TWENTY

 

P R E S E N T   D A Y

 

I WAKE TO morning light creeping in through the curtains. I'm alone in the bedroom of Sam's suite, so I take a few minutes to reorient myself and try to recall everything that happened last night. Parts are so very vivid, and others quite hazy. The effort just makes my head pound even more than my hangover does.

My first hangover. Well, Operation: Normal Rory was an epic failure.

I remember leaving the bar with Sam, and that I forgot my room key. I remember some of our banter and I smile to myself.

And I remember our kiss. God, do I remember that. Just the thought of it - the memory of him positioned between my thighs, towering over me tall and strong, his delicious tongue plundering my eager mouth - it has my entire body heated and desire simmering low in my belly.

The door to the living room is slightly ajar - probably so Sam would be alerted if I had another nightmare. I wonder when he got up, and vaguely I think it couldn't have been too long ago, or another nightmare is exactly what would've happened.

Could he really have such power over me so quickly? The ability to quell months of night terrors with just the security of his arms? It would seem impossible, and yet, here I am.

I slip out of bed and head directly into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I wash my face and rinse with some mouthwash.

Scenes from last night resurface unbidden.

Oh, damn, I threw up.

I threw up a lot.

That's when I remember how our kiss ended.

Oh, God, and begging Sam for sex! Did I really do that? What the hell is wrong with me?

I sit on the edge of the tub and try to remember everything I said, everything he said, but I can't. I can only remember remnants of conversation, and none of it makes me feel any less humiliated.

Knock, knock.

I startle.

"Rory, you okay?" Sam asks.

"Fine," I reply through the door as I use my fingers to tame my unkempt hair. I sigh as I survey my reflection. I've definitely looked better. I gingerly open the door and Sam rises from the edge of the bed where he's waiting on me.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," he drawls with a smile.

I freeze.

I feel the blood drain from my already pale face as my pulse starts to race. I take a deep breath and swallow down my nerves. Sam is not Robin and Sam is not my father. I close my eyes and pull myself together.

"Ror-"

"Don't call me that," I say as firmly as I can manage. When I open my eyes Sam is standing right in front of me, his brow etched with concern.

"I always call you 'Ror'. I didn't think-"

"Not that. The other thing."

I march out the door into the living room and grab my bra off the arm of the sofa. I face away from Sam to push it under my shirt, and secure it without having to remove my top. I'm wearing a white tank top, and small or not, my breasts weren't exactly concealed. Idly I wonder if Sam even noticed, or if the fact that he's not especially attracted to me blinds him from my sexuality completely.

I'm still working out everything that happened. I kissed him, but he also kissed me back. And God, did he kiss me back. Do guys just kiss any willing girls that way? I can't imagine it - I've never been kissed like that in my life, and I've certainly never kissed anyone like that. Not even close. Except for the one kiss I ever shared with Cam. But still, last night's kiss with Sam was in a league all its own.

In those moments I was certain he wanted me - I felt his desire, and I was sure it was for me. I realize now of course that Sam's temporary interest had more to do the fact that I was simply a willing body, and he's a guy, that's all. But my realization comes too late to save myself the humiliation. Because if he could break it off so easily, pull away like he did, then clearly he didn't want me. Not really. Not like I wanted him.  

Like I want him.

"Sleeping Beauty?" Sam asks, perplexed.

"That's the one," I murmur as I walk around the room searching for my purse. I need to check my phone. And take my birth control pill. Though I've been less than perfect with the whole take-them-at-the-same-time-everyday thing since it's not like I'm actually having sex, I do still take them just in case. Not in case I have a one night stand - that's not something I ever so much as considered before last night - but in case I encounter someone like Robin. Someone who doesn't give me a choice.

"Okay, I won't. Any particular reason?" Sam asks, and he must get frustrated by my stomping around his hotel room and not meeting his eyes because he grabs my hand and gives it a gentle tug to get my attention. I don't know why, but it pisses me off. He had my attention last night. My full attention. And he didn't want it.

"Yes, there's a particular reason," I hiss. "Rory is a nickname for Aurora, remember? I was named after Sleeping fucking Beauty. My father called me that. Robin called me that. Don't call me that. Ever. Okay?"

Now our eyes are locked, and Sam nods slowly. "You mad at me?" he asks softly, and I look down at my bare feet. I am. I am mad at him, but I know I have no right to be. Surely I can't be angry with my friend for not wanting to sleep with me. Imagine if the situation were reversed?

I sigh. "No, I suppose I'm not," I murmur defeatedly on an exhale, still looking down.

Sam lifts my chin with his index finger to meet his gaze, a familiar gesture now. "That wasn't very convincing."

I say nothing. What can I say?

"You know," Sam murmurs tentatively, "Aurora wasn't just a Disney princess..."

I narrow my eyes, unsure where he's going with this, and Sam's lips quirk up into a half smile.

"She was a Roman goddess - of the dawn," he continues. "According to myth, she renews herself every morning and flies through the sky announcing the arrival of the sun."

I blink at him. I've read only the most basic mythology, and it was mostly Greek, not Roman. But still, it's my own freaking name, how have I never heard this? "How do you even know that?" I ask Sam, who simply shrugs.

"I might be known to crack open a book from time to time... Come on, I got you some orange juice and aspirin. You must be feeling crappy," he offers, pulling me to the couch, which has been stripped of any evidence that anyone crashed there last night. At least until I begged him to sleep in the bed with me instead. God am I pathetic.

"You mean because I look like crap," I mutter under my breath.

We both sit and I take the pills and down the entire glass of juice. I glance at Sam who seems pleased. No doubt he was expecting an argument, but I just don't have it in me right now.

"You don't look like crap."

I roll my eyes. Great, here come the platitudes.

"You look like a beautiful girl who drank too much last night and is paying for it now," he asserts.

Yeah, because men always reject beautiful girls who beg them for sex. I hate that I'm so pitiful he needs to console me with bullshit. Sam is right about one thing though; I sure am paying for last night now. In truth, it feels like I'm paying for a lot of things, and I have been for a long time.

"Can we talk about last night?" he asks hesitantly.

"Do we have to?"

"Rory." My name comes out like an admonishment. Like he's talking to a child who's done something wrong. And maybe, right now, that's precisely what I am. I am the one who is in the wrong here. I'm the one who violated our friendship.

I meet his eyes. "Look, Sam, we really don't need to do this. I get it. And I'm real sorry. You've made yourself real clear about only wantin' to be friends. I don't know what I was thinkin'. I shouldn't have kissed you. And I shouldn't have asked you to... I just thought..." I thought that when you shoved your tongue in my mouth and pressed your body against mine it meant that you wanted me too.

I sigh. "I know you don't want me like that. And I knew it long before last night, so I really don't know why I thought last night you might..." I take a deep breath to stop my rambling. "Can't we just chalk it up to my bein' drunk?"

"Is that what it was? You being drunk?" he asks, his gaze intent, his voice sober.

I should say yes. I should blame it all on the alcohol.

I shake my head instead. What the hell is wrong with me?

Sam lets out a deep breath. He looks down for a second, closes his eyes, and shakes his head once. He lets out a short, ironic laugh. "God, Ror, there's so much wrong with what you just said. But I need to talk about something else you said first. When you-"

"Can't we just pretend like it never happened?" I try one last time to avoid this conversation. I can't seem to lie to this boy, and I don't know how it's going to end, but I fear I may give something of my feelings away, and if I do, I could lose my friend.

"No, Rory. There's no way I can pretend that never happened."

My head drops and I stare at my lap. I must look like I've just been sentenced to be executed. I palm my forehead and rub my temples with my thumb and middle finger.

"Rory, last night when we were talking about hooking up, do you remember what you said?" Sam asks cautiously.

I shrug. I remember saying that I wanted him, but not specifically how I propositioned him, other than our kiss. "I kissed you," I whisper.

Sam nods. "Yes. After that. Do you remember what you said? About wanting to do it because you wanted to do it?"

God, this is mortifying. Why is he making me relive this? I shrug again. "I don't really remember what I said, Sam," I murmur, meeting his gaze. "But I know it was me who kissed you. Me who propositioned you. I don't blame you for any of it. I don't understand why we have to talk about last night - it's over. Are you the one who's mad? Are you punishing me or somethin'?"

It was the wrong thing to say, I know that immediately. Sam looks horrified. "Of course not, Rory. How could you even think that?"

I look down again. The truth is, right now, I really don't know what to think.

Sam sighs. "This isn't about last night. It's about something you said last night, yes, but..." He shoves his fingers through his hair, exasperated, then takes another deep breath. "Please look at me." His tone is gentle and pleading and I comply. "You said you wanted to know what it felt like to do it because you wanted to do it. And when I asked what you meant, you said that you had to. That you didn't always have a choice."

My eyes widen in horror. I said that?

Sam glares at me. He's waiting for a response, but I'm not sure I have one. The words he claims I've said, they're too telling, and they can't be explained away. He knows what they meant, he must, so why is he even questioning me about them?

I do the only thing I can, I shrug.

Sam takes this as confirmation of his obvious conclusions. His eyes close, only for a moment, as if in grief. "I didn't know," he breathes.

"Why would you?" I counter.

Sam's hand flies to his hair, his fingers raking it roughly. "I knew he hurt you. I thought he hit you. I never thought... it never occurred to me..."

"It's fine," I murmur out of habit, and Sam's brow furrows and his glare intensifies.

"It's not fine, Rory. How can you say that?"

"I didn't mean it's fine. I just... what do you want me to say, Sam?" I ask. "You need all the details of why I'm fucked up? You need to feel bad for poor little victim Rory?"

"Damn it, Rory! Stop saying you're fucked up! You're no more fucked up than the rest of us, remember? You're not the only one who's ever been hurt, you know! I'm just trying to understand you! I-" Sam stops. He shoves his fingers through his hair again, and I'm idly aware that I didn't even flinch when he shouted at me. "I care about you," he says more gently.

I'm instantly awash with guilt. "Look, I know I'm not the only person who's ever been hurt. You told me about your mom. I get it. I didn't mean to imply-"

"Not just my mom, Ror." Sam's eyes are utterly solemn, and I understand his meaning immediately.

His father didn't just beat his mother. He beat Sam, too.

"I'm so sorry." I utter the words I never found comforting when said to me. "I didn't know."

"No one knew. No one knows. Except my mom and Bits - well, and Tuck... and now you."

I look down. The sorrow for Sam I initially felt upon hearing his admission is evolving into something else. Anger. Outrage for the little boy whose father betrayed him in the worst way. "I hate that he hurt you," I grate.

Sam offers me a faint smile. "Now you know how I feel. Somewhat. It just kills me that you went through that, Ror. After you said that last night... I can't stop thinking about it. I've been thinking about it all fucking night. I just can't understand how someone could do that to a girl... to you. Violence is bad enough, but, God, Ror. He was your boyfriend, he was supposed to take care of you, not-" He takes a deep breath. "Is that why you broke up with him?"

"Yes. I mean, there were a lot of reasons, but yes, that was the main one."

Sam shakes his head with incredulity, as if he's still trying to wrap his mind around this, and I really don't understand what's so difficult to comprehend. He already knew Robin hurt me. So he thought he just hit me or something. Is it really all that different?

"So one day he's your boyfriend and the next he attacks you? Is he in jail?" Sam has a million questions. Of course he does. But he doesn't understand.

"It's just so much more complicated than that, Sam. I get that you didn't anticipate this, and I know it's my fault for drunkenly blurtin' it out last night, but-"

"How is it more complicated? Explain. Make me understand." He's staring at me intently, his words adamant. He wants to know what happened to me to make me the way I am. I can understand that. He's seen so many of my scars. And he knows that I know I can just say calculus and this conversation will be over. But I'm tired of being a coward.

"Robin was... is a big deal in Linton," I explain. "Football is a bigger deal there than it is up north. And he was the quarterback, the star, and he was real good. Not just small town good. He got a full ride to University of Florida, and everyone said he'd go pro. No question.

"And it wasn't just Robin - it was his whole family. His dad was the mayor. His sister's Miss Popularity. And I was... just me. I wasn't especially unpopular or anything, just... nothin' special, you know?" Sam narrows his eyes at me and I can sense that he wants to interrupt, but he doesn't, presumably afraid that if I stop talking even for a moment, I might rethink confiding my story at all. "I was a tomboy growin' up," I continue. "I liked sports and video games, and my best friend was a boy."

This time Sam can't help himself, he interrupts. "You've mentioned him... in the group of men who have only hurt or abandoned you," he says accusingly.

I nod. "Cam would never have hurt me," I assure him, but I hastily move on, knowing there's no way I can talk about Cam. My newfound strength does have its limits, after all. "Robin's a year older, but his sister Lacey's our age, and when I started hangin' out with her, I guess he started to notice me. Everyone kind of knows everyone - it's a real small town. Our dads grew up together - they're real close - but my mom didn't like theirs, so our families never spent much time together, and Robin had never said two words to me. Until the night he asked me out."

"That's why your dad didn't help you? Because Robin's father was his friend?" Sam is disgusted, and he should be - my father is disgusting.

"That's also more complicated," I murmur. It isn't really. A shot at being related to a pro quarterback was more important to him than protecting his daughter from a monster. Simple.

"So you and Robin started dating..." Sam prompts.

I continue. I explain how Robin was my first date, my first kiss, my first everything. I describe how he was at first, and for a long while, really. How he was such a gentleman, treating me like a princess, always opening doors and bringing me flowers. How he'd drive out of town to get me foods I liked. But how, despite all these things, I never felt ready to be intimate with him.

I tell Sam about the time I overheard Robin say he was stepping out on me. How sorry he was, how he told me he loved me, and how like a stupid, naive, little girl, I said it back - even though I really just nodded when he asked if I loved him too.

"Did you? Love him, I mean," Sam asks.

"No." I don't elaborate. I don't need to. I never loved Robin, I know that without question.

I tell Sam how kissing Robin never felt more than just nice, and that he started to get frustrated with my innocence. How how he started to make me touch him, how he touched me even though I'd asked him to stop. I don't give too many details, just the gist of the incidents a smarter girl would have taken as warnings. As giant, gleaming red flags. I tell him how stupid I am that I stayed with him even then. Even when all the signs were there. But I didn't see them - I didn't want to.

Then I tell him about the night he heard me say 'I love you' to Cam.

"Did you love him?" Sam asks.

"Yes." I don't elaborate on that either. The truth is, sometimes I think I could have grown to be in love with Cam. Sometimes I think I already was. Mostly, though, I have no idea what I really felt. But I do know I loved him. I've known that since I was three.

I tell Sam about that night. The first night Robin raped me. I explain how he thought I wanted it because I'd been wearing skirts and dresses. And because he thought I was playing hard to get. That when I cried and said no and begged him to stop, he thought it was all a game. He thought I would like it "rough", or so he said. Even though it was my first damn time. I sound bitter, I can't help it. I am bitter.

"That's how you lost your virginity?" Sam is horrified again. But what can I do? He wanted to know.

It's a funny expression - lost your virginity. As if you can just accidentally drop or misplace it. But the truth is, you can't just lose your virginity. For most people, it's something you choose to give to someone, for one reason or another, but not for me. Mine was stolen.

I tell Sam how confused I was afterwards. How Robin acted like he'd thought I'd wanted it. Like it was normal, like it was right. I tell him how he cuddled me and told me he loved me, and how the following morning he started talking about wanting to marry me someday.

"Did you want that? To marry him? At seventeen?" Sam is astonished. Of course he is.

"It's different where I'm from. Our parents were all married young. And it wasn't like he was proposing, he was just saying he wanted to marry me someday. It wasn't until later that I realized he meant sooner than I thought. But no, I never wanted to marry him. But it did confuse me more. It was a really confusing time for me in general."

Then I tell him the most humiliating part. I explain how even after Robin raped me, I stayed with him. I went back for more. And more he gave me, again and again. Every time. No matter how loud I tried to scream, how hard I cried or tried to fight, or how desperately I begged. I explain how controlling and possessive Robin became. How rough he got with me even when it had nothing to do with sex. How I had to wear warm clothes in freaking Florida to hide bruises. How I protected the person who was hurting me.

This, though, Sam understands. He says his parents used to make up stories about his injuries, always blaming football, and it made him resent the sport itself, until his father finally left them when he was in the eighth grade. He says his mom did the same thing. Hiding her bruises behind modest clothing.

I'm crying now, and Sam's eyes glisten too, so I start talking faster, desperate to get the story over with. I'm also vaguely aware that although I know this will change the way Sam sees me forever - and not for the better - somehow, like with Cam, the more I tell him, the more unburdened I feel.

I tell him about the Gainesville trip. How my fear of being alone with Robin, unlimited by time and space, struck me with enough terror that I knew I had no choice but to finally tell my father what had been happening. Sam takes my hand now, and not gently either. I squeeze his back, clinging to the strength he offers.

Sam grits his teeth as he listens to me explain how sure I was that with my confession to my father, my suffering would be over. But that isn't what happened. I describe the things my father said to me. How it was my fault - that I'd asked for it, and how. How I had to listen to my father attack my character while he defended that of my assailant. How I watched any ounce of hope I had die with his words, just minutes before Robin arrived to collect me for school, and how my father shook his hand and told him he'd consented to my joining him for the weekend.

"So your father handed you over to your fucking rapist?!" Sam growls.

I shrug. Yes. That is exactly what he did. "I guess we both have sucky fathers, huh?" I murmur.

"That's an understatement," Sam replies bitterly, and squeezes the hand he still holds. He scoots over, just a little, so that we're sitting closer. "Tell me you didn't go away with him. Tell me he didn't have you to himself for a whole weekend," he pleads soberly.

I shake my head, hastily swiping at my cheeks with my free hand to rid them of tears. "I didn't," I breathe, and Sam's relief is palpable. "I knew I couldn't. But..." I steel myself, and as I do, I realize I'm saying the same words I said to Cam exactly one year earlier.

"But?"

I sniffle. This is the part I can't even think about, let alone describe, without reliving the terror I felt in those moments. Sam slides even closer until he's right beside me, so close our knees are touching. He doesn't release my hand, and his other hand reaches up to tuck my hair behind my ear, lingering to brush my cheek with the pad of his thumb. I close my eyes, just for the shortest second, relishing the feel of his touch, so impossibly comforting to me. I picture Sam as a little boy, terrified of a tyrant father. It is not my experience, but it has some symmetry, and I feel for him deeply. I stare at the man before me, so kind and compassionate despite his violent upbringing.

It's that moment, right before I confide one of the worst horrors of my life, that I realize I've already fallen in love with him. Another tear falls, clinging to the line of my nose, and Sam's thumb gets to it before mine does. But this tear - this tear I don't shed for Robin, or for my father, or even for Cam. This tear belongs solely to Sam - the boy he was, and the man he is.

"I waited until the last minute to tell him I wasn't comin'," I whisper. We sit so close that it doesn't matter how soft my words are. "I was so scared of his reaction, and I didn't want him to have time to get my dad to make me go with him. He met me at school after the basketball game. I had to cheer at it, and we were supposed to leave right from there." I pause and swallow, my throat bone dry. Sam notices, and he hands me the bottle of water that sits in front of us on the coffee table and I take a sip.

"I told him I didn't want to go and that we needed space. At first he was just, like, sad. He looked like he was gonna cry. And I don't know why I cared - he'd made me cry a thousand times, but... it confused me. I ran off before I could waver, into the girls locker room.

"I didn't hear him follow me. Everyone was gone. They' all changed and left after the game. It was always like a switch would flip, you know? One minute he'd be one person, and the next..." my breath hitches in my throat.

Sam's hand squeezes mine, and in his eyes I can see that, yes, he does know.

"He was real mad. He slammed me against the wall. He... It was worse than before. Much worse." I start to tremble at the memory, and Sam's hand drops mine and wraps around my shoulders, pulling me to his chest. In his embrace, it's easier to continue, or maybe it's because I no longer have to look into his eyes, no longer have to watch him digest what happened to me. What I allowed to happen to me.

"He did it right there in the girls locker room. I tried to fight. He was so rough. So much rougher than usual. He was just so strong and I'm just- I really tried so hard," I sob. I don't know why it's so important to me that Sam knows I tried to stop Robin, but right now, it is.

"I know you did, Ror." I can't see his face since mine is cradled against his chest, my head tucked safely under his chin, but his voice is earnest. He does. He knows I fought.

"He always ripped off my underwear, because I would always try to fight him off. But I was wearing my cheerleading uniform. We wear these spandex spankies over them-"

"I'm familiar."

Of course he's familiar with what cheerleaders wear over their underwear. I push away my jealousy as quickly as it surged. I just don't have time for it right now.

"Well he couldn't tear them. He got frustrated and used his house key."

"Your scar," Sam breathes, and if his lips weren't so close to my ear, I might not have even heard him.

I nod against his chest. "But even that, it wasn't the worst part. He... he'd been real controlling for a while - possessive. So when I told him I needed space, it really got to him, I think. I didn't mean to- I just wanted to make it stop." I take a deep breath and my hand involuntarily shoots to my neck. "He just kept sayin' that I belonged to him, and then... he, uh, choked me. I couldn't breathe. I thought I was gonna pass out. I thought he was gonna kill me. But he didn't. He let go when he had, you know, finished."

I feel Sam's adam's apple move with his swallow, feel his clenched jaw at the crown of my head, the tremors in his arms, his chest.

"That was the last time. He went off to Gainesville for the weekend and left me there, on the locker room floor," gasping, crying, bleeding... I pause, trying to force away the memory, and unsure how to explain the rest. How I finally made it stop. There's too much to tell and too much I'm still not ready to talk about. That I'll probably never be able to talk about.

"Eventually I told someone, and once my mom knew what'd happened, that was it. She swept in and did everything she could. But Robin's dad was the mayor and my dad was the DA and neither of them wanted to get him in trouble. And the whole town loves them."

"So he's not in jail," Sam seethes. It isn't a question.

I shake my head and then pull away so I can look at him. His arms loosen to allow it, but he doesn't release me.

"When my mom found out my dad knew, she couldn't even look at him. She kicked him out, and guess who he stayed with... Even after everything he still thinks it was my fault. It didn't help that Robin told everyone I was just lashing out at him because he broke up with me. He even offered to 'take me back'. That's what most of the town still believes happened. That I'm a crazy bitch who accused their golden boy of doing something terrible because I didn't wanna lose him.

"The last time I saw my father he'd tricked me into being in the same room as Robin. He was trying to broker a reconciliation. Robin kept professing his love and apologizing for 'upsetting me', which he claimed he did by dumping me... I had another panic attack. I ended up in the hospital again. My mother filed for divorce after that, and I never saw my dad again."

"So you're telling me he just got away with it?" Sam growls, and I shake my head, but then nod. And then shake my head again.

"They couldn't prove rape. By the time I'd told, it was too late for a, you know, kit. They were only able to prove assault because there were photos."

"He took pictures?!"

"Not him. Cam. I didn't even know about them until later. They were on his cell phone. He took them when I was asleep - of some of my injuries. Just in case. I didn't even think about doing that, but that's Cam, always thinking of everything."

Pain slices through me. I choke back a sob and look away. I can't talk about Cam with him. Not now, probably not ever.

"So this best friend of yours, Cam, he was supportive enough to photograph your injuries for the police, but then he abandoned you?" Sam asks, astonished.

I can't do this. I have to change the subject

"He didn't mean to. That's also complicated."

"Rory-"

"Robin got community service and probation. Which was basically nothing. And everyone thought I'd made it all up."

It's not like they saw the pictures, and it wasn't like I was going to show such intimate photos to random people.

"But my mom, she contacted the UFL athletics board herself, sent them the police report." And the photos, I later learned, because according to my mother, they needed to understand exactly what they were inviting onto their campus.

"Robin lost his scholarship. And that wasn't nothing. But everyone blamed me for ruining his career, his life. Nobody cared that he'd ruined my life, too.

"People were awful. His sister was basically their leader. I couldn't go to school anymore. My mom quit her job and home-schooled me, but even that didn't work. Lacey and her friends - my former friends - started showing up at the house. They even spray painted slut and liar on my driveway. At least I think it was them. It could've been my own father for all I know. I had a restraining order against Rob so he couldn't do his own dirty work. And Mayor Forbes sent men from his office a few times to try and get me to rescind the charges. They even wrote up a whole statement for me, saying I made it all up - all I had to do was sign."

"You didn't, though." Sam is sure.

"How do you know that? Maybe I did. Maybe I just wanted it all to stop." I did want it to stop. It was unbearable.

"Because you're strong. You didn't. I know you didn't." He doesn't doubt me, and his faith in my strength makes me feel stronger than I really am. Or maybe he's been right all along. Maybe I'm stronger than I thought.

"I didn't," I confirm. "I couldn't. He took so much from me - I couldn't let him take back the one thing I took from him. His career, his scholarship, was all that mattered to him. Anyway, as soon as my mom got the house sold, we moved here. And you know the rest."

Moments pass and we simply stare at each other.

"You're remarkable," Sam says finally, as if he's in awe. I roll my eyes. I am far from it.

"What is so remarkable? I let him hurt me for months and then fled when I couldn't handle the fallout. And I left with an anxiety condition and issues I'll probably never get over."

"But you've already gotten over some of them. You beat triggers, remember? You're beating one right now, sitting here with me. In a fucking hotel room, by the way," he reminds me. And he's right. I am sitting alone in a hotel room with a man. I slept in bed with that man last night. And I'd have done more than that if he'd let me.

"I'm just surviving, Sam. It's not remarkable. It's not like there's any other option," I whisper. The truth is, for a while, I was barely even doing that. Surviving.

"But there is, Ror," he breathes, and his eyes reveal something profound.

And I feel immediate guilt. Of course there is. He means Bits. And her suicide attempt. He's right - there is another option.

"There is. And surviving is a choice. And you're not just surviving. Not anymore. Look at you - you're on spring break with your friends. Last night you went out and partied, and if I'm not mistaken, had a pretty good time until you got sick. That's not just surviving, Ror, that's living."

I wince at the reminder of last night. I was having a pretty good time, but not until I got sick, only until I got rejected. "Yeah. Last night was... somethin'," I mutter, and when I lift my eyes, Sam's are even closer, and there's a heat in them I'd thought I saw last night, but I was mistaken. As I'm mistaken now, surely.  

But just below those eyes, is his perfect nose, and below that, his full, pink lips, and they part slightly as his face inches closer. "Sam." I exhale his name. I don't know why, but it's the only word my lips can manage. And then his lips are on mine.

I gasp, right into his mouth. He kisses me softly, almost reverently, and I let him. And not only do I let him, but I kiss him back.

I kiss him back hard.

Sam groans, like he did last night, and God, the sound lights me on fire. But wait, what the hell is going on?

I pull away. "You kissed me," I breathe.

"I did," he agrees.

"But last night-"

"I kissed you last night as well, yes." 

My eyes widen. That is not what happened. I thought I was the drunk one. "Um, no, Sam, actually I'm the one-"

"Yes, you kissed me first. But I kissed you back, in case you didn't notice. I kissed you back a fucking lot."

I stand up and take a few steps away from where he remains seated on the couch. I simply can't think with him so close. I shake my head. "But you stopped it," I argue.

"You were drunk. I couldn't take advantage of you," he says, still unmoving, save for his eyes which follow me as I pace in front of the coffee table.

I shake my head again. "But I told you I knew what I was doin'. God, I even asked you to..." I rub my face with my palm, blushing scarlet, beyond ashamed.

Sam stands, and gingerly approaches me. "I couldn't risk it, Rory," he says carefully.

"Risk what?" I ask earnestly, looking up at him through my lashes.

"Risk that you were just saying those things because you were drunk. Risk fucking us up when you regretted it in the morning."

I shake my head again. "I already told you-"

"That it wasn't because you were drunk, I know. So now, tell me, did you want to sleep with me because you trust me and you want to know how it feels to be with someone other than him? Or because you wanted me?" His intensity radiates from his every pore and finds its way into mine. He is beautiful and I am riveted. His hand reaches out and pushes a lock of hair back behind my ear, his thumb lingering on my cheek, and I turn into his touch. "Tell me, Rory."

"Both." I answer truthfully. "But... but you said you only wanted to be friends."

"I did want to be your friend. I am your friend. But, come on, Rory, of course I want you."

"I don't understand," I admit.

Sam sighs. "I'd just met you, you know? I didn't want or not want anything in particular, I just knew I felt some... I don't know, connection, and I needed to get to know you. So when I offered to go for a walk and you made it very clear you were not interested in, well, fucking me by the lake, but I assumed you meant any kind of, you know, romantic relationship at all, I got that we could only be friends.

"So I took what I could get, Ror, can you blame me? And you've reminded me many times since then, by the way, that we're just friends. In fact every time I started to hope for something more, you reminded me. In the bathroom with Chelsea, even last Friday, when you found out I played football. 'We're the same as we've always been, Sayum, friends'," he drawls in his Rory imitation, with a slight smirk.  

I breathe out a short laugh.

"So which is it, Ror?" Sam asks again, his timbre low and deep, like gravel. I shiver, in spite of how hot I feel right now from his proximity. "Are we just friends… or something more?"

I don't answer him with words. Instead, my arms, quite possibly of their own volition, slide up around his neck and I push up onto my tiptoes and press my mouth to his. I practically, literally, throw myself at him.

But he catches me.

His fingers clutch my hair and his lips move with mine. I'm not expecting the relief I feel in his arms, with my mouth against his. It's as if I'd been unsettled all this time, floating alone and desperate somewhere in space, and now finally, with his admission that he does, in fact, want me too, and the confirmation of his kiss, I'm finally back on solid ground. Sam is my anchor.

His arms wrap around my waist and yank me against him and I moan at the feel of his hard body against my soft, modest curves. Sam pulls my top lip between his and sucks, and I moan again, too thrilled to feel embarrassment.

"Rory," he breathes my name into my mouth and kisses me even harder.

His tongue slips past my lips and I don't hesitate, I stroke it with my own, and deepen the kiss even more.

We're all wet lips and tongues, sliding and crashing against one another. I'm in heaven, but I want more. He's walked us back to the sofa before I even realize we're moving, and he sits, pulling me down with him. I climb onto his lap and sit astride him, leaving no gaps between our bodies.

My hands slide up his arms, exploring the taut muscles of his biceps and shoulders. His strength and power don't frighten me - no, they exhilarate me. My fingers run up the back of his neck and tug on his hair and he groans again.

The simmering desire inside me boils over until I'm desperate and panting between kisses. Sam's hands conduct an exploration of their own, running over my backside and just under the hem of my shirt. They feel my lower back, his thumbs roving over my hips, including my scar, which somehow does not repulse him. I sigh against his lips and then rock my hips against him completely involuntarily. I can feel that, yes, he does want me, and the proof of it is pressing against me in just the right spot. Holy shit that feels good.

"Fuck, Ror," he groans, and then he's moving again and he lifts and rolls until I am on my back with him hovering over me, careful to support most of his weight on his forearms.

But my legs wrap around his waist and pull him down to me.

My fingers find the hem of his shirt and lift. Sam pulls away just enough to allow me to tug the whole thing over his head, and I toss it on the floor next to us. I take a moment - just one moment - to rake his body with my eyes. His physique is exceptional. Every muscle perfectly outlined, and I find myself thinking I'd like to kiss it everywhere. Robin was in great shape, but Sam, he's perfect. I've no doubt that Sam would win in a fight, and even though I know it will never happen - that I'd never even want it to happen - in a cavewoman sort of way, the thought pleases me deeply.

I run my hand from his neck down his strong chest, and trace the lines between each pronounced part of his perfect six pack. I watch as they each jump in the most sexy way at my touch.

He comes back down, flush against me, his hand firmly running up my side, pushing my shirt up as he goes, stopping under my bra. His thumb brushes my stomach, which rises and falls dramatically with each deep, panting breath I take.

Sam's lips crash back to mine, kissing and sucking, until he trails small, sweet kisses across my jaw and down my neck. My head flies back as his mouth and tongue gently work the column of my neck, a secret spot just below my ear, and the sensitive hollow of my throat. It's as if he knows exactly where I want his mouth, and he's happy to comply.

I've never felt so desired. And not just my body - no, there's deep emotion in Sam's eyes, a reverent affection in his touch, even in his kiss. I can feel it. I know he cares for me, he's said as much, but for the first time, I wonder if maybe it's more than that.

"You are so beautiful," Sam whispers between kisses. "So fucking perfect." Kiss. "I think about you," kiss, kiss, "all the fucking time," he confesses.

I sigh again. I've never been more thrilled by words. He thinks about me. I can't believe it.

"I-" I start to admit that I, too, think about him way too much, but am startled by a knock on the door.

Sam's brow furrows as his gaze darts toward the door, still laying on top of me, where I desperately want him to stay. Perhaps with fewer items of clothing between us. I press my fingers to the crease between his eyebrows; it's so incredibly soft. He turns back to me and narrows his eyes, smirking. If he's going to tease me about my fascination with his eyebrow crease, I cut him off.

"Are you expectin' someone?" I ask, careful to keep my voice below a whisper.

He shakes his head. "Probably just housekeeping. They'll go away," he decides and then resumes kissing me.

Knock, knock.

"Go away!" Sam calls out between kisses.

"Come on, Cap! Your phone's off! Let me in!" Tucker shouts through the closed door. Sam pulls back, his eyes wide with surprise, surely mirroring my own.

"What's he doin' here?" I whisper and Sam shrugs. I glance at the clock on the side table that says it's nearly noon.

"Cap!" Tuck calls again.

"One minute!" Sam calls back. He climbs off of me and I mourn the loss of his weight. I sit up and pull my shirt down to cover my stomach.

"You look fucking incredible in my underwear," Sam murmurs with a wry smile, and I swat his arm with a giggle. Tuck knocks again.

"Just wait a minute, will you?!" Sam yells again, his fingers raking through his hair. I grab my skirt and start searching for my purse.

"I put your bag on the night table," Sam whispers and I rush into the bedroom and grab it.

"What do I do?" I ask him, completely flustered. I know I can't handle Tuck finding me here, now, in yesterday's clothes, not to mention Sam's underwear. No, I can't handle the knowing look, or the vulgar teasing. I stare at Sam, desperate for his directive.

"It's fine, Ror. I had them unlock the adjoining door this morning."

I breathe an audible sigh of relief and start to pad toward my room, grateful that Sam had the forethought to get me access. He's like Cam in that way. Always thinking ahead, always considering me and my needs.

Sam grabs my hand as I pass and tugs me back to him before I can make my escape. "This," he gestures between our bodies, "isn't over," he says meaningfully.

I nod helplessly. It's difficult to focus with him shirtless right in front of me.

He releases my hand and I continue to my room, glancing back at Sam and laughing softly when he adjusts himself inside his jeans. I quietly open both doors, and sure enough, they're unlocked. I close them carefully behind me and lean back against mine.

Holy fuck was that intense.

I've never felt such lust.

I've never felt such love.

I jump when I realize I can hear through the hotel room wall.

"Dude, what the actual fuck? What took so long?" Tuck asks, exasperated, his voice barely muffled by the wall between us.

"I just got out of the shower," Sam replies nonchalantly.

I shouldn't listen. Eavesdropping is a terrible habit. My mother said so.

I do it anyway.

"Your hair isn't wet," Tuck observes.

"Did you need something?"

I hear an exasperated sigh. "Dude, Carl is driving me nuts!"

Sam chuckles. "My guess is the feeling is mutual."

"Caaaapppp," Tuck whines.

"What would you like me to do about it?" he asks patronizingly, like he's talking to a child.

"I don't know! Maybe get Pine to talk some sense into her? One minute she's all over me and the next she hates me. And sometimes she's all over me even when she hates me and I don't know what the hell to do with that!" Tuck is as frustrated with his relationship - if you can even call it that - as the rest of us are, apparently.

"Did you try to talk to her about it?" Sam asks rationally.

"Of course not. What am I supposed to say? Stop being a crazy bitch?"

"I wouldn't suggest those exact words, no. But maybe, just maybe, if you admit to her that you care about her as more than a fuck buddy, it might help the situation," Sam suggests.

"I told her she's my favorite hookup!" Tuck says this as if it's some heartfelt declaration of affection.

"Again, not the words I would have suggested," Sam replies. "Well maybe I'm wrong. Is that really all she is to you? Because it doesn't seem like it to me, and I've known you a long time, Tuck."

I hear a long, dramatic sigh. "I can't tell her, Cap," his words now barely audible through the wall.

"Why the hell not?" Now Sam is the one exasperated.

"Well, I don't know," Tuck murmurs sarcastically, "why can't you tell Pine you're totally into her and this whole 'just friends' thing is a fucking joke?"

"Dude, what's between me and Rory is between me and Rory. Mind your own damn business."

"You're asking about me and Carl!"

"Hey. You came here practically beating down my door for advice about Carl, not the other way around," Sam reminds him, and Tuck practically growls in frustration.

"Whatever we'll talk about it later at boys' dinner. Everyone's gonna be down by the pool by now. I gotta go before Carl accuses me of being late because I was picking up some bitch in the lobby or something," he grumbles.  

Sam laughs. "Maybe she wouldn't feel so insecure if you referred to her as more than your 'favorite hookup'," he offers.

"Whatever, Cap, I'm fucked. I just left her fifteen minutes ago and I already fucking miss her."

Well those just might be the sweetest words I've ever heard come out of Tuck.

"That might be the kind of thing she'd like to hear," Sam suggests. Way to go, Sam.

"Yeah, cause chicks are always into pussies."

Sam chuckles and I idly regret that I can't tell Carl about this conversation since I'm only listening to it illicitly and repeating it would be a betrayal to Sam. At least Sam is pushing Tuck to come clean about his feelings, which is the same thing I've been doing with Carl from my end. I also try not to feel giddy about the fact that Tuck said Sam is totally into me and Sam didn't deny it. Idly I wonder if he knows I can hear them or not.

"And speaking of pussies, Kendall and I have a bet going for break. She says you're finally gonna grow a pair and get with Pine, and I say you're still just a pussy, you fucking pussy, so keep bitching out. I've got a hundred bucks riding on it and-"

"Christ will you shut the fuck up about that already, Tuck?" Sam growls, and Tuck laughs, seemingly amused by his friend's irritation.

I never could quite understand how men relate to one another. They're best friends, and Tuck's way of encouraging Sam to pursue me is to call him a fucking pussy. Or not to pursue me, perhaps, since he has money wagered that he won't, apparently. Who knew Kendall would be an ally for me?

"Right, I got it. She's just your friend that you talk about every five minutes. Rory said this today, Rory did that yesterday... Sorry I can't go out with those hot slutty college bitches, Tucker, but I have to tutor Rory for math-"

"God, shut the hell up already! Stop projecting your Carl problems onto me!"

Tuck laughs again and I jump when I hear his footsteps before I remember that I'm hidden in my own room. "Whatever, you coming?" he asks.

"I'll be down in a bit," he replies.

"Yo, speaking of Pine, Carl's all worried because she isn't answering her phone and she was pretty smashed last night. Have you-"

"She's fine."             

Silence.

"I checked on her this morning," Sam explains, and I know that if I can detect the hesitancy in his voice, certainly his best friend can as well.

"I'll bet you did," Tuck teases and I hear the door open and close, then his footsteps pass my door on his way to the elevator.

I jump as the door I'm leaning against is knocked on. "Ror?"

Damn, I don't want Sam to know I've been standing here listening. I tiptoe into the bathroom, turn on the faucet and start to brush my teeth. Sam knocks again, so I walk back and open the door, mouth full of my toothbrush, hoping it will appear that I've been in the bathroom washing up the whole time.

"You okay?" he asks, eyeing me suspiciously.

I nod and turn to go back to the bathroom to spit and rinse. Sam leans on the bathroom door frame.

"So you've just been... brushing your teeth?" he asks, eyes narrowed and full of mirth. He's totally on to me.

I nod anyway, grateful that the rinsing cup hides my lip biting - my insuppressible tell. I am a terrible liar, always have been.

Sam laughs and shakes his head and I'm relieved he finds my fib endearing and not offensive. "Everyone's down at the pool. They're waiting for us."

"Um, okay. I just need to shower and change. I guess I'll meet you down there," I offer.

"Why do you need to shower to go to the beach?" he asks, bemused.

I pass him as I walk to the dresser and start sifting through my clothing for my beach wear. "In case you forgot, I threw up a little last night. I think I could use a shower."

Sam smiles. "I didn't forget anything about last night," he says intently. His gaze has magical powers over me and my blood heats in its wake.

I shake my head. "You need to go. You're too distracting." I push at his chest to urge him back toward his suite. I'm not strong enough to actually move him if he didn't want to let me, but he grudgingly does, walking slowly backward with a half-smirk.

Sam's arm suddenly slings around my waist and pulls me to him. I gasp in surprise as he reaches up and brushes his thumb just under my bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth.

Damn, that's hot. Why is that so hot?

"Toothpaste," he mouths.

I stare up at him, swallowing anxiously. He can see how he's affecting me, and I can see that it pleases him. He does that self-satisfied smirky thing he's been doing lately any time I act like a foolish lovesick puppy, and then plants a simple, chaste kiss on my lips.

"I'll wait for you," he says simply, and then turns me around and gives me a small nudge toward the bathroom for my shower.