ReCAP: A NORMAL Novella (5 page)

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Chel?" I
practically snarl at her. But no one judges me, they're all looking
at her like she's the asshole, which she is.

"
Me
?" she huffs. "I don't know why
she's so sensitive. I'm just trying to figure her out, since she's
inserted herself in all of our lives."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I
growl.

"She hasn't inserted herself in anything,
Chelsea," Tina admonishes. "She's been Carl's friend for years, and
she's my friend-"

"And mine," I add.

"Well why would she react so defensively
when I was just asking her about where she's from and whatever?"
Chelsea retorts, as if her behavior is even remotely
defensible.

"You accused her of hiding something,
Chelsea. You didn't exactly ask her about her favorite movie! I
don't know what the hell has gotten into you," I tell her.

She pouts, disgruntled, but not apologetic.
She really doesn't get that she's in the wrong and it frustrates
the hell out of me.

Carl returns looking confused, and I raise
my eyebrows in question. She tells me Rory wasn't in the ladies'
room, and it has me out of my seat and storming toward the back of
the diner in a millisecond. I know she came back here, I saw
her.

I head out the back staff exit, and there
she is, sitting on the concrete steps that lead to the parking lot,
her face in her hands, and the sight stabs me in the chest.

I see the pill bottle in her hand, and it
makes me angry at Chelsea all over again.

"Ror?"

But she doesn't move. I wait a moment,
watching her cautiously, and I can sense her calming down, her
breathing slowing, and I thank God she had her pills on her. I
resent Chelsea all the more for driving Rory to panic, and I resent
myself for putting her in the position in the first place. I should
have cut Chelsea off right away, and I make a mental note to talk
to her about cutting Rory a break.

"Carl went to the bathroom to check on you,
but she said you weren't in there..." I feel awkward, and I don't
know why. I've never felt awkward with Rory before. I'm her friend.
Actually, we've become pretty damned good friends, and I shouldn't
have to give her an explanation why I came to check on her when
she's upset.

But she still doesn't say a word, or even
move a muscle. I sit down beside her on the step. "I just wanted to
make sure you were all right," I tell her.

"Fine," she whispers,
lifting her head, but not meeting my eyes. But I want her eye
contact. I need it. I need to make sure she's really
fine
.

"You took a pill," I state the obvious for
no reason at all. I'm just frustrated that this is what she's been
driven to, and at what was supposed to be a casual lunch at the
damned diner.

She shrugs, and there's something defensive
in her posture, but I wasn't judging her - I would never judge her.
"Yeah, I did," she says resentfully. "I took a pill, Sam, because I
needed it. And I needed it because I'm fucked up. And no amount of
you tellin' me how I'm stronger than I think I am is gonna change
that, okay?" Her accent snakes and slides through her bitter words,
taunting me with the juxtaposition of something I find so sexy, and
words that slice through my chest. I wince. I hate her words. I
hate her judging herself, and I hate her thinking I would judge
her.

"You're not fucked up, Ror," I promise
her.

"Yes I fucking am! And if you weren't so
damn busy tryin' to fix me, you'd fucking see it!" she shouts,
glaring at me as she stands up.

Her words unsettle me
deeply. They cut me to my core. It kills me when she says she's
fucked up - she's not - but it's her fixating her anger on me
that's got me so deeply on edge. What have
I
done to hurt her?

"I'm not trying to fix
you, Rory, I'm just trying to be your friend," I say carefully. I
don't even know where she would get such an idea. She's the one who
thinks she's fucked up, not me – I think she's fucking incredible,
so why would I be trying to fix her?

I've done nothing to
warrant her current attitude, and I can't help but resent it, and I
clench my jaw shut before I say something I can't take back.
Instead of telling her what I'm thinking – that the only thing
fucked up is how she's treating me right now – I try to refocus the
conversation on the actual issue.

"You can't let Chelsea get to you like-"

But she cuts me off.
"I
cant?
Of
course I can, Sam! She was attackin' me! Accusin' me of God even
knows what! But you know what? It ain't even her. I can handle her.
I've known girls like her my whole life. It's
you
.
You're
the problem," she hisses,
each word digging the knife deeper into my gut.

I'm the problem?

Fuck
that
. I'm far from perfect, but I've been
a good friend to her, and I don't fucking deserve this.

"I
am
fucked up.
Broken
, okay? You can't fix me. I'm
not fixable. I don't need you to defend me and I don't need your
bullshit about how strong I am. You're not helping, you're only
hurtin' me, you know that? And the worst of it is I was almost
starting to believe you... but... I
am
fucked up. The sooner you just
accept that, the easier it'll be on both of us."

Her bitter, hateful rant
stuns me into a frozen silence. It's probably good that I can't
form words, though, because I have nothing wise or kind to say.
Because this is fucked up. Not
her
.
This
. What she's saying to me right
fucking now.

She takes a deep breath, and I ignore the
way the sight of her watery eyes grips at my heart, twisting it
painfully. Because I'm pissed.

I'm
hurting
her? Well fuck that. I've
only ever wanted to
help
her.

"I understand if you don't wanna be my
friend anymore," she adds sadly.

Well yeah, I bet you do
prefer if we're not friends, since I'm only fucking hurting
you
.  

But I don't say it out
loud. I don't say fucking
anything
.

Rory swipes at her eyes and runs away, and I
stand there in some semblance of shock

It doesn't even matter
that none of it is true. That she isn't broken or fucked up, and
that she
is
stronger than she realizes. Because she obviously doesn't
believe a word I've said to her, and apparently, they've only hurt
her more.

I slide down to sit on the step again,
staring at nothing.

I don't know why I feel like this. Like my
heart has been savagely ripped from my chest, and stomped on. Like
she's slapped me in the face all over again, only this time, it
rattled my brain so badly I can't get a grip on a single cohesive
thought.

What. the fuck. just happened?

I rub my temples with my thumb and
forefinger, trying to clear my head. My phone buzzes in my pocket
and I know it's Tucker looking for me. But I'm fucking lost.

But I need to pull myself
the hell together. I don't know why I've let this girl I've barely
known a month get to me like this. Just because she's hot? So what?
I've known plenty of hot girls. Fucked plenty of hot girls. Though
none were beautiful like Rory. But what does that matter? So she's
beautiful and smart and fun to be around – when she's not telling
me off – and so she's been hurt. She's not the only one who's ever
been hurt. Even I've had the shit beaten out me of me plenty of
times, by my own damned father. I tried to help her. I tried to be
her friend. But if I'm only hurting her, then what the fuck am I
doing?

Well no more.

It hurts, I won't pretend it doesn't, but if
Rory wants me out of her life, then that's what she'll get.

****

Nothing More Than
Friends

I
'm in a bad fucking mood. I realize I'm being a fucking
pussy, but Rory hurt my damned feelings, and when the last bell of
the day rings, I just want to go straight home as fast as
possible.

There's a commotion of
some kind when I head through Hallway A, and I'm startled to a stop
when I hear Tuck – in the girls bathroom – and he's calling
my
name.

"Cap! Cap!" Tucker's in some kind of panic,
and I rush through the crowd, into one of the only rooms in this
school I've never been in, and am surprised to find an even more
dense, coed crowd in the bathroom itself. Shouts and catcalls fill
the room, and from the suggestive comments I half expect to see two
girls making out, but what I find is way hotter, but also fucking
horrible.

Rory straddles Chelsea, who's on her back on
the bathroom floor. Rory is topless, except for a black satin bra,
and her tight leggings don't make it any easier to separate this
very real fight, from something resembling a hot fantasy.

But it's not a fantasy.
They're hurting each other. It's clear that Rory's coming out on
top – literally – but they each have a grip on the other's hair and
they shove at each other, rolling, bucking, and throwing
elbows.

I don't even think. Rory's words from
earlier are far from my mind as I push through the bustling
crowd.

"Fucking whore!" Chelsea screeches
hysterically.

"Fuck-"

I grab Rory and pull her back off of Chelsea
before she can spit whatever nasty, probably accurate response she
meant to say. She struggles with a vigor that surprises me,
twisting and writhing for freedom, trying to go back at Chelsea,
but I fold my arms around her in makeshift restraints. Her movement
doesn't help the fantasy element, and even her rage is sexy as
anything I've ever seen.

"Let me go!" she demands, still struggling,
and I have no doubt she knows exactly who's restraining her.

I hold her steady. "No. Not until you calm
down," I say right into her ear.

Chelsea stumbles her way
to her feet, heaving for breath, huffing in obvious outrage." Cap!
Thank God! She's fucking crazy!" she shrieks like an overexcited
Chihuahua.

Her words send Rory
wriggling for retaliation again, and I have to tighten my already
formidable hold. I take deep, settling breaths, focusing on
control. Rory is a slim little thing, but she's fierce, and I've
never seen her on fire like this. Her tits are barely covered, and
with her overexerted breathing, they heave under my arms. Her hair
is all disheveled from the fight, and it's impossible not to
imagine it's exactly how it would look after an intense roll around
on my mattress.
Fuck
.

Focus
.

"Calm down, Chel," I tell her. If she says
one more thing to antagonize Rory, I'm not sure I'll be able to
keep ahold of her without hurting her. And I won't hurt her. Which
mean Chelsea will get her ass kicked. More. "What happened?" I
demand.

Already I know that Chelsea provoked Rory
somehow. Her nasty bullshit at lunch that caused me such
aggravation obviously didn't stop there. But I can't imagine what
would have led to such violence for either of them.

"She attacked me!" Chelsea accuses.

"I did not!" Rory shouts, trying to twist
out of my grip again, and this time her ass rubs against my dick,
and this is starting to be a serious problem.

"Will you quit
squirming
?" I beg her,
but my desperation for her to stop fucking inadvertently arousing
me makes me sound irritated with her, and I regret my
tone.

But she surrenders, finally, and I feel the
rage drain from her body, her spirit deflating right there in my
arms.

"She's crazy, Cap! I told
you she was hiding something! Look! She had a baby! Her C-section
scar is right there!
Look!
"

I glare at Chelsea.
Is
she
fucking
crazy? I've never seen her in such hysterics. When she realizes I'm
not giving her insane – and irrelevant – accusation any credence,
she changes tact.

"She threw my phone in the toilet! It's
ruined!"

I raise my eyebrows. Why
would Rory do that? But I can't see her face; I'm still holding her
as tight as I can without hurting her.

"You snuck into the bathroom to take
pictures of me while I was changing!" Rory growls.

"Is that true?" I try not to sound as
horrified as I feel. Chelsea can be a bitch, sure, but I never
imagined she'd do something like this. But at the same time it
makes perfect sense as to how this whole clusterfuck could have
began.

I realize that I've grown
even tenser in my anger with Chelsea, and I loosen my grip on Rory,
marginally. She's not trying to get free anymore, she's just
standing here, affronted, victimized,
again
, by someone who is supposed to
be my fucking friend. I could fucking kill Chel right now. I would
never lay a hand on a girl, but if there was ever a time, it would
be fucking now. But Rory doesn't need me to fight for her; she took
Chelsea down all on her own. Rory – who's not as strong as I think
she is.
My fucking ass.

"I knew she was hiding something. I needed
proof," Chelsea murmurs, but her confidence is waning. She's
realizing how insane she's sounding. I hope.