Chapter Four #4
She once accused me of
trying to fix her. But that's ridiculous. Rory is fucking perfect. But some
aspects of her life, they could use some fixing. And it's not like
she's adverse to social media on principle, or because she doesn't
like it—she's just afraid.
She has every right to be,
of course. After her past experiences. But I hate it when she lets
fear make her decisions. And though I don't know if it's even my
place to get involved anymore, I'm not sure I can help myself. I
just care about her so damn much.
"Just to meet people for
school, you know? You could keep the account private. No one would
see it except for people you wanted to meet," I suggest. "I could
help you with it."
Rory sighs. I think she
knows I'm right. Being digitally antisocial has kept her from doing
the things the rest of us are all doing in preparation for college,
and I can tell this isn't the first time it's been a concern for
her.
"Maybe." It's a
concession. For her, anyway. And I'll take it.
Thea starts asking Rory
about majors and courses and I watch her fall into her element. She
wants to study courses related to pre-law. She wants to help
underprivileged families like her mother used to do before she
moved here and had to join a big firm to support them on one
income. But Rory wants to focus on helping women, she says shyly,
and I just sit back and smile to myself.
She thinks she's regressed
because of what happened in Miami, but I see something different. I
see a girl planning her future. And an admirable one at
that.
I smear my bagel with a
generous amount of cream cheese and pile on the lox, my favorite,
and cringe when Danny starts asking me about sexual exploits, like
it would be even remotely appropriate even if my
girl-who's-not-my-girl—which in his defense, he's ignorant
of—wasn't sitting right across the table. But for God's sake, our
mothers are right there.
"I've been busy with
school and finals, and everything." I blow off his question as best
I can. If it were anyone else, they would take the hint, but with
Danny, social cues can get completely lost.
"What happened with that
hot chick you were talking about last time?" Danny
persists.
Shit. He's talking about Rory. I notice her stiffen across the
table, and I wonder if she's uncomfortable because she thinks I
spoke about her in those terms recently. After all, I promised her
we could go back to being just friends. Fucking Danny.
"Nothing," I murmur
vaguely, hoping someone will change the subject. And Danny does
just that, and I regret it instantly.
"Hey, what the hell
happened on spring break, bro?" He nods at Thea, and the girls all
turn their attention to our conversation. "Thea said one of your
friends got attacked in an alley by some crazy dude? And you beat
his ass? Was it that same hot chick? Is she really that hot that
guys can't control themselves?" Danny thinks he's said something
witty, and he just keeps on munching his bagel, unaware that I am
pummeling him with my gaze.
"Ow!" he yelps, and I
don't have to unlock my glare from my cousin to know Thea must have
kicked him.
"You are so freaking
stupid sometimes, Danny," Thea practically growls.
"What'd I say?" he asks,
truly dumbfounded.
I take deep breaths. It
would not be helpful if I were to jump across the table and repeat
my mind's actions with my fists. But God, how I want to get just one good
one in. When I've convinced myself that I'm in control of my anger,
my eyes search for Rory, but she's already excusing herself and
fleeing to the bathroom.
Our moms peek over to see
what the interruption was, and I shove my chair back violently to
go after her, but Bits stops me.
"I'll go," she says. I
notice Carl has also gotten up, presumably to do the same thing,
and she looks to me for my opinion. The truth is I want to go.
Selfishly, I want to see for myself that she's okay, and to be the
one to console her if she's upset. Christ, maybe I do have some kind of
hero complex when it comes to her. And for that reason, I nod at
Bits to go instead. Carl looks at me dubiously, obviously thinking
she should be the one to go after her friend, but she sits back
down for now.
Bits and Rory have their
own bond. I know they barely know each other, but in other ways,
they understand each other better than any of the rest of us can.
Bits knows what it's like to feel so desolate she'd rather be
dead—as much as that knowledge guts me—and I know she can offer
Rory a perspective that neither Carl nor I ever could.
My sister has come a long
way since last summer, no doubt we have Dr. Schall to thank for
much of it, and through all of her struggles, she's grown into
someone wise beyond her years.
And, of course, there's
the additional benefit that Bits looking after Rory frees me up to
yell at Danny. I take full advantage.
"What the fuck is wrong
with you?" I demand. Danny's eyes widen and he stops chewing
abruptly.
"Sammy!" my mother scolds,
but it's not the first time Danny has inadvertently said something
stupid and set me off.
"She was sitting right
fucking there!" I shout.
"I didn't know!" he says
in defense, as if I hadn't already realized that.
That's not the fucking
point! My blood boils in my veins as my heart rate skyrockets. I
feel my muscles tense, and my mind reels with frustration
over everything.
Over the aching weight in my chest, over the memory of
that motherfucking
bastard pawing at Rory, over Danny's big
fucking mouth, and his insistence on fucking up a brunch where
everyone was actually getting along for once.
"Because you can't take a
fucking hint!" I slam my palms down onto the table and the dishes
rattle dramatically. Out of my peripheral I see my mother stand up
in warning.
"Cap," Tucker warns. But
I'm fuming, only vaguely aware that my frustration is only
partially Danny's fault. And I want to take it out on someone. I
want to take it out on Danny.
No.
I want to take it out on
the person who deserves it—that
motherfucking bastard.
But he's not here. And if I play my cards right, he'll never be
anywhere near Rory again. I take several deep breaths, just like
Schall taught me to deal with my anger
issues. And logic prevails.
Danny is a moron and his
words upset Rory, but the rest of it… it's not his
fault.
I wrench my gaze from my
idiot cousin and take in the scene. Everyone is staring at me like
I'm crazy. Like they're afraid of what I might do. Like I'm the
fucking monster.
My breath catches in my
throat. They're staring at me like they
used to stare at my father.
I turn from them and start
walking. I head up the stairs and to my bedroom.
I wanted to hit him.
Danny.
I didn't do it, I know,
and that's got to count for something. Or at least that's what Rory
would tell me. But it still bothers me that I wanted to beat the
shit out of my cousin over the fact that he didn't know any better
than to be the moron that he inescapably is. I sit down on my bed,
and drop my head into my hands.
Rationally I know Danny
had no reason to know about Rory and me, or about Rory being the
girl who'd been assaulted in Miami. A part of me was aware of that
even in the moment I'd been seriously considering acting on my
impulse to pummel him. It's just… does he
seriously have to think of the worst thing he could possibly say at
every fucking turn?
I sigh. I stand up and
walk to the window that overlooks the patio. Brunch is continuing
on, although seemingly quieter than before. And then Bits walks out
and starts whispering something to Carl. I wait for Rory to follow
after Bits, but when a few more moments pass and I realize it looks
like Carl is saying goodbye to Tucker, I become
concerned.
So concerned, in fact,
that I rush back down the stairs to the guest bathroom to which I
suspect Rory fled. The open door reveals the empty room, and my
worry grows as I race through the foyer, and out the front
door.
I practically skid to a
stop like a fucking cartoon character. Rory is standing there, her
arms wrapped protectively around her middle, her cheeks dry but her
eyes inexorably wet.
I loathe seeing her upset.
The sight of it guts me and faint nausea swells inside me, like I
have an adverse physical reaction to her sorrow. Like my body
rejects it outright.
And I'm the reason she's
upset. I pushed her to attend this brunch.
I push my fingers through
my hair reflexively.
"Ror, I'm sorry," I tell
her. Her brows pinch together vaguely. Like maybe she's confused.
But also a little not confused. Like she agrees that I should be
sorry for something, she's just surprised I agree, or even know what it is.
"Danny didn't realize. I didn't mention it—"
"It's fine." She
interrupts. An ice-cold chill shivers down my spine.
It's an unsettling moment
of deja vu. Of the morning I met her. When she'd panicked outside
of calc, and she kept insisting she was fine. It was before we were
even just friends. When we were nothing. And I don't want to go back
to that. It's enough that I have to give up the something more. But
I'm supposed to be her friend—her best friend, supposedly. And I
won't accept nothing from her. I can't.
"It's not
fine, Rory. He's got a
problem, my cousin. He's completely incapable of basic social
awareness. He's always putting his foot in his mouth. And it's my
fault, because I should have prepared him and told him not to bring
up—"
"Sam, you couldn't have
anticipated your cousin asking you about Miami…" she trails off for
a moment and swallows nervously. "Or about some girl you mentioned
the last time you spoke." Her accent peeks out when she's upset,
though she's getting better and better at keeping it at bay. I wish
she wouldn't keep it hidden. It's fucking adorable. And
sexy.
Then it hits me that Rory
is jealous. My smirk is immediate and insuppressible. Does she
really not understand that she was the hot