TWENTY-TWO

 

P R E S E N T   D A Y

 

SAM KISSES MEfiercely, my entire body alight with desire. He hovers above me, touching me everywhere but where I really need him, his hands roving over my tingling skin.

I love you.

I think the words, because I know I can't say them aloud. I want him more than anything, but still, he doesn't take me.

"Please," I beg, wrapping my legs around his waist, trying to pull him down to me, to get him to align our bodies just right.

"Baby," he groans, and I love the sound more than I should. I lift my hips, but he's still out of reach.

"Oh, God, please!" I plead desperately.

Finally, he enters me slowly, and I cry out in triumphant pleasure.

Our hips rock together in perfect rhythm.

Mustering confidence I never knew I had, I roll so I sit astride him, kissing him with everything I have. It feels so good this way, I think, as we continue to move together.

"Oh, God!" I scream.

 

"Ror!" Sam pleads.

"Rory, wake up!"

My eyes shoot open.

It was only a dream.

I'm gasp in thick air, my body turned on, unaware that it only took place in my subconscious. I'm so disappointed it was just a dream that it takes me a few moments to remember the events that led up to my being asleep, utterly naked, in Sam's arms.

Oh, right. The incredible sex. I blush at the memory, and then again at the memory of the dream.

Well that's new.

I haven't had anything but night terrors since Robin, and I've never had a sex dream in my life, ever. When my eyes finally find Sam's, I realize they swim with worry.

"You okay?" he asks.

I nod, mortified, as if he can know my thoughts.

"You were begging again." His tone is threaded with distress, and it finally registers that he thinks I just had another nightmare.

"I'm fine," I insist, but he's not placated. Of course he's not - I always insist I'm fine.

"Another nightmare?" he asks somberly.

"Um... no, just a- uh, dream," I reply noncommittally.

Sam's eyes narrow. "It didn't sound like just a dream," he accuses, and I know he thinks I'm lying - just trying to brush off a nightmare, and rejecting his empathy. "I thought you said you always have them. That you don't have regular dreams."

He's right, I did tell him that. I shrug. "I don't. I mean, I haven't. But, I guess I was wrong, because it was just a dream, Sam."

He furrows his brow and shakes his head. "But you were begging, like before. You said 'please', and 'Oh my God', and..." he trails off.

I raise my eyebrows, watching midnight blues, waiting for them to dawn with understanding. My skin hums with awareness of our nudity, of his strong arms around me. I have no idea how long I've been asleep, how long ago we made love, but laying here in bed with him, after that dream, I'm having a hard time not climbing on top of him just like in my subconscious fantasy.

"Rory..."

"Yes?" My voice has grown breathy again.

"Was I in this dream by any chance?"

I bite my lip and look up at him through my lashes. "Maybe."

Sam's fingers start trailing up and down my side and he moves so he's on top of me. He captures my mouth in a kiss and I sigh. This is exactly what I wanted. And I can feel that he's in complete agreement with me. In fact, I can feel it against my thigh. I push my tongue into his mouth and deepen the kiss. His hands become more bold, molding my breasts, his lips trailing down my neck, eliciting a lustful moan.

"Tell me about this dream," he urges, pulling back just enough to look at me.

"It's the first good dream I've had in over a year," I whisper.

Sam smiles wistfully. "I'm glad, Ror."

I nod. "Me, too."

"Why do you think that is?" he asks cautiously.

I laugh. "Well, considering the nature of the dream, I think it may have something to do with you," I tease.

"Yeah?" he asks hopefully, and I nod. "So why don't you tell me a little more about this dream?" He smirks as his hands renew their exploration of my overheated skin.

"Hmm..." I pretend to think about it. "Nah."

Sam pouts adorably and I smirk right back at him.

"I could... show you," I offer instead.

His eyes brighten as I push at his chest so he rolls off of me, and I begin to play out my dream.

The real thing is far better.

****

 

I collapse on top of him and catch my breath, my face buried against his neck. I'd never been in charge before, and though I was uncertain at first, Sam guided me, and, God, he certainly knows what he's doing.

"I think I have a new favorite pastime," Sam drawls as he catches his breath.

I giggle. "I'm pretty sure sex is every guy's favorite pastime."

Sam lets out a short chuckle. "Not just sex, baby. Though I'm not gonna lie, I've always been a fan," he says through a smirk. "It's watching you come apart under me, or on top of me, or-"

"Sam!" I cut him off, playfully slapping at his chest, but I can't help another giggle.

He grins. "I mean it. It's the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen." He throws his head back onto his pillow with a sigh.

I both love and hate these incredibly romantic comments. I wonder if he'd be so recklessly saying such things if he knew how I felt about him. Probably not. He'd probably be running in the opposite direction.

"Don't say things like that," I whisper, careful to hide my face against his shoulder.

"Why the hell not? It's the truth," he retorts.

I sigh, scooting off of him and under the duvet, suddenly very aware of my nudity. Sam turns to face me, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw, his eyes cautious. "You have no idea what you do to me," he says carefully, gazing at me intently.

"Yeah? And what's that?" I ask under an arched brow.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a half smile. "You make me feel fucking invincible."

I burst into a fit of giggles. "How the hell do I do that?"

Sam slides under the duvet and leans on his elbow. "Well, we both know you're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen-"

I open my mouth to argue, but he presses his index finger to my lips to shush me.

"You tell me things you don't tell anyone else. I love that. You let me touch you, you let me hug you, hold you. Then you kissed me last night. That was fucking awesome, even if you were drunk off your ass. That kiss alone would've made my whole trip. But now, you let me make you come. I gave you your first-"

"Jesus, Sam!" I try to stop him, because though every word he says is true, he is mortifying me.

"Shh, don't interrupt. Your first orgasm." He licks his lips so subtly I'm sure it was completely subconscious. "No one can take that away from me, you know. And..." He pauses and his smile becomes less smug and more wistful. "You let me take away your bad dreams." 

I don't say anything. He did. He took away my nightmares.

But Sam's smile shifts back into a smirk. "And not only that, but if I recall correctly, it wasn't one, but..." he bites his lip and pretends to count before holding up three fingers, counting how many times he got me off. "And counting," he adds with a devilish grin.

I blush bright red, but I can't help but laugh. "Sam, my God!" I admonish, but his smirk only grows.

"Exactly my point," he teases. "And when you say that when you're about to come, baby girl, I feel like a fucking god," he drawls as he plops dramatically down onto his pillow, and I'm caught between a fit of giggles and extreme humiliation.

I throw my forearm over my face, unable to look at him. "I guess you kinda are a god in that respect," I murmur. I'm enjoying his ego right now, happy to please him when he's done so much for me. Sam pulls my arm away and I find him looking down at me with wide eyes. "In what respect?" he asks excitedly, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

I bite my lip, trying on my own smirk. "In bed," I say with a shrug, totally nonchalant.

A growl rumbles from his throat and he bends to kiss me deeply, and I kiss him back eagerly, happy to redeem my reward for playing this game with him. For being truthful instead of drowning in embarrassment.

"You sure know what to say to a guy, Ror. Tell me how big I am again," he demands playfully and I laugh.

We kiss, and laugh, and kiss some more.

I can't believe how comfortable I feel with Sam. I never thought I could feel this way, not with anyone. Not even before Robin.

"Do we really have to go to separate dinners tonight?" I whine, wincing when I realize how clingy I sound.

"Hmm... We can ditch our friends... Stay right here, order room service," Sam suggests, brushing my hair off of my shoulder before cautiously pressing his lips to my collar bone. My skin tingles. How does he know how to find these secret spots? My fingers comb through his hair all on their own accord.

"That sounds real good," I murmur shyly, not quite sure how serious he actually was, but the idea of spending the evening the same way we spent the afternoon is too appealing to simply brush off.

Sam's responding grin tells me he wasn't kidding. "Say the word, Ror, I'll text Tuck right now and make up an excuse."

I bite my lip, considering it. "If we both make up excuses to ditch them, they'll know somethin's up, Sam." I don't bother concealing my disappointment. "They'll think you and me are..." I trail off. They'll think we're what? Hooking up? Something more? I don't even know what we're doing.

"I got news for you, baby - they already know. I'm pretty sure they knew before we even did," Sam retorts matter of factly.

I groan. I hate the idea of anyone knowing my personal business, especially something as private and intimate as getting physical with Sam. It's not like they'd think we're just making out. The still-vivid memory of nasty names being sprayed onto my driveway comes unbidden to my mind and I cringe.

"Come on, Ror," he says gently, "even if they hadn't already noticed something was up, it's not like we can hide it indefinitely, right? I mean, I can't just not kiss you now that I know how fucking great your mouth tastes." He leans in and proves his point.

Tuck and Carl are technically just hooking up, and they're as likely to engage in public displays of affection as any real couple, although they're also fairly likely to engage in combative arguments as well. Why should I have to resist the same affections with Sam?

And who am I kidding? Carl already knows something - she has since the beginning. And the fact is, I'm not sure I wouldn't want to tell her myself. I'm so confused, I need someone to talk to, and apart from Sam himself, Carl is the best friend I've got.

I sigh. "Yeah, you're right."

Sam smiles in triumph. "So does this mean you're going to let me kiss you in public, or that you'll ditch our friends to hole up in a hotel room with me tonight?" he asks, wide eyes brimming with promise.

"Hmm... I'm not sure. Maybe both, maybe neither," I tease with a shrug. I'm vaguely aware that last year, being holed up in a hotel room with my boyfriend was my greatest fear, and now...

He's not your boyfriend, Rory!

I wince at my own reminder. No, he most certainly is not.

But what is he? What are we? I don't ask him. I can't. I know enough about guys like him to understand that right now we are probably just friends who have just incorporated some kind of "benefits" into the relationship, and asking him to define us would probably ruin the whole thing. Though Sam isn't really like those guys - he's not like any other guy really. But still, I can't risk it. Because, as he said, at least to me, he is a freaking god, with the power to quell my night terrors, and make my body sing. Not to mention my heart.

"Come on, we can order a movie, your choice," he tries to convince me, as if a movie is as appealing as what we did this afternoon.

"Does the room service menu have coffee ice cream?" I ask.

Sam grins. "I bet it does. And if not, I'll get someone to go out and get some for you, deal?" he asks hopefully.

I pretend to mull it over. "Okay, fine," I agree.

I'm rewarded with another kiss, and I allow myself to melt into it, into him.

We're startled out of it by knocking. Sam groans and slides out of bed, grabbing a pair of boxers from the drawer I raided the night before, and pulling them on on the way to the door. I follow him, slipping on the shirt he wore this morning and my bathing suit bottoms. He looks through the peephole and shrugs.

"Nobody's there," he says, and I blink at him, perplexed.

Knock, knock.

Oh, shit. It's my door.

"That's your room, Ror. It's probably housekeeping. Why don't you let them in. Just hang out here while they clean," he suggests.

I pad through the adjoining doors and am about to pull open my door when I decide to peek through the peep hole. I jump back.

Knock, knock, knock!

I hurry back to Sam, taking care not to make noise.

"It's Carl!" I loud-whisper. Surprise widens Sam's eyes.

"Rory! Wake up! I have your phone and I need to talk!" Carl calls through the door.

"She and Tuck have some seriously bad fucking timing," Sam grumbles.

I bite my lip to stifle a giggle and push up on my tip toes to kiss him. "I have to let her in. She needs to talk."

Sam's bottom lip pouts his disappointment, so I kiss it. "I'll be back," I whisper, and turn to go back to my room.

Sam swats my behind. "You better be, baby girl."

I practically swoon. I love his pet names. I was never such a sucker for endearments. Even before things with Robin got bad, his sweethearts and his darlin's never felt this sincere, and definitely never gave me this rush.

"Roryyyy!" Carl whines through the door.

I swing it open. "Jesus, Carl, I was sleepin'!" I lie, my lip involuntarily sliding through my teeth.

"Well wake up, you need to start getting ready for dinner soon anyway, and I need to bitch about Tuck," she mutters. I lead her to sit with me on the sofa in the living area. Carl has already showered and blown out her chic blonde hair, which she's flattened straight, though she hasn't done her makeup for tonight. She's in sweatpants and a pink tank top, clearly in lounge mode before what I assume she expects to be another wild night out on spring break. She hands me the beach bag I left behind when I ran after Sam earlier.

"What'd he do now?" I ask.  

Carl sighs dramatically. "I don't know what the fuck to do with him anymore, Rory, I swear. After the beach we all went back to our rooms to shower and whatever and Tina wanted to go see Andrew so I went with her, but Tuck wasn't there. So I went down to the lobby thinking he'd be by the bar or the pool or something, and these drunk guys started talking to me. They were such dicks, they started hitting on me in the stupidest way, and I blew them off, and when I walk away, I see Tuck over by the gift shop giving me the dirtiest look, and he comes over and starts accusing me of looking for a hookup! From those drunk fucking assholes!"

Carl continues to rant about how Tuck gave her shit about being an "independent woman" who doesn't need a man and saying she acts all tough, and asking why he bothers wasting his time hooking up with "some bitch who obviously thinks she can do better". She's really upset. Idly I wonder if the "assholes" who hit on her in the lobby are the same group that I met in the elevator.

But Carl doesn't seem to realize that Tuck's accusations are just manifestations of his insecurities about their relationship. "Carl, honestly, you guys are driving each other crazy, and your friends too for that matter. He cares about you. In fact, I'll bet he's missin' you right now. I think he's probably in love with you, which is why he freaks out when he sees you talking to other guys."

"I was blowing them off! You know, when we first started hooking up, he was the one fucking other people, not me. I haven't so much as kissed another guy in like a year!" she argues.

"Does he even know that?"

"No. I mean, I don't know what he knows, but I haven't advertised it. It would freak him out."

"It wouldn't freak him out, Carl. In fact I think it would make him real happy to know that," I counter.

"Yeah, because guys just love it when their casual hook-ups get all clingy and committed," she spits sarcastically. I laugh, I can't help it. She sounds so much like Tuck saying that girls don't like "pussies". I can't help but think that if Carl got a little clingy and Tuck acted a little like a pussy, they might find happiness together.

"Do you think he'd get all upset about you talkin' to other guys - even if you were just blowin' them off - if he doesn't want more with you? Honestly, if you were just a casual hookup, why wouldn't you be allowed to talk to whoever you wanted?"

Carl sighs, and her eyes start to glisten. She's holding back tears, and it's the most emotional I've ever seen her on her own behalf. I've seen her get worked up for friends - for me even - but never over her own personal life. I slide closer to her and slip my arm around her shoulders.

"He said I'm his favorite hookup, Rory. That's it. He could have said whatever he wanted, and that's what he said." She swipes at her cheek before her tear can fall too far. I rub her arm in comfort.

"And did you tell him how you feel? Or did you just say the same bullshit?"

"Same bullshit," she breathes.

I nod. "Tell him how you feel. Just tell him. You guys are two, normal, eighteen year olds. There's no reason you can't have what you want." Unlike me, I think sadly to myself. "I think he loves you. I do. And I'm pretty sure you feel the same way. And if not, then what do you have to lose? You two are miserable like this. You should be together. For real."

I expect Carl to argue, to deny she loves him, and to insist she can't say these things to him, but she doesn't. She just sits there for a few moments, taking in my words. I sincerely hope that they can work this out. That they can find happiness.

Again, I think about how much I hate Robin for stealing that opportunity from me, possibly for life. For making me a hypocrite. Because whatever advice I give Carl, I can't follow myself. I can't tell Sam how I feel, because even if he could love me back someday, how long could it possibly last before I freak out again and scare him away? How could I ever be capable of a normal relationship? I need to remind myself of this, again and again, because after an afternoon like the one I just had, it becomes easy to forget.

"I'm glad we're having a girls' dinner tonight," Carl rallies to pull herself together. "I could use some girl time to figure this shit out. Before seeing Tuck later, I mean."

I feel my evening holed up with Sam slip through my fingers.

Carl's eyes narrow suddenly. "Hey, what ever happened before? Did you ever find Cap? He wasn't taking Tuck or Dave's calls."

Heat creeps over my skin, and I worry my friend knows me well enough by now to notice. I reach into my bag and pull out Sam's phone in explanation. "He asked me to hold it for him earlier. So I guess you had it."

Carl's glare doesn't waver. "You didn't answer my question. Did you find him? What have you been doing all this time? Just sleeping?" Her questions come out as an accusation and I'm quite sure they were meant to. Her eyes skate down my body. "Rory... is that Cap's shirt?"

Oh, shit.

My blush returns with a vengeance and I chew on my bottom lip, thinking of what to tell her. I do want to talk to her. And I do trust her. I know she won't repeat anything I confide, not even to Tina. She's proven that time and time again.

"I found him. You were right, he was fine, just needed a little time," I murmur.

"And...?"

"And what?" I play dumb.

"Did something finally happen with you two last night? Dave said you left the bar with him, but I didn't think anything of it since you're always with him, but you're being all blushy now so...?"

"I kissed him," I confess.

Carl's eyes go saucer-round and her eyebrows shoot into her hairline. "You what? Holy shit, Rory! I would've bet my life he'd be the one to make the first move! Tell me everything that happened last night!"

I take a deep breath. "Well actually he stopped it," I admit. "I mean, he kissed me back at first, but then he stopped it. Oh God, and then I got sick! I threw up all over his bathroom!"

"No!"

"Yes!" I cover my face with my palms and flood with shame at the memory.

"Oh my God, I can't believe he stopped it! That makes no sense. I was sure he was totally into you. I mean I know he doesn't really do the girlfriend thing - his rule and all - but honestly, I thought it'd be different with you." Carl openly ponders my very personal life. "At the very least I was sure he'd jump at the chance to get you into bed!" We both giggle. "What'd he do when you threw up?"  

I smile faintly. "He held my hair and helped me clean up. And then slept on the couch in his suite so he could 'keep an eye' on me."

"Aww, that's so sweet," Carl gushes.

"Yeah," I grumble. "But that wasn't the only part of him I wanted on me."

Carl cracks up, and I follow her, our hysterical girlish laugher echoing around the luxurious hotel room.

"Well at least you finally admit it! But I still can't believe he turned you down. It doesn't make any sense."

"This morning he said it was because I was drunk. He said he was worried I'd regret it."

Carl nods, as if it explains everything. "And...?" she prompts.

I sigh. "We kissed."

Carl shrieks. "I fucking knew it! And...?!"

"And it was unbelievable. But then we got interrupted and went down to the pool to join you guys-"

"Right, where Cap nearly killed Dave basically for being Dave, yeah, I was there. And then you chased after him, and then...?" she urges me to continue. She knows there's more. She knows me well.

"I found him in his room. We talked. And..." I sigh again, resting my head on my bent knee. "God, Carl, we hooked up. It was amazing," I practically swoon again at the thought of him.

Carl grins. "We're talking sex, just to be clear, right?"

I nod my confirmation.

"Oh my God, Rory! He's so fucking hot! I bet he was incredible, was he incredible?" she gushes.

"Honestly, I don't really have much to compare to, but... yeah, he's a god," I admit.

"Holy fucking shit. If Tucker only knew what I was picturing right now..."

"Hey!"

"Sorry," she murmurs sheepishly, "but can you blame me?"

"Yes!"

"Fine, whatever. Hey, it wasn't your first time, was it?" she asks.

"Not exactly," I reply, my voice barely more than a whisper. Carl has seen my overreactions to accidental touches, she's seen me nearly panic on occasion, but she doesn't know details.

"How do you mean? You can't be half a virgin," she says gently.

I shake my head. "No, I wasn't a virgin. But... my ex, it was different than it was with Sam, that's all." I chicken out. Part of me wants to tell her about Robin, but most of me just wants to forget.

Carl considers me. I'm not sure if she's buying my explanation. "Do you think you and Cap will, like, be together now? Did you talk about it?" she asks instead.

I shake my head. "No, I don't know what he wants, but like you said, he doesn't do the girlfriend thing. And I'm not girlfriend material anyway," I mutter defeatedly.

"That's ridiculous, Rory," she argues.

"Come on, Carl, you know I have issues. Maybe you don't know the whole story, but you've seen the scars, and you haven't seen the half of it. It could never work out. He knows I'm fucked up, and no one would want that, not for real. And even if he could, he deserves better." I outline the ice-cold, stone-hard facts.

"Rory-"

I hold up my hand to stop her. I don't need platitudes confusing me more right now. "I don't want to talk about it, okay? Look, I know my limitations, and so does Sam. I don't know what will happen after break, I just know being with him makes me happy, and I just want to enjoy that as long as I can, you know?"

Carl nods. "I get what you're saying, Rory, and if you don't want to talk about it, then we won't. But for the record, I think you're wrong."

I don't respond. What would be the point? She doesn't know how screwed up I really am, so she can't understand why Sam and I could never happen, not for real, and just debating it is making my heart ache in the worst way. After such a wonderful afternoon, I was in such good spirits, and I don't want to be brought down.

"Alright you, I need to shower and get ready if we're going out," I say, shaking off the melancholy that threatens to overtake my mood. Carl glances at her watch and jumps up.

"Damn, we're meeting in the lobby in an hour and I haven't started my makeup!" she yelps.

I laugh. I have to shower, dry my hair, and get dressed in the same hour she's concerned about completing her makeup. The truth is I could be ready in twenty minutes.

I see her out and walk back to Sam's suite to give him the bad news about tonight, but the way he's standing there staring at me makes me think he might already know.

"No room service?" he says with a disappointed pout.

I shake my head in confirmation. "Carl needs girl time and I owe her, she's always there for me."

Sam closes the distance between us and slides an arm around my waist. "Yeah I know." He leans down to kiss my hair. "But I don't have to be happy about it."

I laugh. "We're all meeting up after dinner anyway," I offer in consolation, to him or myself I'm not sure. "Wait, how did you know our night in was canceled?" I narrow my eyes at him. "Eavesdropper!"

A chuckle bursts free from his chest. "Hey! At least I admit it! And at least I stopped listening when you started talking about me," he adds with a wry smile.

"I have no idea what you're talkin' about," I tease, biting my lip to suppress my telltale smile.

"Is that so, baby girl?" he says softly, bending at the knees so we're eye to eye. My breath catches in my throat. He really is stunning. "So you telling Carl that you bet Tuck misses her right now, that was just a coincidence?" he asks, his eyes alight with humor.

I try to come up with some witty response, but with Sam's face so close to mine, all I can focus on are his full, pink lips, slightly swollen from a day's worth of kisses. "I... may have inadvertently overheard a small part of your conversation," I whisper.

Sam grins triumphantly. "That's what I thought," he breathes, and leans down for a kiss, but I pull away at the last second as retribution for forcing my confession.

"Hmm, well I guess I need to go shower and get ready for my girls' night," I tease, and turn to walk back to my room, intentionally giving him time to stop me, which he does by grabbing my hand and yanking me back to him. I laugh.

"Girls' dinner," he corrects, and then kisses me in earnest, liquefying my knees and making me reconsider prioritizing my friendship with Carl over a night in with him.

He pulls away with a satisfied smirk, clearly pleased with my punch-drunk reaction. "Hurry up, beautiful girl, I've got to be down there in less than an hour and I need to kiss you some more before dinner to hold me over."

I nod and wordlessly head back to my room to take my shower.

I want to hurry, as he'd instructed, but if I plan to be intimate with him again tonight, I have to make this a utility shower. My bikini line is waxed, but I take the time to go over my legs with my razor carefully, knowing that if the evening goes the way I hope, his hands will be all over them in just a few long hours.

I don't bother drying my hair, instead I sit out on the balcony, allowing the wind to dry it into beachy waves, and light the cigarette I bummed from Dave last night, but never got around to smoking. Fortunately it was still in my bag, unbroken.

I try not to think too much about this thing with Sam and me. I know if I analyze it any more, I will just come to the same conclusion I've already come to time and time again. That it is temporary and I will end up be hurt. But right now, on spring break, I intend to enjoy every minute of it I can - this small taste of a normal, happy, future that simply isn't in the cards for me, thanks to Robin Forbes.

I slip on a white sun dress and dress it up with a thin black belt around my waist. I pair it, as usual, with my black motorcycle boots. It's a little short for me, but it comes to mid-thigh, and I know it will be longer than anything the other girls have on tonight.

I know I won't look nearly as dolled up as I did last night without Carl's cosmetic expertise, but it doesn't really matter. I feel more comfortable in just a little mascara and lip gloss anyway, and it isn't as if Sam didn't already know what was under all that powder and shine.

When I'm satisfied that I'm presentable enough, I knock timidly on the adjoining door to Sam's suite, not wanting to catch him getting dressed. Well, maybe that's not true, but knowing it would be impolite to just barge in as if I had some inherent right to be there.

Sam opens the door with an inquisitive look, as if he disagrees that I should have hesitated to just walk on in, but his expression changes immediately as he looks me over. He's in jeans, the waistband of his boxer briefs peeking out from the top, and nothing else, making it impossible to look away from the taut muscles of his perfect pecs and six pack.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around me. I sigh, breathing in the clean scent of a freshly showered Sam. He's freaking delicious. "Let me just grab my shirt." He releases me and heads back into the bedroom. I see his tablet sitting on the coffee table and remember I need to email my mom to check in since my forgotten phone died in my beach bag hours earlier.

"Can I use your iPad to email my mom?" I sit on the sofa and pick it up.

"Sure," he calls from the bedroom, "just, uh, wait a minute-"

Sam rushes out to me, but it's too late, I'm already powering it on, and my heart stops the instant the screen lights up.

"Ror-"

"What the fuck?" I breathe.

I jump up from my seat and stare with wide, horror-filled eyes, as Robin's deceptively boyishly-handsome face smiles at me from his Facebook page. Shock bursts from my throat in a gasp as the tablet tumbles from my trembling hands, and I close my eyes and start counting backwards in an attempt to control my racing pulse.

It all comes crashing back - the terror and the hopelessness - and I flinch away from the hand on my shoulder. My eyes spring open, and I stumble and nearly fall to the ground before catching myself on the arm of the sofa. Sam is beside himself, his face drenched with worry, at a loss for what to do with me. He reaches out to touch me again, and I take a cautious step back. I don't know why. I know he won't hurt me, but I can't think straight right now, and my instinct is to protect myself.

Sam backs up a few small steps, his hands held up in surrender. I close my eyes again and shake my head, trying to pull myself together.

Nothing's changed, I remind myself. I'm in Sam's room. Sam, my friend. My something more. He wouldn't hurt me. Robin isn't here. It's only his picture. He can't hurt me now.

But why the fuck is Sam's Facebook account open to Robin's page?

I take a deep breath and lean on the arm of the sofa. I should sit. I should calm down. But I can't. I need to stay on my feet. I'm jumping out of my own skin, and I can’t escape the feeling that I need to be ready to run.

"Rory, it's okay," Sam says carefully. "I'm sorry-"

"Why?" I demand, desperate to know why I've just been made to look into the hazel eyes that not only haunt my nightmares, but my every goddamn waking moment.

"I didn't mean for you-"

"Why?!"

"Fuck, Rory, I'm sorry! I didn't mean for you to see that. I was just... curious. I knew his first name and the town you're from. After everything you told me this morning... I just- wanted to look him up, that's all," he shrugs.

That's all? Is he serious?! "I don't want him to be a part of this," I mutter in frustration.

Sam's brow furrows. "A part of what?"

"Us!" I shout. Oh, shit, I didn't mean to say that. There is no us, not really. I rake my fingers through my hair. "I mean... us - our friends, and my life now. Just all of it. I'm trying to move on," I backtrack.

Sam takes a cautious step toward me and when I don't retreat, he takes another. "He's not, Ror," he whispers. "I'm sorry. Please don't let this upset you. I just wanted to know what he looked like; I never meant for you to have to see his photo," he assures me. His fingers tentatively trace my cheek, and I turn into his touch automatically.

"That part of my life is over, Sam. He's nothing, he doesn't matter," I murmur, trying to convince myself as much as him.

Midnight blue flashes with resentment. "How can you say that? Look what he's done to you, Rory! You can't even see his photo without nearly panicking!"

I narrow my eyes at him. "I thought you said you were just curious?" I accuse. "But now it sounds like more than that, Sam, so I'll ask you again. Why were you lookin' him up? What are you plannin'?"I try to sound calm, but my heart thumps in my chest like a snare drum. I know this man, and I know this isn't just casual curiosity. His face is hard, impassive. After all the details I admitted this morning about all the things Robin did to me, Sam is not simply curious. I recognize the same thing I saw in Cam's eyes the night I told him the same thing. Wrath.

This is why I didn't want to tell him in the first place.

"I'm not planning anything, Rory," he says carefully, and though my gut tells me he isn't lying, he isn't telling me everything either.

But it's not his job to protect me and it certainly isn't his job to avenge me. Nothing good can come of this, only pain and loss - two things I can bear no more of.

"You'll swear to me you ain't goin' after him?" I mean to come across as foreboding, but instead I sound desperate and childish. I may as well ask him to pinky swear.  

Sam doesn't respond at first, he just glares at me. "I told you I'm not planning anything," he repeats.

"That ain't what I asked!" I shout.

His fingers shove roughly through his hair. "I don't know what you want to hear, Rory! I fucking hate him! I hate what he did to you, and I hate that he just got away with it!"

"He didn't-"

"Don't you tell me again about his stupid fucking scholarship! He deserves to be in jail! He deserves to be fucking dead!" Sam's eyes flame with contempt, his muscles tense with hatred.

"It ain't your job to mete out punishment, Sam! I don't want you to!"

I can't let him put himself at risk. Doesn't he understand that he's the one who could end up hurt or in jail if he went after Robin? Or worse? I couldn't handle losing him! Doesn't he get that?!

We glare at each other for several moments until my eyes glisten with tears. He's grappling internally, it's palpable, but I don't care. This isn't his fight.

Finally he sighs, exhaling his defeat. "I wasn't planning anything, Rory. I wasn't going after him, but that doesn't mean I don't want to," he says slowly.

"I don't want you diggin' into my past. It's got nothin' to do with you," I say equally carefully.

Sam winces, like I've offended him. He watches me for a few moments, and I can see the cogs turning in his mind as he considers me. I've never wished I could read someone's thoughts as much as I do right now.

He chews the inside of his cheek and swallows, immediately putting me on edge. "Tell me something. Why is it I couldn't find this best friend of yours on any social media sites? This Cam?"

Pressure seizes my chest. Why the hell was he looking up Cam?

"What?" It comes out as a gasp, and this makes Sam suspicious. But I can't talk about Cam - not with him - not with anyone. I don't even talk about him with Dr. Schall.

Sam shrugs, but his expression is anything but casual. "Like I said, I was curious. And I couldn't find anyone anywhere close to our year that could go by that name."

My voice lodges in my throat, and I just blink at him, half in shock.

"What am I missing, Rory? How does someone go from your best friend who photographs your injuries for the police, to just abandoning you? It doesn't make sense," he accuses. What he's accusing me of, though, I've no idea, but I still can't form words. The mention of Cam has my pulse flying somewhere in outer space, and my heart in ruins.

My fingers gingerly feel the purse strap on my shoulder, because it contains my pills, and I just need the reminder that they are there.

"Are you and this Cam more than just best friends, Rory?" Sam asks, his voice deceptively softer.

"I... We..." I stammer like an idiot, trying to figure out how to explain what I don't even know myself.

Sam chews on his bottom lip and nods as if I just made some kind of confession. I can guess what he's thinking, but I can neither confirm nor deny anything. I can do nothing more than stand here like a pathetic fool.

"And what would he say if he knew what you and I were up to all afternoon?" Sam asks, devoid of any discernible emotion.

I narrow my eyes, scowling in what is obviously a defensive maneuver, but it's all I can do. I take a deep breath. "He wouldn't be pleased," I snap. No, as it turned out, I know now that Cam wanted me for himself.

Sam's eyes narrow even further. We seem to be at a standstill, and I don't know what to do. I don't want to fight with him, but I don't know how to fix it. This is none of his business, damn it! This is no one's business!  

"I see," Sam mutters quietly.

"No, you don't!"

"Then make me, Rory! Make me understand!"

But I can't. Beads of sweat break out on the tip of my nose and forehead. My breaths come too fast, too shallow, and I try to get ahold of my emotions. "Calculus," I whisper.

Sam's mouth drops open, his eyebrows raise in astonishment. "Seriously?"

I say nothing. My fingers drift to my purse, making out the shape of my pill bottle and grabbing it through the thin fabric, just feeling the shape of it, reminding myself again that I have them.

Sam's gaze follows my hand and he winces. He shoves both hands through his hair, one after the other before closing his eyes and shaking his head once. "Whatever, Rory, forget it," he murmurs defeatedly.

I open my mouth to speak, but words evade me and we just stare at each other.

And this, I remind myself, is why we can never have anything real. I knew, at some point, I would fuck it up. My scars run too deep. Like Sam said, I can't even look at a photo of Robin without panicking, and how is that normal? And even that - it's just a symptom of greater damage. Because Sam has a right to ask questions, if we were going to be something more, but I can't give him answers. Not all the answers he wants.

And I can't even handle the inquisition without relying on medication, and how is that fair? How is it fair that Sam must concede because I cry mercy with a safe word or by feeling for a pill bottle? How could he not resent that? Even I resent it.

This was always going to be temporary. I've known it all along. Sure, I hoped it would have lasted for more than twelve freaking hours - at least for spring break - but better to let go now. If I'm this attached already, imagine how far gone I'd be in three more days? I try to convince myself of this again and again, though in my heart I already know I'm as in love with him as I could ever be. That there's no coming back now. The thought hurts, but what difference does it make?

He could never have returned my feelings anyway. I know the pain is coming, but I don't cry. Not in front of him. Right now, I force myself to feel numb, because I don't deserve any more of his sympathy.

My only hope now is that we can still stay friends. I told him he was my best friend, and it's true. I can't handle losing him. Not completely.

My phone buzzes and I hastily grab it from my bag, glad for the distraction, needing an excuse to break our mutually turbulent gaze. Because his eyes see everything - they have since the moment we met.

It's Carl. I'm late. Which mean Sam is, too.

"It's, uh, Carl," I say shakily. "I gotta go. I'm makin' us late." My voice is barely more than a whisper. I don't meet his gaze again. I can't. I sniffle, trying to disguise it as a sneeze, and turn away before my tears become noticeable.

"Rory," Sam breathes.

I stop, but don't turn, waiting, giving him a chance to say whatever it was he wanted to say.

But he doesn't. And after a couple moments, I just continue back to my own room and close the door behind me.

I lock it.