NORMAL (62 page)

Sam stirs again and I still until he turns over and settles. Sam had been 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 as if in distress.

Should I wake him?

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

Suddenly he turns violently to his side and kicks at the covers.

"Don't touch'er!"

My jaw drops in horror as I hop onto the bed and start shaking him in desperation.

"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 again. "Please, Sam! Please wake up! You're dreaming!
Please!
" I plead with his unconscious self.

His eyes shoot open suddenly and dart around the room as if 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 lets out a deep exhale and, eyes still shut, nods. I can feel him rally to pull himself together before he opens his eyes and asks if
I
am okay. I glare at him with incredulity and he sighs. He starts to sit up but I push him gently down and settle on top of him, 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 graze over my bruised cheek and he winces, though I don't react at all. 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, now 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 ponder, "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 to 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, before he kisses me.

His kiss is gentle and sweet, devoid of the passion that would indicate it was meant to lead to more. It's 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 is 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 about Robin and Cam, to fighting because of me - being so upset that he needs to walk to clear his head, so upset he can't even
sleep
- and now he's having
nightmares
. All because of me. I am flooded with guilt and, once again, wonder if I can truly 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, closing his eyes briefly. I swallow nervously.
I was right
.

"How is that not my fault?" I breathe.

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 even 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.

Present Day

C
arl and Tuck, true to form, took care to ensure that our group was carefully fed the story about the random attacker coming after me in an alley. Besides the two of them, only Tina, Andrew, and Dave know the truth, though not in detail - just that my attacker was my ex-boyfriend. I know Tina and Andrew will keep it to themselves, and I can only hope that Dave can keep his mouth shut.

But still, I don't feel up to seeing everyone - don't think I can fake-smile my way through a social situation right now. So Carl and Tuck join Sam and me for lunch on his balcony before Sam and I head to the precinct for my appointment.

I decide not to call my mother until after. If my father had contacted her, I'd already have heard about it, and the fact is that as my lawyer, she would insist on flying down to be present for this afternoon, and that would be the end of spring break for me. I know my choice to keep what happened from my mother, at least for the time being, is a questionable one at best. I know I owe her more than that, especially after hiding Robin's abuse from her last year. We've had countless talks since it all came out about confiding in one another and trust, support and all that, and I know that delaying this phone call is a kind of betrayal. That I'm being selfish. Again.

But the truth is, I'm still hoping I can salvage this trip. That I can get through this appointment, figure out how to deal with the logistics of whatever the legal consequences are, update my mom, and try to enjoy the last couple days of my vacation. Is it an ambitious plan? Sure. And, honestly, a part of me does want my mother here with me - to comfort me, to support me. For so long she was the only person close to me who really stood by me - who knew everything I'd gone through, eventually anyway. And not just with Robin but with my falling out with my entire hometown, with my father, my anxiety... And, of course, the worst part of all - losing Cam.

If I didn't have Sam, I'd have called my mother last night.
Who am I kidding
- if I didn't have Sam, I wouldn't be here at all. But I do have Sam. He cares. He
loves
me. And he knows everything. Everything I went through, and everything that happened last night. He saw it, though I wish he hadn't, wish I could erase the image of Robin hurting me - the one he described earlier - from his memory.
The one that caused his nightmare
. I idly hope that his bad dream was an isolated incident, and not the start of an ongoing issue. Like mine. How could I forgive myself otherwise?

Sam keeps a fierce grip on my hand as he leads me into the precinct. It's nothing like the sheriff's station in Linton. Much more expansive and modern. Modern compared to Linton anyway - more like what I'd seen on television or in movies, except messier.

A frazzled and overworked older detective asks us if he can help us and is no more enlightened when Sam introduces us and explains why we're here. The stress of the situation is getting to me so Sam, obviously noting this, directs me to sit in a random empty seat next to a random empty desk, and seeks out someone who can actually assist us. I sit and take deep breaths and count, not that I'm close to a panic attack, but I could certainly use some help calming a bit.

I startle when Sam returns with Detective Mora minutes later, and she greets me with what I read as genuine concern before leading us to a sparsely furnished interview room. She explains that as the case progresses the prosecutor would be happy to meet me in her office, but since this is just an informal meeting to follow up my statement and the complaint, it was easiest to procure the interview room. I don't feel any less nervous. All I can think is that this is where criminals are interrogated. A small metal table sits in the center of the room, surrounded by four wooden chairs, and not much else. Except the two way mirror.

Detective Mora is joined by another detective who was on the scene last night, a young man who can't be much older than Sam and me. I'd guess early twenties, twenty five at the oldest. He reintroduces himself as Detective Karanek and begins to explain that Robin will be arraigned tomorrow at which time bail will be set. He's confident he will be remanded, meaning no bail, especially since there is a violated Injunction for Protection, but I know better. As soon as our fathers work their magic, the tune will change. Even down here.

They ask me about the restraining order, or "Injunction for Protection" as it is formally called, since Detective Mora seems to think the history I recounted should've called for one of the specific kinds, but Robin's is the standard one. I vaguely remember that I didn't qualify for "domestic violence" since Robin and I never lived together - my weekend stays did not legally count. There was also one for "dating violence" but since I was still a minor at the time, my mother had to sign it on my behalf and to qualify for "dating violence", or even "sexual violence", she would have had to have witnessed one of the incidents, which obviously wasn't the case.

I don't know if it would have been different if the Mayor and District Attorney weren't in Robin's pocket, but it is what it is. Detective Mora gives some information that I scarcely register. Sam asks a question and the other detective responds. I feel strangely numb. As if it isn't me sitting here in this room. As if I'm watching the scene from somewhere else. Like I'm on the other side of the two way mirror.

This is how I felt last year too, during the aftermath. In some kind of perpetual daze. Dr. Schall called it a coping mechanism, and perhaps he's right. Perhaps my mind has read the symmetry of my situation - sitting here in a police precinct - and triggered the familiar physical effect.

Thank God for Sam,
I think idly. At least he's paying attention, surely asking the right questions, while I watch the pitiful girl with the bruised cheek and tired eyes as she tries to draw strength from the beautiful boy beside her.

"You should know that Mr. Forbes denies he knowingly approached you-" Mora starts, but Sam interrupts.

"He didn't
approach
her, he stalked and assaulted her," Sam corrects her, "
knowingly
," he adds resentfully.

"I understand, Mr. Caplan. I'm only informing you of his story so that you are aware and prepared," Mora replies, but all I hear is that Robin has his own story, and all I know is that the last time Robin told stories about me, he was the one everyone believed.

Mora continues, addressing me. "Forbes claims he believed you to be in New York, that he just happened to come to Miami and ran into you. He claims you came on to him, and that he was receptive, but that you became angry at some point during the encounter and began to strike him. He maintains that when Mr. Caplan came upon the two of you in the alley, he was simply trying to restrain you from assaulting him, and that Mr. Caplan proceeded to attack him and Tucker Green joined him."