NORMAL (12 page)

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When it's time to leave, Cam grabs my elbow.

"You're ridin' home with me," he says into my ear.

"What do you mean? I can't," I reply

"Forbes has been sippin' out of a flask all night. You're not gettin' in a car with him," Cam informs me.

Shit. Has he?

I saw his friend Tommy offer him a drink earlier and he took it, but I thought it was just the one. Now that Cam has mentioned it, Robin has had whiskey on his breath all night.

Suddenly I'm anxious as hell. I can't let him drive me home, I know better than that, and more importantly, Cam would never allow it. But I can't tell Robin I'm leaving with Cam, that'd never fly, and I can't let Robin drive at all if he's been drinking like Cam says.

"I'll take care of it," I murmur to Cam and make to head over to where Robin is standing in the corner of the gym with his buddies. Cam doesn't release my elbow.

"You won't get in the car with him." It's not a question.

I nod. I won't, but I don't know how he's going to react. I've never questioned Robin before, and our relationship is still so new. If it even is a relationship. I'm not his girlfriend, I don't think, so do I even have the right to dictate to him when he's had too much to drive?

Maybe not, but I can't just let him drive, that much I know.

I gingerly approach him and can now easily see the shine in his eyes, the sloppy slant to his grin. Robin's been drinking plenty, and I can't help but wonder
when?

"There she is," he announces and grabs my hand. He pulls me through the door to the boys locker room, now completely deserted.

Before I can even open my mouth to speak, I'm pushed back against the lockers and his mouth is on mine. His kiss is harder than usual, more aggressive and less sweet. His lips move down my neck and for the first time, his hands don't stay in their safe zones. One moves up over my shirt to my chest, so I grab it, and try to push it back down. He obeys, but too much, and it continues down and around back to grab my ass. I reach back and push it away again.

"Rob," I say, trying to get his attention, but he doesn't relent. His hands keep exploring. "Robin,
please
," I whisper, suddenly desperate for him to back off.

And with a frustrated groan, he does.

"Come on, sweetheart, I just wanna touch you a little. You're so damn gorgeous," he murmurs and his lips find my neck again, but his hands are finally behaving. "God, how's a man supposed to behave himself?"

I push him back and he stumbles a step before his eyes finally focus on mine. He sighs a resigned sigh. "Alright sweetheart, let's get you home," he says and takes my hand to lead me outside.

I don't move. "Robin..." I hesitate.

His eyes light up, but before he can mistake my hesitation as indecision as to how far I'm willing to go right now - which it most definitely is not - I explain. "You've been drinkin'..."

His eyes narrow. "So?" He doesn't deny it, and I can tell he thinks I'm being judgmental.

"So, I think you should just let Cam drive us home. He can drop you off and then take me home."

For a long moment Robin just glares at me, then he steps forward so there's no room between us and smirks sloppily.

"You worried about me, sweetheart?" he whispers.

I nod. Because it's the truth.

Robin smiles. "Foster ain't takin' my date home for me. How about you drive me and then take my car home. I'll have Lace drive me to your place tomorrow, and I can take you to lunch to thank you for being such a thoughtful, sweet, gorgeous girl." He pecks me chastely on the lips.

My grin is impossible to suppress. He's being so reasonable. And sweet. And I know for a fact that he never lets
anyone
drive his car. In fact, everyone knows it. He loves it too much.

"You'll let me drive your car?"

His drunken sloppy grin is actually adorable. "I think I will, darlin'."

Present Day

T
he last few weeks haven't been awful. My calculus grades are up, no doubt thanks to Sam's tutoring me in the library after school twice a week. My AP English teacher agreed to write a letter of recommendation to NYU, and even though it was submitted late, my mom got the admissions office to agree to include it with my application due to my "extenuating circumstances". I applied to a few local safety schools in the city and also here in Long Island, but I
have
to get into NYU, it's the only thing that makes me actually look forward to the future.

Before the bell rings to signal the end of first period, Mr. Frank hands out yesterday's quizzes and I can't help but smile and do a small, seated, victory dance at my ninety two. Sam glances back at me and grins as I mouth a heartfelt "thank you". Sam winks.

Carl pinches my arm lightly like she always does when she notices some exchange between Sam and me that she swears is evidence of a secret crush. Sometimes I'm the one with the crush, sometimes it's Sam, but Carl is convinced there's something going on. She couldn't be more wrong.

In fact, we are still very much just friends, and if I'm honest with myself, in some ways he's become my best friend. I spend most of my social time with Carl, and Tina too usually, and I have a more earnest relationship with them than I ever did with Lacey and the girls down in Linton, but I don't talk to them about the past, and they don't ask. And while Sam doesn't really know details, he knows more than anyone else.

Sam elbows me lightly to get my attention as we file out of class, as if he didn't already have it.

"See you at lunch," Carl calls out as she heads toward the gym for phys ed.

"See? Told you you were ready for that quiz," Sam boasts.

"You did. You were right," I mock grumble, earning myself a smile.

Sam cups his hand to his ear as if he has trouble hearing. "Come again?" he asks. I roll my eyes. "Come on, one more time, Ror, you know I earned it," he goads, as we both walk to our next classes which happen to be in the same wing.

"Fine... You. Were. Right!" I say with dramatic enthusiasm.

"That's what I like to hear," he teases, and I elbow him back. "Alright, alright," he concedes his gloating.

"But that quiz was small potatoes. I had a rough time with the homework last night, and the chapter test is Friday-"

"I got you, Pine. Don't sweat it," he assures me with a pat on the head.

I smile. I know Sam can't know how significant it is for me that I can tolerate these casual touches. Like the pat on the head, or when he took my hand to lead me down the hall last week, or the few times he touched my arm when he thought I might be upset, or even when he playfully elbows me. All friendly, innocent touches, but for me they hold a world of meaning. Just a few months ago, a pat on the back from my mother's male co-worker sent me into a full blown panic attack. But Sam, his touch feels natural, and not only can I tolerate it, but I think I actually find comfort in it.

"See you later," I murmur as I walk into my next class. I sure hope he's right about Friday's test though, because the coursework has only gotten more difficult as the year has progressed. It's only Tuesday so I have this afternoon and Thursday for him to get the concepts to stick.

When I get to the library after school ends, Sam is in the hall talking to Chelsea. I try to slip by them so they can finish their conversation and I can just wait inside for Sam, but no such luck.

"There she is, your little student," Chelsea announces, so I stop. "I was just asking Cap if you're coming to Miami for spring break."

"Oh. Um, no, I don't think so," I murmur.

"Oh, but you should!" She is beyond enthusiastic for someone who has barely said two sentences to me since I started here. "We're all going, you know, our group of friends.  Think about it, it's not too late," she sings before kissing Sam on his cheek and sauntering off.

I don't say anything as I turn and walk into the library and sit at our usual table with Sam following. I know what Chelsea is up to. All too well. She thinks I'm a threat, despite the fact that I couldn't appear less threatening, and she's trying to keep her enemies close. I don't want her as an enemy, I don't want
any
enemies, and though I've basically pushed Sam away any time she's been in the vicinity, this whole tutoring thing makes it difficult. And for some reason every time Sam and I end up chatting in the lot, or at a party, Chelsea seems to take note. I also think Sam has noticed that I abruptly end any conversation we may be having once I notice this, but if he has, he hasn't said anything about it.

Perhaps he just thinks I'm crazy. He wouldn't be wrong.

"She's right, you know," Sam murmurs as we both take out our books.

I frown at him, bemused.  

"Miami. It's going to be fun. You should think about coming."

"I, uh, don't think so."

"You're only gonna be a senior once. Carl and Tina are going," he says, as if I didn't already know this, as if they haven't already tried to convince me to join them a thousand times. "I'll be there," he adds more quietly with a sheepish shrug.

I soften a little. Sam is offering me support. Comfort. He's saying he'll look out for me, like he did when Dave drunkenly propositioned me at Andrew's party a few weeks ago. Like he's done several times since then when he's perceived me to be in an uncomfortable situation, usually correctly.

"I'll think about it, okay? But if you don't get me ready for Friday's test I'm gonna have bigger problems than spring break," I reply.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Do you even doubt me?" he asks cockily.

We work longer than usual since Friday's test really is a doozy. I yawn and stretch as Sam looks over my work. The windows behind him are black with nightfall and I'm exhausted.

I haven't really been sleeping well since I stopped taking my sleeping pills. The nightmares still come several times a week, sometimes more, and though it's an improvement from having them every time I fall asleep, it's still enough to keep my energy level lower than it should be. The thing is - when I take the sleeping pills, they don't prevent the nightmares. If anything, they make them more vivid, and because I'm drugged, I can't wake up. At least when I haven't taken anything I can wake up, albeit screaming or crying... or both.

I'm also still on the same bottle of anti-anxiety meds. I still have twelve pills left in the prescription and I'm still hopeful that I can make it my last one ever.

I glance around the library. We usually aren't here this late. All the other students seem to have left. Sam is looking over the last problem I did and I'm wondering if we should call it a night when I turn around and see that the librarian's desk is empty and her computer powered off.

"Where's Ms. Pitser?" I ask.

Sam barely looks up from the paper. "Hmm? What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"I think she left, I think she leaves at six," he murmurs nonchalantly. I feel my pulse race.

There's no one else here. Holy shit!
I jump out of my chair and Sam looks up with raised eyebrows like he doesn't know what's wrong.  

Is he fucking kidding me?

I want to close my eyes and count, but I'm terrified to close my eyes. I take a few cautious steps back as I break out in a cold sweat, visible beads forming on my nose and brow.

"Rory? You okay?" he asks.

"You- you said the library's open 'til seven," I barely choke out.  

Sam stands slowly. "It is," he says gently.

"But the librarian left!" I snap.

I breathe in and out, in and out. It doesn't help. We're all alone.  

He had to know we'd be all alone!

Sam takes a careful step forward and I take one back.

"You knew she was leavin'!" I accuse.

"She leaves at six, but the library stays open 'til seven. See? The lights are on, the doors aren't locked," he replies. He's still using that gentle tone, like he's talking to a cornered animal.

And that's exactly what I feel like.

He's not going to fool me with that tone. He knew she was leaving at six, he
had
to have planned this. I snatch my bag off the floor and reach for my books, but he takes another step toward me and I back up again, my books forgotten.

My eyes well up.
Fuck!
I can't cry
now!

But my eyes don't listen, and my tears start to fall. I hate myself for being so weak. But he's so big, so strong.

Just like
him!

"
Calculus!
" I sob.

"Oh, God, Rory. Don't cry. Everything's fine. We're fine, okay?"

But I can't catch my breath, and I can't stop my tears. I feel him touch my arm, just like he has before, but it doesn't comfort me, and I start to tremble.

I reach for the side pocket of my bag, but I'm too frightened to take my eyes off Sam, I don't know what he's going to do, and I don't know how to stop him. All my self-defense knowledge has abandoned me in my state of distress.