"I might be known to crack open a book from time to time... Come on, I got you some orange juice and aspirin. You must be feeling crappy," he offers, pulling me to the couch, which has been stripped of any evidence that anyone crashed there last night. At least until I begged him to sleep in the bed with me instead.God am I pathetic.
"You mean because I look like crap," I mutter under my breath.
We both sit and I take the pills and down the entire glass of juice. I glance at Sam who seems pleased. No doubt he was expecting an argument, but I just don't have it in me right now.
"You don't look like crap."
I roll my eyes.Great, here come the platitudes.
"You look like a beautiful girl who drank too much last night and is paying for it now," he asserts.
Yeah, because men always reject beautiful girls who beg them for sex.I hate that I'm so pitiful he needs to console me with bullshit. Sam is right about one thing though; I sure am paying for last night now. In truth, it feels like I'm paying for a lot of things, and I have been for a long time.
"Can we talk about last night?" he asks hesitantly.
"Do we have to?"
"Rory." My name comes out like an admonishment. Like he's talking to a child who's done something wrong. And maybe, right now, that's precisely what I am. I am the one who is in the wrong here. I'm the one who violated our friendship.
I meet his eyes. "Look, Sam, we really don't need to do this. I get it. And I'm real sorry. You've made yourself real clear about only wantin' to be friends. I don't know what I was thinkin'. I shouldn't have kissed you. And I shouldn't have asked you to... I just thought..."I thought that when you shoved your tongue in my mouth and pressed your body against mine it meant that you wanted me too.
I sigh. "I know you don't want me like that. And I knew it long before last night, so I really don't know why I thought last night you might..." I take a deep breath to stop my rambling. "Can't we just chalk it up to my bein' drunk?"
"Is that what it was? You being drunk?" he asks, his gaze intent, his voice sober.
I should sayyes. I should blame it all on the alcohol.
I shake my head instead.What the hell is wrong with me?
Sam lets out a deep breath. He looks down for a second, closes his eyes, and shakes his head once. He lets out a short, ironic laugh. "God,Ror, there's so much wrong with what you just said. But I need to talk about something else you said first. When you-"
"Can't we just pretend like it never happened?" I try one last time to avoid this conversation. I can't seem to lie to this boy, and I don't know how it's going to end, but I fear I may give something of my feelings away, and if I do, I could lose my friend.
"No, Rory. There's no way I can pretendthatnever happened."
My head drops and I stare at my lap. I must look like I've just been sentenced to be executed. I palm my forehead and rub my temples with my thumb and middle finger.
"Rory, last night when we were talking about hooking up, do you remember what you said?" Sam asks cautiously.
I shrug. I remember saying that I wanted him, but not specifically how I propositioned him, other than our kiss. "I kissed you," I whisper.
Sam nods. "Yes. After that. Do you remember what you said? About wanting to do it becauseyouwanted to do it?"
God, this is mortifying. Why is he making me relive this? I shrug again. "I don't really remember what I said, Sam," I murmur, meeting his gaze. "But I know it was me who kissed you. Me who propositioned you. I don't blame you for any of it. I don't understand why we have to talk about last night - it's over. Areyouthe one who's mad? Are you punishing me or somethin'?"
It was the wrong thing to say, I know that immediately. Sam looks horrified. "Ofcoursenot, Rory. How could you eventhinkthat?"
I look down again. The truth is, right now, I really don't knowwhatto think.
Sam sighs. "This isn't about last night. It's about something yousaidlast night, yes, but..." He shoves his fingers through his hair, exasperated, then takes another deep breath. "Please look at me." His tone is gentle and pleading and I comply. "You said you wanted to know what it felt like to do it becauseyouwanted to do it. And when I asked what you meant, you said that you had to. That you didn't always have a choice."
My eyes widen in horror.I said that?
Sam glares at me. He's waiting for a response, but I'm not sure I have one. The words he claims I've said, they're too telling, and they can't be explained away. He knows what they meant, hemust,so why is he even questioning me about them?
I do the only thing I can, I shrug.
Sam takes this as confirmation of his obvious conclusions. His eyes close, only for a moment, as if in grief. "I didn't know," he breathes.
