last part in a whisper and lean up to kiss him softly.

When he doesn't immediately push me away I move my lips a little more surely, but he only reciprocates for a moment before gently grabbing my wrists to stop the exploration of my fingers, and pulling his mouth away. His expression is a mixture of concern and confusion. I stumble a step before catching my footing. I really am drunk. And actually a little dizzy.

"What do you mean you want to do it because you want to do it? What other reason is there?"

I shrug. I don't understand why we're talking about this when we could be doing it, and I want to get this conversation over with quickly and see if I can get him to kiss me back again.

"You know, because. Because I had to. It ain't like I always got a choice," I murmur. "But now I want to. I've never wanted-"

"What do you mean you had to? That you didn't have a choice?" he interrupts, and he's suddenly too serious.

Did I just say something I shouldn't have?

My mind is cloudy with alcohol, and with all of the secrets I've confided to Sam, and all the ones I'm still keeping, I'm not sure which is which right now.

"Rory. What did you mean?" He asks slowly and carefully.

I don't know what I meant. I honestly don't even remember exactly what it is I said. My stomach turns as the dizziness in my head conspires with the nausea in my belly to make me feel ill, and I close my eyes briefly to get it all to settle and try to focus on the here and now. "I just meant... that right now, drunk or not, I know what I want, and I want-" My words are cut off with a gag. Oh, shit.

Sam's face is etched with worry and I'm no longer confident that I can push this sick feeling back down.

"Ror? Ror, are you okay?"

The room spins and all I can do is squeak out "sick" before my legs give out. Sam catches me with a muttered curse and I'm suddenly held to his chest, my legs dangling over one of his strong arms as he makes his way to the bathroom. He sets me down on the side of the tub and I clutch the tile edge as tightly as I can to hold myself in a sitting position. Sam's doing something, but I can't see what, I'm too busy trying to figure out if closing my eyes makes it better or worse.

Oh, God, worse. Definitely worse.

The faucet turns on and off, and then Sam is kneeling in front of me and pressing a cool, wet, washcloth to my forehead.

"Fuck, Ror, you only had three drinks at the bars. You didn't take any drinks from anyone else, did you?" he asks, obviously deeply worried.

I shake my head. I didn't. "No, you told me not to," I assure him shakily. He runs his fingers through his hair, and vaguely I wonder if it's really that big of a deal. I mean it's a rite of passage for every normal teenager to drink too much and get a little sick, isn't it?

"How much sangria did you drink at dinner?"

I shrug. "Two glasses?" It comes out like a question, and really, it is. There were pitchers, and people were refilling generously, but I didn't think I'd had that much.

"Fuck, Rory." He narrows his eyes at me and I see four of them. Four midnight blue eyes that have seen right through me since they first witnessed my panic attack my first day of school. "Did you take a pill tonight, Rory?" His voice is both hesitant and accusing. Tender, yet firm.

Damn. I try as best I can to focus on his gaze and slowly nod.

Sam's features immediately shift into a scowl. He's furious. "Damn it, Rory! Don't you know you're not supposed to drink on those?!"

"I... I didn't think about it. I didn't want to freak out and ruin everyone's night. I just wanted one night to be normal. I took it before we went out, I... forgot," I murmur contritely.

Sam's expression softens but I know he's still angry with me. For being so careless. For being so stupid. And the fact is, he's right.

"Well, congratulations, Pine. You took drugs and drank and now you're sick. Welcome to teenage normalcy," he says sarcastically. He stands and makes to leave the room but I grab hold of his hand. I don't want him to leave me alone. "I'm just going to get you some water. Look, Rory, you should probably throw up. I think you probably will anyway, but either way, you should make yourself."

I make an exaggeratedly disgusted face and Sam cracks a smile.

"Stop being cute, I'm still mad at you," he says before he turns and leaves the room.

He's back almost instantly and he twists the cap off of a bottle of water and hands it to me. I eye it dubiously. My insides twist. No, I don't believe I'll be drinking this right now.

"I can't. My stomach."

"Come," he says and holds out both hands. I tremble as I slip my small, pale hands into his large, warm ones. I wonder if the rest of me looks this pale.

Damn, I must look awful. No wonder he broke off our kiss.

Sam guides me down to the floor in front of the toilet and gathers my hair in a ponytail, secured with his grip. He rubs his other hand soothingly up and down my back. "You need to throw up, Ror. Trust me, you'll feel better," he says gently.

I can already feel that he's right. In fact, I can already feel that I won't have a choice in the matter one way or the other. I am definitely going to vomit. "Go... away," I choke out.

"Rory..."

"Please. Don't... want you to see me throw up..."

"Yeah, well I don't want to see you in the fucking hospital. So I need you to throw up for me, okay?"

"I'll do it if you leave," I squeak, but our argument over whether or not he will be present for my impending vomiting ends as my stomach wretches and empties its contents into the toilet.

I gag again and up comes more. I want to push Sam away, want privacy for my humiliation, but I can do nothing but succumb to my own body which has other plans.

Four more times I throw up and all the while, Sam holds my hair, rubs my back, and whispers encouragements as if vomiting is some great achievement. When I'm finally sure it's over, I sigh with relief and sit back, leaning my head on the cold porcelain of the toilet seat, aware that it's disgusting, but just not caring.

"That's my girl," Sam whispers.

His girl. If only I could be his girl. And I'm quickly overcome with grief and regret. Regret for what could never be, and for my pathetic self and my inability to control my feelings for this boy.

"Can I please have some privacy now?" I ask pitifully.

Sam mulls it over. "Sorry. Nope. Come on, let's get you cleaned up. I was going to call downstairs for someone to bring up a key for your room, but honestly, Rory, I think I should keep an eye on you," he says as he helps me up and guides me to the sink. I turn on the faucet and rinse my mouth out before splashing water on my face.

Sam pours some mouthwash into a glass and hands it to me and I rinse thoroughly.

I glance in the mirror, and as I expected, the pound of makeup that made me look exceptional earlier, has ended up all in different places than originally intended. I'm pretty sure eyeliner and mascara aren't meant for my cheeks.

"Face wash?" I ask, and Sam hands it to me.

I have to wash my face four times before it looks clean again, but I still look awful. Pale and worn. Sam is bustling around the suite when I come out - he's making up the couch for me.

"Sam, I think I'm okay, I just wanna get to bed," I murmur.

"That's the plan," he replies.  

I eye the couch without enthusiasm. It does not look especially comfortable. Especially not with a big comfy king bed on the other side of the wall. I look longingly at the door that adjoins our rooms. I should have just listened to Sam.

While he goes back to use the bathroom I kick off my boots and socks. I can sleep in my tank top but...

I pad back into his bedroom. How come he gets to close the bathroom door for privacy?

Feeling like I'm doing something illicit I open the drawers in the bedroom chest and find his underwear in the second drawer. It's organized pristinely, every item - even his underwear - neatly folded. I feel a little naughty going through them - mostly boxer briefs - and I ignore the simmer of desire that reignites low in my belly. Sam was right, I do feel much better now that I've thrown up, but I'm thoroughly mortified. I find a pair of blue striped boxers and snatch them, scurrying out of the room before he can come out, and hastily close the door.

Once I'm back in the living room, I step out of my skirt and slip on his boxers. I take my bra off under my shirt and fold it neatly with my skirt on the arm of the couch. I slip under the blanket Sam laid out on the couch and curl up on my side. I was right, it is definitely not very comfortable, but it will do. I wonder if he will just go to sleep or come out and say goodnight. I'm not even sure which I prefer right now. I'm so damn embarrassed.

Operation: Normal Rory was a complete disaster. I don't know why I thought I could have even one night of happiness. Why I thought Sam would want to hook up with me in the first place. He's certainly never given me any indication he wanted me like that. I don't know what I was thinking. And then I threw up! Right in front of him. God, what is wrong with me? I close my eyes and drown in shame.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks. I hadn't even heard him come out of the bedroom. I don't answer, I just look up at him, confused. "You're not sleeping there," he says.

I sit up, humiliated once again. But he said he wanted to keep an eye on me and made up the couch, what else could that possibly have meant other than that he wanted me to sleep here?

"The couch is for me, Rory. You take the bed." He holds out his hand, anticipating my argument. "Not a chance. Come on, Ror, let me be a gentleman."

"I wish you were less of a damn gentleman," I grumble under my breath. Maybe then he wouldn't have stopped whatever it was that might have happened between us earlier.

Sam chuckles, though I didn't mean it to be funny, and I take his proffered hand and climb from the couch. His breath catches as he looks me over. Whoops. I forgot I stole his underwear.

"Sorry," I murmur as I drag my feet to the bedroom.

"Help yourself," he says with another easy chuckle, following right behind.

I turn down the cover and crawl into the big, comfy bed. "You gonna tuck me in?" I tease.

"Something like that... You're okay, right? That I'm here, I mean."

I'm surprised that after everything he's still worried I might panic. Not even close. I lie down, rolling to face him. "Yeah, Sam. I've told you, I trust you. I'm pretty sure you can't trigger me anymore. Not unless you did something intentionally to."

"I would never-"

"I know."

Sam sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. He leans down and brushes a soft kiss to my forehead. It's somehow both intimate and chaste, but unfathomably affectionate. It warms my heart that he still cares for me after tonight's embarrassing display. He's an infinitely good friend, and I try not to imagine him as something more.

"Goodnight, Ror. Look, if you wake up and you don't feel well, or you need something - anything - wake me up, okay? I mean it," he says softly.

"Thanks," I breathe.

Sam smirks. "I got you, Pine. What-"

"are friends for, I know."

And with that, he leaves, shutting the door gently behind him.

****

 

The championship game is over. Sam hugs me and smiles. We've won. He's happy.

Robin glares at me from across the field. He scowls. We've lost. He's angry.

"Don't leave me alone," I plead to Sam.

He smiles wistfully. "Sorry, Ror, we're just friends, remember?"

He turns and walks toward the lot. It's the Linton lot, and he walks toward Cam's car. But where is Cam?

"Sam!" I call out as Robin prowls toward me. My stomach rolls with utter terror.

"Sorry, Ror! You're his, not mine - nothing I can do!" he calls back, and gets in Cam's car and drives off.

Why is Sam driving Cam's car? Where the hell is Cam?

I watch in horror as a tractor trailer races head-on right into Sam's path.

"Sam, look out!" I scream at the top of my lungs as tires screech, the crash of bangs and booms reverberating ominously into the night air.

My elbow is yanked and I'm forced around so I can't see what's happening. I'm paralyzed by panic; all I want to do is make sure Sam is okay.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? You stupid bitch."

"No!" I plead, but Robin drags me up the steps and into the hall that leads to the gym. He hauls me into the locker room.

I'm frozen in fear. I can't breathe. My throat constricts and air refuses to pass through. What is wrong with me?!

Suddenly Robin slams me back into the wall. "You're fuckin' mine, Rory. No matter what you do. No matter where you go. You'll always be mine, and no one else will ever want my messed up fuckin' leftovers," Robin spits.

He tears avagely at my clothing as I start to sob.

"Please, Robin! No! Not here!" I cry and plead, but as always, it does no good. He rips my panties off, and again, even though I'm wearing my cheerleading uniform, I have no spankies on. Where the hell are my spankies?!

He slams into me and I wail in agony. "My girl likes it rough," he growls threateningly.

"Please stop! No!" I cry, but his fingers close around my throat, cutting my lungs off from precious oxygen.

This is it. He's really going to kill me this time.

 

"Rory, wake up!"

I gasp for air.

"Rory, you're okay. Just wake up, please." It's Sam's voice.

I open my eyes. Where am I?

Oh, right. The hotel.

Oh, right. Sam's room.

Oh, right... last night...

I'm out of breath, like after many of my nightmares, and I lie back and close my eyes, reliving the mortification of last night - or perhaps earlier tonight since it's still dark.

"You okay?" Sam asks hoarsely. He's in the bed, on top of the comforter, holding me and stroking my hair.

"Yeah... just another dream," I murmur when I've caught my breath.

"Fuck, Ror. What can I do? How can I help you?" His eyes are almost wild with desperation.

I should say "nothing". I should send him back to the couch to sleep in peace, because chances are I'll wake up screaming or crying again in a couple of hours, and Sam deserves to get some rest.

The nightmares started not long after the first time Robin forced himself on me, and they got progressively worse after that last time - when he gave me my scar. My scars. Though only one is physically visible. But the few times since then I slept in Cam's bed with him, I had no nightmares. And right now, though I know I should spare my friend, I'm still reeling from my dream, and I'm feeling a little selfish, and I'm wondering if Sam might offer me a similar solace.

"You could sleep with me," I whisper.

"Ror..."

"Just sleep," I qualify. "Just... you know, hold me?" My voice is barely audible, and I know I'm just embarrassing myself even more after last night, but that was an exceptionally bad dream - the ones where I can't breathe are the worst - and I'm feeling terribly vulnerable right now.

"You sure that'd be okay? I don't want to make it worse, Ror," he murmurs tentatively, and if I didn't know better, I'd think he actually wanted this right now. To hold me.

"Please, Sam."

And with my plea, he scoots over to lift the comforter and then slides in next to me on his back. He holds his arm out and I snuggle into the nook of his shoulder, resting my head on his chest. Sam's arms wrap around me, holding me in place. He sighs, and I take it as encouragement and rest my arm over the perfect ripples of his abdomen. Who ever knew something so rock hard could be so damn comfortable? I'm tempted to entwine my legs with his, but I know it would be inappropriate. I don't want to make Sam uncomfortable, and I definitely don't want to make this so-close-and-yet-so-far situation any more blurry for myself. I force down any amorous feelings and cuddle into him, delighting in the comfort my friend is blessing me with in this moment.

No, I don't think I'll have any more nightmares tonight, after all. In fact, I feel unfathomably safe.