Chapter Four #5
chick? Did she think that when I said
Danny put his foot in his mouth, that I'd meant to imply that Danny
mistook her for the girl I'd obviously talked about? That maybe
there was some other girl I'd spoken about since our
trip?
The idea is ridiculous,
but Rory doesn't agree, and my amusement only annoys her further.
But I enjoy it, because I know I'm about to cheer her up—at least
if that's really what got her so upset in the first place. Well,
that and Danny bringing up the assault, anyway.
"Yes, but it's my fault
for not mentioning to Danny that the, uh, hot chick was going to be at brunch,
Ror. Though I would have thought it would have been made obvious
when he saw you." I say the last part slowly, and take immense
pleasure in watching the blush steal over her skin, starting at her
cheeks, and disappearing beneath the collar of her
shirt.
Tension subtly slips from
her body, though her arms tighten around herself. I feel an
answering twitch in my own muscles. The need to hold her is
taunting me. To hug and comfort, and touch.
Just friends.
"Oh," Rory
breathes.
"Oh," I repeat, my smirk stretching
further.
I wait for her to relax,
for the relief I'll feel when her sour mood lifts, but it doesn't
happen. The weight in my chest intensifies. I should have realized
that Danny's bringing up that
motherfucking bastard at
brunch without warning would fuck with her head. And I don't know
how to fix it. I can't fix it. And I feel fucking powerless. It's a terrible
feeling. Any lingering humor has drained completely and I feel our
distance in some existential way.
I feel utterly lost. I
just keep stumbling in every which way, unable find my footing in
this new kind of friendship. Before Miami, when we were just
friends, I knew I had real feelings for her. And it was hard.
Navigating the blurry lines of that version of our friendship. But
in Rory and Sam—Just Friends 2.0, it's like I'm adrift at sea, with
no real guidelines on what my role even is.
"You're going?" I ask her.
I already know that she is. It's what she does when things get too
hard, and I don't even blame her for it. This was supposed to be a
casual fucking brunch.
Rory shrugs. It's an
affirmative answer I've come to expect from her when she thinks
she'll be judged for answering yes. It's her way of saying
And so what if I am? I
take an automatic step forward. It's not a conscious decision. It's
as if her presence just draws me in.
"Do you want me to drive
you?" I offer. What I really want is to push her to stay. But I've
learned to pick my battles with her and this one is a lost
cause.
Rory shakes her head.
"Carl's just sayin' bye. She's gonna drive me."
I sigh in reluctant
acceptance. "I really am sorry, Ror. Don't let Danny's stupid
comment upset you. I mean how moronic could he be? What kind of an
idiot says a girl got attacked because she's so hot guys can't—" I
cut myself off. It hits me like a wrecking ball. Why Danny's words
hit Rory so hard.
Her issues with blame and
self doubt. Her piece of shit father and all the guilt he laid at
her feet for her own abuse. I take another compulsive step forward,
the muscles in my arms clenching harshly to keep them from wrapping
around her.
"It was a ridiculous thing
to say. However you look, whatever you wear, whatever you do, no
one has a right to lay a hand on you, Rory. None of it was your
fault," I say intently. I hold her gaze fiercely, watching to see
whether she accepts my words, or if she's really still thinking
that she'd asked for that fucking torture in some way.
Her eyes fill with
moisture and it catches in her lashes, making them look impossibly
dark and thick, framing such uncertain, beautiful brown eyes that
completely undo me. Her arms tighten around herself even
more.
Rory is foundering. She is
strong, but even the strongest of us need support, and right now
she is particularly vulnerable, and she is foundering.
I don't make a conscious
decision to break my rule. It just happens. My arms envelop her,
one around her waist, the other bracing her back, my fingers
digging into her loose auburn hair and pulling her face to my
chest.
I whisper repeated
apologies and reassurances while her small body racks with stifled,
silent sobs. She keeps her face buried in my polo shirt until she
pulls herself together.
I heed her cues when she
pulls away, though there isn't a single part of me that wants to
let her go. I can read in her eyes that she's harboring a question,
and she's unsure as to whether or not she wants to ask
it.
I brush my thumb across
her cheeks to rid them of the residual tears, and then tuck her
hair behind her ear. Her eyes close, and it takes everything I have
not to let my fingers linger. I silently implore her to ask
whatever it is she wants to ask, and so I remain silent.
"You touched me," she
finally breathes.
"I…" I don't know if she's
just making an observation or reprimanding me.
"You haven't touched me in
weeks. Not even a high five," she grumbles as her eyes drop to her
sneakers.
"I…" Fuck. I can't exactly say
I haven't touched you because I'm afraid that if
I do, I won't be able to stop. I sigh
again. "I'm just trying to find the right path back to this
just friends thing, you
know?" I say instead.
"Yeah," she whispers, but
I know she doesn't mean it.
I feel like a colossal
asshole. Here I was trying to be all hands-off because of my own
broken heart, and Rory is fucking suffering because of it. She
can't even tolerate the touch of most people, even her friends, and
she's been to fucking hell and barely back in the past month, and
she needs support.
I grab her and pull her
back into a hug, and she comes willingly.
"I'm sorry. It was
stupid. I'm stupid," I murmur. She doesn't argue, she just accepts my
comfort.
"Sorry-" We are
interrupted by Carl, and Rory steps out of my embrace and blushes
again. "I— uh… sorry, I had to, you know, deal with Tucker," she
says vaguely, waving her hand dismissively toward the
house.
I don't take my eyes off
Rory, though I'd like to shoot Carl a glare to tell her just how
much she's interrupting.
"Do you still want to go?
Or—"
No, she wants to stay,
but you need to
go, I answer silently just as Rory answers
out loud.
"Yeah."
The weight expands
tenfold. I knew one hug wouldn't change anything of course, but it
still hurts.
Everything still fucking
hurts.
I force a weak smile to
let her know it's okay. That everything is going to be okay. Even
if I don't fully believe it myself.
Carl hands Rory her purse,
and murmurs a goodbye. I nod at her, but my eyes are still locked
on Rory.
"'Bye, Sam," she
murmurs.
"Later, Ror."