TWENTY-FIVE

 

P R E S E N T   D A Y

 

SAM HAS HELD me tighter and tighter as I regaled him with the story of the worst fucking day of my life. Now, I lay in his arms as I tell him how at first I clung to that untethered feeling, as agonizing as it was, because it felt as if I could leave the world along with Cam. But as the minutes went by and reality sunk in - that he was really gone, but that I was still stuck here, in a world with no Cam, but one with Robin Forbes - I couldn't breathe. The feeling of injustice was despairing, the fear of having to deal with Robin without Cam's support terrifying, but the simple knowledge that I would have to continue to exist in that world was utterly unbearable.

I don't remember the rest of that day. I woke up more than twenty-four hours later, still in the hospital, but admitted as a patient. Cam's mom never left my side, and I found out later that when my parents arrived late that first night, she informed them of everything that happened. When my father tried to brush off my outburst as a grief induced rant, my mother was horrified. My father admitted what I'd told him earlier that week. He recited the same response he'd given me - that it must have been a misunderstanding, that I'd asked for it by dressing in "skimpy skirts", and that Robin loves me and would never have intentionally hurt me.

My mother threw him out of the house as soon as I was released from the hospital and he went to go stay with the Forbes, in the same bedroom, in fact, in which Robin stole my virginity and forced himself on me all those other times.

Two weeks passed before Robin was arrested. The rumors started before I even left the hospital and Robin was sure to build the foundation for his defense early. His story was that we'd gotten into an argument on Friday and he broke up with me, which is why I didn't accompany him to Gainesville. My accusation that he'd hurt me was simply my revenge for his dumping me, mixed with grief over Cam's death. The story was that I was being irrational - misplacing my grief - and my panic attack and consequential hospitalization, along with the fact that I didn't speak to anyone for more than a week after Cam died... people took Robin at his word.

At the same time though, Robin spread the word that he still loved me. That we were going to get back together. I didn't know it then, but he was laying the groundwork to explain the text messages. The thing that was "maybe a little extreme" that happened on Friday did not refer to raping me in the school locker room, but to breaking up with me. It helped his story that he really did try to get back with me. Again and again.

But I didn't hear about any of that until later. After I was released from the hospital, I holed up in Cam's bedroom, and didn't leave for nearly two whole weeks. I didn't speak to anyone for the first week, except brief one word exchanges with Michelle or my mother. I had no idea what was even going on in the outside world until Chip came to visit me.

That was when I first realized how fucked up I was. When my friend since childhood entered Cam's bedroom and I cowered in a corner, terrified of being alone with him. Chip was horrified, but he was one of the few people who believed me. He'd seen my wrist and my neck in the hospital, and he knew me, he knew I was telling the truth.

Chip didn't know how to handle me, which wasn't surprising since I didn't know how to handle myself. He cooed at me, bargained with me, and in the end, shouted at me that I needed to make my statement about Robin. He yelled at me that I was letting Robin spread these rumors about me, and that I was just letting him get away with it. And while I was too petrified to even leave my corner, let alone respond to him, I knew he was right.

The problem was, with Cam gone, making Robin pay for what he did to me didn't feel as important anymore. If I'm being honest, nothing felt important with him gone. Everything just felt so... empty. Hopeless.

Once I even imagined - no, not imagined, fantasized about - Robin coming back for me and strangling me, but not stopping this time. It would solve everything, I thought. Robin would be put away for murder and I would be with Cam. I don't tell Sam this though.

I do tell him how Chip came to visit me again the following day, and finally got through to me when he reminded me that Cam would never want me to let Robin get away with this. That Cam risked his life to make Robin pay for what he did to me, and ended up losing it. It was all Robin's fault.

It woke me from my daze. Blaming Robin was all I had, and getting justice gave me a purpose. A reason to continue to exist when the only person who mattered to me was gone. It lit a fire in me, forcing my mind onto this single track, and I clung to it desperately. Because I knew if I allowed myself to think it through, I would return to my initial conclusion - the real truth: that Robin wasn't the one responsible for Cam's death. I was.

I'd let Robin do what he did to me again and again. I'd gone back for more. And then, only when I feared for my life did I confide in my best friend. My best friend who had been insanely protective of me for as long as I could remember. Who I knew loved me fiercely, even if I didn't yet know he was in love with me.

And I didn't protect him. When it counted, I let him fall victim to my own weakness, and risk his life. And lose it.

I finally made my statement to Sheriff Chipley after those weeks, in Cam's bedroom, with Michelle present, but not my mom. I couldn't bear to be alone in a room with a man, even a man I should trust, but I also couldn't allow my mother to hear the details. It was a selfish thing, putting Cam's mom through hearing all that when she was grieving for her only son, but I wasn't thinking straight at the time.

My injuries had mostly faded by then, and there was no forensic evidence that Robin had done anything at all. Even the evidence they collected when I was unconscious in the hospital was circumstantial, save for the bite marks, which Robin claimed were just a result of "rough sex", which he claimed I had a thing for. And this, too, made its way around the entire town.

After Robin was arrested, I went from being a crazy girl who reacted irrationally to a tragic loss, to someone who was threatening the life and career of the town's beloved golden boy.

I was a pariah.

A few days after I finally made my statement, I had to go into the station to file the restraining order. My mom had to be in court, and I insisted I was fine to drive myself. And I almost was. But Lacey and my "friends" were waiting for me when I left, hurling awful accusations, and I ran back into the station and hid until the sheriff drove me home. When he dropped me off at my house, the car door was locked, and when he turned to me, probably just to offer some words of comfort, I panicked, hyperventilated, and ended up back in the hospital for two more days.

The harassment worsened. I had to delete any social media accounts, and leave school permanently, not that I was well enough to attend. My mother had to take an immediate leave of absence from work to homeschool me before I got too behind to finish the year.

I couldn't even go to Cam's funeral.

The entire town was there, Chip later told me, and though Michelle offered to have a private service - just family, me and a few of Cam's closest friends - I couldn't be that selfish.

My selfishness had cost Cam his life.

In the end, I sobbed hysterically in Cam's bed, hugging his pillow, sniffing it frantically, desperate to inhale what remained of his scent, while the town that hated me said goodbye to the boy who loved me.

Michelle had found photos of my injuries on Cam's phone from the night before he died, taken while I'd been asleep, and they are the only reason Robin didn't get off completely scot-free. They are what got the judge to sign my restraining order, and despite the best efforts of Robin's father and mine, they couldn't cover everything up. But the case wasn't strong enough, and even my mother, who acted as my lawyer, knew our best hope was a plea deal. My father, being the DA, of course, is the one who negotiated the deal, and there was nothing either my mother or I could do about it.

Robin agreed not to fight the restraining order if he could get away with community service and probation, and I couldn't risk losing the restraining order. Without it I had no he'd never leave me alone. Ever.

But before the judge signed it, my father summoned me to the DA's office and distracted my mother with legal paperwork while he set me up in a conference room that Robin just happened to wander into. He begged me to drop the whole thing and take him back. He still loved me, he said, he'd do anything to win me back. He was "so sorry" I was upset, and he would never do anything to upset me again. He was careful not to admit to any specifics, though, about how it was that he'd upset me. He accused me of "ruining both our lives", insisted that we were "meant to be together" - that I was going to be his wife one day and I just needed to trust him. But I barely even heard him, I was too busy crying and hyperventilating against the wall in debilitating terror.

My cries and screams echoed throughout the office, pouring out of the room, and when my father tried to calm me down because I was "overreacting", I made it clear I wanted nothing more to do with him ever again. That was the last time I ever saw my father and the third time I wound up in the hospital that month, this time with an anxiety disorder diagnosis and a pocketful of prescriptions for anxiety, depression, and insomnia.

Even after all that, the Forbes and my father did everything they could to hide it all from UFL, but my mother took that into her own hands. I learned later that she sent them a copy of the police report, including the photos of my injuries, and spoke personally with the athletics director.

Robin lost his scholarship and his place on the team.

The town hated me even more.

When they started showing up at my door to shout obscenities at me, and spray painting my driveway with the same malicious words, my mother put the house on the market. I spent the rest of my time in Linton numbed by a myriad of prescription medication. Only when I realized the effect it was all having on my mother did I resolve to try and put on a brave face. I weaned myself off of the antidepressants. I never did rely too much on the sleep medication because they didn't help my nightmares, they only trapped me inside them. I came to rely less and less on the anti-anxiety meds until I only had to take them in the case of a panic attack, which have happened less and less since Sam came into my life.

As I finish explaining about Cam and the aftermath of it all, I realize how big a role Sam has somehow already managed to play in my recovery, in reattaching me to this world. In giving me a reason to want to be attached to it. I realize how just knowing that such an incredible man exists in this world has changed my entire view of it. He hasn't replaced Cam. No one could ever do that. But he has renewed my faith in people. The world in which I exist is that much less awful, and while I loved Cam more than anything, I'm in love with Sam, and somehow, in the short time I've known him, he has become the center of my universe. My anchor to it. I'm no longer just surviving, as he said, I'm living.

And Sam is the reason for that. His faith in me, his patience, his loyalty and his affection, inspire me.

I cuddle closer to him and he tightens his hold on me even more and whispers how brave and strong I am, and I let him.

"I'm so sorry about earlier, Ror. I had no idea. I don't know what I was even accusing you of. I was just being jealous and paranoid. And possessive...." he murmurs introspectively. "You should know, I have no fucking clue what I'm doing." His smile is small and sheepish. "I've never been in a relationship. Never had a single jealous feeling over a girl. But with you..." He shakes his head in self-condemnation. "I overreacted when I should have just trusted you. It helps knowing we're on the same page, but look, I shouldn't have pushed you."

I shrug, conceding my role in our argument. "It's my fault, Sam. I should've just told you. I just... It's just... hard to talk about,"

Sam's fingers stroke my cheek, and I think he wants to kiss me, but he doesn't. Tonight has been too intense. Between Robin's attack, and telling Sam about Cam, a strange, wistful mood lingers.

"I'm glad you told me," Sam admits.

"Hey, tell me somethin' about you no one else knows." After all, I've confided in him like no other.

Sam considers me, his eyes simmering with such profound emotion that I'm sure my attempt to lighten the mood did not have the desired effect. He bites his lip, seeming to think it over. "How about I tell you something everyone else knows... apart from you, apparently," he counters.

I blink at him in confusion.

"Rory..." His voice drops to a whisper, his gaze locked intently on mine.

"Yeah?" I breathe.

"I fucking love you."

I gasp. My chest explodes with love, the unfathomable thrill of its reciprocation. Sam loves me! Even with all of his romantic declarations, I never let myself imagine hearing those words, and I stare at him, utterly dumbfounded. 

Sam's fingers slowly find their way into my hair, and he tentatively pulls my face to his. I realize he's hesitating because of what I went through tonight with Robin, and I refuse to let that bastard ruin one more moment of my life. My kiss surprises Sam, but he recovers quickly, devouring me with his affection.

His kiss feels like home. Like in the connection of our lips, we recognize a piece of each of us in the other, and I'm lost to him. Hearing him confess his love for me was surreal, and it has utterly exhilarated me.

And terrified me.

Cruel doubt uncoils in my gut, piercing my delusion bubble of joy. I pull away abruptly.

He can't love me!

How can I let him do this to himself? Why would anyone want to be stuck with the crazy girl with the panic attacks? Only Sam and his twisted perspective of my issues - his unique ability to acknowledge only the best in me - would blind himself to the reality of what a relationship with me would mean. And blind me, too. apparently. God, how easily he makes me forget myself, all that is wrong, all that is broken.

"Ror?"

"You... you can't," I decide. No, I've always known Sam deserves better than me, even if he can't see it himself right now.

His brow furrows, in that adorable way, and my heart wrenches. "I can, baby girl," he counters, the corner of his mouth quirking up at what I'm sure he misreads as disbelief at his proclamation. I pull out of his arms and stand, needing some distance from the source of my confusion - and of my happiness - and try to steel myself against my own selfish desires.

Sam grows increasingly worried, scared even, but I can't let him do this to himself.

"No, Sam-"

"It's okay if you don't feel the same, Ror. I didn't mean to pressure you, or-"

"No, it's not that! Of course I love you, Sam!"

Shit! I didn't meant to say that out loud!

"Damn it!" I rub my face with my palms and take a deep breath. "Sam, I... I do love you," I admit again, this time intentionally. "Which is why I can't do this. Why I can't let you do this. You - you're amazing. You deserve a normal girl, with a normal life, and normal problems. Not..." I gesture to myself, "Me. A broken mess."

Sam stands, tense with brimming anger, but I feel no fear. Instinctually I know he would never hurt me. "Don't talk about yourself like that! We've been over this!"

I shake my head. "Yeah, everyone has issues, I know. But mine are worse, remember? No matter how strong you think I am, I'm still-"

"You're still my Rory. And I fucking love you. If I'm so damn amazing then don't I deserve to be with the girl I'm fucking in love with?" His voice lowers, his expression softening. He reaches out cautiously, and brushes my hair behind my ear. "I know what I want, Ror. Maybe even more so because it's not something I've ever wanted before - something I ever even thought I could want. But whatever you say, whatever you want, whatever you decide - it isn't going to change how I feel.

"I'm not just going to move on and find someone else because you still think you don't deserve this - that you're not normal. Because what you don't get is that you're right, you're not normal. But not because you have fucking anxiety. Because you're better than normal, Ror. You're fucking incredible. You're beautiful and smart and strong and loyal. You're fucking everything to me. If you don't want this - me - then that's one thing, but if you do... Don't let him win, baby. After everything... you deserve to be happy, Ror. We deserve it."

And what can I do? I want to protect him, but when he says these things to me, I start to believe him, and when he looks at me like that, I melt.

Sam really loves me.

Why didn't I see it before? My eyes prick with tears, but his thumb wipes them away before they fall far. He watches me under a furrowed brow, midnight blue drowned in shadow as if he's awaiting the deliberation of a jury. And I'm the jury. What will it be? Exonerate us from our demons, or punish us both for crimes committed against us, not by us...

"I still think you deserve better," I whisper, and Sam takes a step so he's flush against me and I have to look up at him through my lashes.

"There's no such thing, Ror," he rumbles in that perfect deep timbre of his, and then his lips crash against mine, his mouth capturing mine in a kiss that promises love and passion, a future I glimpse for the first time with earnest hope.

I moan into his mouth, trying to push all my love for this boy into this one kiss. He feels it. I know he does. Sam pulls away breathlessly and scoops me up to carry me back inside. He lays me gently on the bed, and after hastily tugging off his jeans, follows me as I scoot under the duvet, pulling me tightly to his side.

I sigh contentedly. This is where I want to be. Tucked neatly against him, my head pillowed on his shoulder, my face conveniently pressed into his neck where I can savor his intoxicating scent with my every breath. I slide my leg over his, settling until we're too tangled to be told apart, our hearts beating in sync, echoing our confessions.

Sam's fingers play lightly up and down my back and I shiver at his touch. Desire unfurls within me, slowly threatening to overtake the lingering shadow of fear and pain that Robin casted over tonight.

But something isn't right. There's too much clothing between us. And I need to feel Sam's skin against mine right now more than I need air. I'm desperate for more intimacy with this man I love so deeply, this man I never believed could love me - or should love me - but somehow does. But for now he seems content to simply hold me in the comfort of his arms. I gingerly reach for the hem of his shirt, slowly lifting my body away from his to peel away the material, and he maneuvers to assist me. When I reach for my camisole, his hand locks around my wrist, halting my movement, and I lean back to meet his eyes inquisitively.

"Let's not test my self-restraint any more than we have to, yeah?" he says lightly.

I frown. Self-restraint? "I didn't ask you to restrain anything," I say breathily, and peel my shirt up a few inches more.

But his grip on my wrist tightens again to stop me. "Baby, you've been through hell tonight. You're hurt," he reminds me, his free hand gently tracing the darkening bruise on my cheek. From his expression one would think it hurts him more than it does me.

I nearly retort that I don't need him to remind me, but then I realize that, in fact, I do. I am completely distracted by him. By his declaration of love, by my own feelings for him, and right now, more than anything, by my overwhelming attraction to him and his perfect, sculpted body. But what's wrong with that? Robin doesn't deserve my attention, and certainly not Sam's. Sam, on the other hand, deserves everything.

"I just... need to feel your skin against mine," I breathe.

Sam releases my wrist and I quickly pull off my camisole, and before he can stop me, push my shorts down enough that I can kick them off so we are both in just our underwear. Only then do I return to my place in his arms, skin to skin.

I sigh. This is so much better.

"God you're beautiful," Sam whispers. I cuddle into him even more, tucking my face back into his neck. I brush my lips softly back and forth over the soft skin and I feel Sam shudder beneath me. "You trying to torture me?" he teases.

I shake my head against his throat and he lets out a short chuckle. He kisses my hair, inhaling deeply. "Ror?"

"Yeah?"

"What were you talking about with him? What did he ask you that you said yes to. You know, that set him off like that?" Sam asks tentatively.

I hesitate. I'm worried he'll be angry with me if I tell him I risked angering Robin even more by admitting my relationship with Sam. But he won't understand that telling Robin what he wants to hear doesn't work with him. That even if he wouldn't have been set off to choke me, it wouldn't have stopped him from forcing himself on me, and I'd rather be dead than live through that again.

"He, uh... he found my scar... He was so damn happy that it did scar - that I had his mark to remind me that I'd always be his no matter what I do..."

I feel Sam's entire body stiffen beneath me, his jaw clenched in quiet fury, and I pull back so I can look at him. Even in contained rage, the man is positively breathtaking.

"He heard me scream for you, you know, when you ran past the alley... He's been following us, Sam, for I don't know how long. Maybe he saw us leave the bar last night. Maybe he was even around the hotel," I realize, my breathing picking up dangerously.

Sam grits his teeth, but his hand soothes up and down my back, reminding me that Robin is locked up, and I am here, safe, with Sam. "He's been fucking following you?"

"Us," I correct him. Sure, he was following me, but I've barely been apart from Sam since we arrived in Miami, and Robin has certainly noticed. He made that clear. And Sam needs to understand that with Robin, there is a danger in being with me. A danger in loving me. One that may never go away.

"What did he ask you?" Sam asks again.

I take a deep breath. "He asked if anyone else has seen his mark. If you had... if I fucked you even though I belong to him."

Sam tenses even more. "And you told him the truth?" he grates incredulously.

"I couldn't bear to deny it, Sam - to give him the satisfaction. Of thinkin' I'd still only been with him, that I still belong to him. I-" I choke back a sob, "I couldn't."

Sam hauls me to his chest, furiously kissing my hair, and I'm grateful. He understands. He just gets me in some unfathomable way. "You're not his, Ror," he growls intently. "And nothing he can say or do can ever change that. I'm never going to let him fucking get near you again. I swear to fucking God."

I kiss him. The truth is, I appreciate his sentiment, and in a primitive way, it turns me on even more. But the rational side of me is more frightened by it than anything. I don't want Sam risking himself for me. Not ever. Not like Cam. And tonight he got into a fight because of me. Any number of terrible things could have happened, and they would have been my fault.

Sam slips his tongue into my mouth and suddenly Robin is far from my mind. I'm back in the here and now with the man I love, who by some miracle or curse, loves me back. I deepen the kiss and reposition myself so that I lay fully on top of him. I can feel his lack of restraint through our underwear and I'm desperate to prove - to him, to myself, perhaps even to Robin - who it is I actually do belong to. Sam groans deep in his throat before tearing his mouth from mine.

"You're killing me, baby," he rasps, and I realize he still thinks we shouldn't do this tonight. I slip my hand between us, over his boxer briefs, and am once again struck by the sheer size of him. I both hear and feel his sharp intake of breath. "Fuck, Ror..."

"Sam... I need you. I ain't his. I'm yours. And I need you to remind me of that, right now," I plead.

And that is all the encouragement he needs. He resumes his perfect kiss, rolling until I am pinioned beneath him, and my legs wrap around his waist automatically, my welcoming thighs cradling his deliciously narrow hips.

I moan. Yes. This is what I need. To give myself again to the only man I've ever given myself to. For him to take his possession of me. To quell the secret fears lurking deep within my darkest thoughts that whisper Robin is right - that a part of me will always belong to him no matter what I do.

"You. Are. Mine," Sam growls between kisses. "You hear me, baby girl? And I'm fucking yours. For as long as you'll have me."

****

 

It's so late, and even as I start to doze, I realize that Sam lies wide awake, gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling, looking down at me every now and then, perhaps to see if I've fallen asleep.

Finally, sleep does come, and I drift into blissful dreams of beaches and hotel suites. And Sam.

 

Sam and I walk along the beach, but someone is following us. I don't know who, and I don't even know how I know, because I see nothing to substantiate my suspicions. It's just a feeling. A scary, unsettling feeling that someone - someone dangerous - is watching us from the shadows.

Somehow I know that I am the target. The target of what, I don't know, but I am who he wants to hurt. I try to get Sam to go somewhere else, out of the line of fire, so to speak, but he won't leave me.

It's like he doesn't believe the danger is real, or he's just so sure he can handle it that he doesn't take it seriously. But I, on the contrary, am terrified.

The beach morphs into a city street, and we continue to walk. Sam takes my hand, and my eyes dart from corner to corner, but can't find the danger I'm certain still follows us. I try to pull my hand back, and vaguely I think I'm being foolish - that I'm just once again worried that Chelsea will see us being too friendly and target me for some stupid, malicious, sophomoric revenge. I tell myself I can handle Chelsea. That Sam was right, this is just my paranoia, not actual danger.

And then I am yanked into an alley and Sam has magically vaporized.

"Hello, sweetheart," Robin drawls. My stomach plummets and dread fires straight to my heart.

"No! Sam!" I call before I can stop myself, but it's too late, Robin heard me.

"Sam?!" Robin snarls with disgust. He shoves me up against the brick wall and pain shoots throughout my entire body.

Please! No!

Robin holds my wrists above my head, but then leaves me. But I can't move. It's as if he's secured me to the wall with invisible restraints, and though I frantically twist and struggle to free myself, it's no use. And then Sam has rematerialized, but he's walking casually down the street, unaware of any danger. Robin sprints toward him, and I open my mouth to scream a warning, but my voice won't work.

No! Sam! Look out!

But it's too late. Robin is on him in a flash, and they fight, both landing punches, until Sam is flung into the street and an oncoming car screeches ominously, unable to stop in time.

Oh, God! Sam! No!

 

I bolt up in bed, my eyes darting around the moonlit room, gasping in terror as Sam coos that it was just a dream, that I'm okay. And that he's sorry, he's so sorry. I try to catch my breath as I wonder what he's sorry for, until I realize he's sitting atop the duvet, as if he's just run back to bed to wake me from my dream. He must have gotten out of bed, unable to sleep, surely still rattled from Robin's attack.

I fling my arms around his neck and weep quietly against his chest, absolutely mad with relief that Sam is here, that the dream wasn't real. That his fate didn't mirror Cam's.

Not yet, my subconscious whispers unkindly, and I blanch.

Sam continues to whisper words of comfort, but I say nothing. This was the worst dream I've ever had. Losing Sam. How could I possibly survive such a thing? After everything I've already survived. Surely everyone has their limit of heartbreak and grief before their heart simply refuses to continue to beat.

Sam asks if my nightmare was an especially bad one and I just nod against his chest. He has no idea. Perhaps worst of all is that it echoed my darkest fear, and that I know that fear is not unfounded.

Eventually I calm, and we settle back into bed, Sam promising he won't leave me while I sleep again. He castigates himself for doing it in the first place, and I want to tell him it's okay, that it isn't his fault, but I can't find my voice. And even if I could, I'm not sure I could bring myself to lie to him. Because I know if he'd stayed with me, he'd have kept the nightmares away.

****

 

It's morning when I next wake, and Sam is still fast asleep, though I've no idea what time he finally shut his eyes last night. I know I should let him sleep, so I gingerly slip out of bed and pad to the bathroom to wash up. I shower thoroughly and creep back into the bedroom, where Sam stirs a little, but remains asleep, and I pull on his boxers and my camisole from last night.

Sam stirs again and I still until he turns over and settles. He was such a restful sleeper the few times I slept with him, and it unnerves me that he's tossing and turning now. He mumbles something in his sleep and I tiptoe closer to the bed. It's then that I notice his beautiful features are screwed up in distress.

Should I wake him?

"No," he mumbles, his body tensing. "Away..."

Suddenly he thrashes violently onto his side and kicks at the covers. "Don't touch'er!"

My jaw drops in horror and I jump onto the bed and start shaking him. "Sam! Wake up!" I beg, but he pushes me behind him and kicks out again at some invisible attacker at his front.

"No!" he cries.

I shake him desperately. "Please, Sam! Please wake up! You're dreamin'! Please!" I plead with his unconscious self.

His eyes shoot open suddenly and shoot around the room like he's still trying to locate the attacker, and I just gape at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. I see the moment he realizes he's been dreaming and understands where he actually is. His hand flies to rake his hair and he closes his eyes again to get his bearings. The entire sight is positively heartbreaking.

So this is what it's like for him to witness my nightmares, I realize with profound despair.

"You're okay," I whisper shakily.

Sam blows out a deep exhale and, eyes still shut tight, nods vaguely. He rallies to pull himself together before composing himself to ask if I am okay. I glare at him incredulously and he sighs. He starts to sit up but I push him gently down and settle on his lap, raining soft kisses on his cheeks, forehead, lips, even his eyelids. It's all I can think to do.

He takes my face in his hands, brushing my few fallen tears away with his thumbs.

"It was about me?" I ask hesitantly, though I already know it was. He doesn't answer me, he just turns to his side, repositioning us both so that we lay side by side, facing one another.

His knuckles brush over my bruised cheek and he winces. His fingers trail down to my neck, and I read in his sorrowful expression that he sees the bruise there too. His fingers continue their route over my shoulder, and his gaze follows them. "I love this shoulder," he murmurs.

"You... what?"

"I never realized how sexy a shoulder could be. Until I came to your house that day. You know, when you offered to let me taste your muffin," he smirks wickedly and I blush.

I'm vaguely aware that he's trying to distract me from his nightmare, and that he's succeeding. "You were wearing that NYU sweatshirt that fell over your shoulder, and I couldn't stop staring at it, thinking it was the most perfect fucking shoulder I'd ever seen. And that I'd like to lick it... not that I didn't also want to lick your-"

"Sam!" I giggle, shoving at his chest playfully before swiping a residual tear from my cheek.

He smiles wistfully.

"So you're a shoulder-man then?"

"I'm a Rory-man," he corrects.

"Hmm," I muse, "so what were you before I converted you to shoulder worship?"

Sam considers me. "I guess an ass-man," he decides. "Though I've always been a fan of these too," he adds, his fingers continuing their light exploration, delicately trailing along the cleavage line of my camisole and I break out in goosebumps.

"Well, I'm glad you like them." I mean to sound playful, but my voice has dropped to a breathy whisper at his touch.

"Love," he corrects me again. "I love every part of you, baby. Especially this." His fingers move marginally upward, over my sternum, and settle right over my heart.

He kisses me, sweet and gentle, like he's just trying to reaffirm that his dream was just that, a dream, and that I am really here, really okay. I hate that he's upset because of me. That my life - my past - has come back to bite him.

This isn't what a relationship is supposed to be. What love is supposed to be. Sam has been through enough in his life and here he is, on spring break, what is supposed to be the epitome of carefree fun, and he's gone from babysitting me, to caring for me while sick, to arguing with me, to fighting because of me, being so upset he needs to walk to clear his head - so upset he can't even sleep - and now he's having nightmares. I'm flooded with guilt, and once again wonder if I can really do this to the man I love. Bind him to me indefinitely when I know what that will mean for him.

"You ever have a dream like that before?" I ask tentatively.

Sam rakes his hair, exasperated. "Ror... don't."

I frown.

"Look, it's not your fault I had a bad fucking dream, okay? You can't imagine what it's like to see that, Ror. To see that fucking piece of shit pinning my girl to a wall with his hand around your throat, trying to-" his voice cracks and he trails off, his eyes falling closed.

I swallow nervously. "How is that not my fault?"

Sam's eyes shoot open in disbelief.

"If it weren't for me-"

"If it weren't for you, I'd be a miserable shmuck with a pathetic rule about not having a girlfriend because I was sure as shit that if love did exist, which I didn't think it did, it certainly wasn't possible to find in high school."

I blink at him.

"He is the problem. Not you. You are fucking perfect. How many times do I have to say it?"

I don't respond. I don't know what to say, but I do know that he believes me infallible. That he doesn't understand that at least in part, my own choices allowed Robin to do what he did back then, and that I'm certain last night was somehow my fault, too.

My old, familiar blame-demons resurface in the worst way, and my mind reels with all the things I could've and should've done differently last night. That I should've done differently a year ago. And a part of me wonders if I'm simply suffering the consequences of my own mistakes.