NORMAL (23 page)

"You're not," he murmurs into my hair. Again.

I let out an snort.

"You're
not
," he repeats more insistently.

I pull away and meet his gaze, riveted by the fervor in his eyes. I know the shirt I wear has fallen open, but I can do nothing to remedy this, I just stare at him, dumbfounded that he still defends me.

"We're all fucked up, Rory. I've got problems too, and you
know
that. You know that better than anyone. Chelsea is the one who sneaks into bathrooms to photograph girls while they're changing, and you think
you're
the one who's fucked up?" He pauses and takes a deep breath and I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. "You just have deeper scars, maybe. Or maybe they're just more visible. But you're not
fucked up,
Rory. Not any more than the rest of us, okay?" He reaches out to brush my tears from my cheek and I shiver as warmth spreads from the point of contact. I turn into his touch, I can't help myself, and close my eyes.

He's right. We're all fucked up. Sam confided to me what his father did, and why he left, and what his sister tried to do. I don't need Sam to tell me that these aren't things he tells many people, if he tells anyone at all. I should treasure this confidence, and instead, today, I sought out to hurt him. I hurt him because of
my
stupid crush. I'm no better than Chelsea
.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, and then open my eyes to see Sam's brow pucker in confusion. "For what I said before. I didn't mean it. Not all of it anyway. I just... I don't know what I'm doing," I admit. "I don't understand why you're such a good friend to me. I don't understand why you stand up for me. And it scares me, because... I
care
about you, and I've just... I've been hurt or abandoned by every man I've
ever
cared about. My boyfriend, my father, my best friend... and some of it, it was my own fault... Maybe everyone else is fucked up too, but I'm fucked up
more
, and I... I don't know what I'm doing," I say again.

Sam rubs his face before resting his hand on the back of his neck. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Rory, that hurt. What you said at lunch." He blows out a deep breath and sighs. "But look, you were right."

I furrow my brow, bemused.

"I still think you're stronger than you realize, but... I shouldn't try to tell you what to do. I shouldn't have said you don't need your medication. I don't want you to think I'm judging you, I just... I think you're the one judging yourself. And way too harshly. The way you talk about yourself - that you're fucked up, that you're broken...

“I know you've been hurt, and I don't pretend to know the details. But you're just you, Rory, and there's nothing wrong with you. You're fucking perfect, okay? The way you are."

"
Why?
Why do you say these things to me? Why do you defend me? Why did you tell me about your dad, about your sister?" I hold his gaze, emboldened, desperate for some explanation for this connection we seem to share.

"You know why."

I just blink at him. I have no idea why. And I have no idea why he thinks otherwise.

Sam sighs again. "Come on, Rory. We're kindred, aren't we? I don't know why, but we are - you and me. The first day I saw you have that panic attack, I was just drawn to you. At first maybe I thought you reminded me of Bits, but it took only a second to see that wasn't the case. That you were nothing like her. I love my sister, I'd kill for her, but she's fragile, meek.

"
You
... you always insist you're fine because you always are, even when you're not. You're tough. You protect yourself when you feel threatened, you beat triggers, you even beat a full blown panic attack without taking a pill. I was there. I saw it, remember? And you just kicked Chelsea's ass when she accused you of hiding something that wouldn't be anyone's damn business even if it were true, which it isn't."

I glare at him, defiant, and I don't know why. I'm so used to feeling like a victim that him describing how I'm surviving, it throws me.

"How do you know? How do you know I'm not exactly what she says - some slut who had a baby in high school and moved away to hide it? How do you know I haven't been lying to you since the day we met?" I demand.

Sam only needs to take a half step forward to be right in front of me again, and he does. My heart races, but not from panic, just from his proximity and... desire. A feeling so alien to me it took me this long to recognize it. I swallow nervously, but suppress the instinct to retreat. I'm afraid, but only of myself.

"Because, Rory, even it were true, it wouldn't make you a
slut.
And not telling me something personal doesn't make you a
liar
. But the thing is, Rory...
this
," his fingertips gently graze the top of my scar and I gasp as the surrounding skin breaks out in goose bumps from his touch. I hadn't even realized it was visible, even though I knew the shirt gaped open. No one has ever touched me there. Not since the bandage came off. It's ugly and disgusting and I hate that Sam's seen it, hate that he's touching it, but I don't step back, don't push him away... "
this
is not a C-section scar."

"Oh yeah? Seen a lot of Cesarean scars, have you?" My voice is a hoarse whisper, betraying my nerves despite my bravado.

Sam smiles faintly. "Just the one. And only when my mother wears that skimpy swimsuit I hate. Because it's hidden by all the others. Because it's tiny - her scar. Much smaller than yours. And the thing is... it's here." His fingers move about an inch toward my middle and down over my waistband. Just another inch lower and he'd be in dangerous territory. But just as quickly as they moved, his fingers trail back to my scar, and he strokes it gently with his thumb, as if it doesn't repulse him. "So, Rory, unless you managed to grow a baby in your hip, and then had some quack cut it out of you with a jagged kitchen knife, something else gave you that scar."

I just stare up at him. I'm stunned.

"Someone cut you?" he asks, and I know despite his veil of confidence, he's nervous to ask. I look down, but nod. Sam grits his teeth. "Is this the person your father didn't protect you from?"

I nod again. Sam places his index finger under my chin to point my gaze back to his, and when he removes it he notices there's a little blood. His brow furrows in concern and despite everything, I can't help but think once again how adorable he looks when he does that.

"She scratched me. Chelsea," I explain about the blood. It's really just a little scratch.

I've had worse. Much worse.

Sam takes a deep breath. "Let's get it cleaned. Who knows where those nails have been," he jokes and I offer him a weak smile.

Sam takes my hand and leads me to the sinks. He grasps me by my waist and lifts me onto the counter as if I weigh nothing at all. He turns on the faucet after grabbing some paper towels and wets them before adding soap. He cleans the scratch under my chin and I just watch him wordlessly as he works, his brow creased adorably in concentration.

I can't help but think of Cam. Of all the times he'd cleaned up my scrapes and scratches. And of course the last time.

"Was it a friend of your father's?" Sam asks cautiously as he dries my chin with another batch of paper towels. When he's satisfied with his handiwork, he begins to button his shirt that I wear, from the top down.

"I think she stole my tee shirt from my bag while we were walking the track. Chelsea I mean, but I have my gym tee, I could-" I'm stalling. I wonder idly if he's aware of that, but if he is, he doesn't call me out. He doesn't pressure me.

"Just keep my shirt, Ror, okay? It looks better on you anyway," Sam murmurs as he continues busying himself with the buttons.

Hell if that's true. But it's still nice to hear from him. I've spent so much time trying to be invisible that I surprise myself by my desire to be attractive to him, to hear him compliment me. I never thought I'd want to hear a man compliment my appearance again. And holding on to his shirt does have certain advantages. I wonder how long it will retain his clean, masculine scent.

"His friend's son. My ex." I force the words out before I can change my mind, and they come out as little more than a whisper. I don't know if I even want to tell him this or not, or how much. I just know, at this point, that Sam deserves some answers. And if he's going to work up the courage to ask, the least I can do is try to answer.

"Is this the boyfriend you mentioned before? Who hurt or abandoned you? The
bad breakup
one, or someone else?" He stops working after fastening the final button and meets my eyes. I'm perched atop the bathroom counter and Sam is standing right in front of me, his hands planted on either side of my hips, my dangling knees pressing against his thighs.

"I've only ever had one boyfriend."  

"And he's an
ex
...?"

I blink at him, perplexed. "I've already told you I don't have a boyfriend," I remind him. For some reason he looks puzzled instead of enlightened.

"I know. I just thought... that maybe you did have someone," he murmurs hesitantly. I shake my head, wondering why he would possibly think that.

"I have no one." I know he knows I mean more than just romantically.

Sam looks sad, and I didn't mean to make him pity me any more than he already does. And I hate thinking about Robin, it only frightens and confuses me. I let out a bitter laugh. "Although, if you ask him, he probably wouldn't agree. When we broke up... he says I belong to him no matter what I say, that I'll always be his."

"Ah, but I heard you say you, uh,
'ain't anyone's'
," Sam drawls in his best Scarlet O'Hara that he's convinced sounds like Rory Pine.

"That's right," I agree.

"He
cut
you, Rory?" Sam whispers, leaning down so that he's even closer to me. Any closer and our noses would touch. I swallow and bite my lip. His eyes fall momentarily down to my lips and I look away, knowing the last thing I need is to confuse myself even more by deluding myself into believing he would ever want to kiss me.

"It was an accident." My voice is faint and hesitant and even I can hear the uncertainty.

"I don't believe you."

"Me neither."

Sam and I stare at each other. I know he wants me to tell him everything, but I can't. He doesn't understand that there's so much more than how I got the scar, and I can't tell him about one without telling him about it all. And I can't tell him
everything.
Despite what he thinks, he'll look at me differently. And even if he's only ever offered me friendship, it's one thing for him to know I'm damaged, but I can't bear for him to look at me like I'm...
ruined.

We both startle when we hear my name being called out loudly. We both look to the door, which Carl bursts through breathlessly. She looks around and spots us, me seated on the counter with Sam standing too close. If she notices the intimacy of our position, she doesn't say anything, she just runs over to us.

"God
, Rory! Everyone is saying you and Chelsea got into a fist fight!"

I look to Sam who holds out his hand, and I realize he means to help me down from the counter so I take it and hop down.

"Chelsea's a crazy bitch. She came at Rory, Rory kicked her ass," Sam explains with a proud smirk. I roll my eyes.

"Um, if I remember correctly, haven't you and Chelsea been friends since, like, birth?" Carl accuses Sam, who grimaces, and I feel instant guilt at putting him in a position to choose between two friends. And vaguely, I wonder why he didn't choose the one he'd known for more than two months.

"Yeah. We were."

Carl's brows draw together in an inquisitive look. I sigh.

"She followed me in here after gym and took pictures of me changing so I threw her phone in the toilet and... well like Sam said, she came at me..."

Carl is shocked. "Wait, wait... start from the beginning, why the hell would she take pictures of you changing? That's batshit crazy!"

"Yeah, no kidding. It was her whole 'I'm hiding something' thing from lunch. She... she saw my scar and photographed it."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Carl screeches, outraged on my behalf. Sam doesn't leave, he just kind of hangs around looking between Carl and me, and I think he's surprised Carl knows about my scar at all. To be honest, I'm still surprised I showed it to her. She turns to address Sam. "And you saw all this, Cap?" she asks, skeptical, presumably as to why in the world he would be in the girls room in the first place.

Sam registers the accusation and holds up his hands as if in surrender. "No, no. I was walking toward the lot when people started shouting about a fight between Chel and Rory so I-"

"Came to the rescue, of course," Carl murmurs, not unkindly. Sam looks puzzled, of course he has no way of knowing about Carl's incessant observations about Sam's and my supposed mutual crushes. Though I've since realized my own isn't
supposed
so much as
actual
. Carl sighs. "Come on, Rory, I'll drive you home."