Then I tell him about the night he heard me say 'I love you' to Cam.
"Did you lovehim?"Sam asks.
"Yes." I don't elaborate on that either. The truth is, sometimes I think I could have grown to bein lovewith Cam. Sometimes I think I already was. Mostly, though, I have no idea what I really felt. But I do know I loved him. I've known that since I was three.
I tell Sam about that night. The first night Robin raped me. I explain how he thought I wanted it because I'd been wearing skirts and dresses. And because he thought I was playing hard to get. That when I cried and saidnoand begged him to stop, he thought it was all a game. He thought I would like it "rough", or so he said. Even though it was my first damn time. I sound bitter, I can't help it. Iambitter.
"That'show you lost your virginity?" Sam is horrified again. But what can I do? He wanted to know.
It's a funny expression -lost your virginity.As if you can just accidentally drop or misplace it. But the truth is, you can't justloseyour virginity. For most people, it's something you choose togiveto someone, for one reason or another, but not for me. Mine was stolen.
I tell Sam how confused I was afterwards. How Robin acted like he'd thought I'd wanted it. Like it was normal, like it wasright.I tell him how he cuddled me and told me he loved me, and how the following morning he started talking about wanting to marry me someday.
"Did you want that? Tomarryhim? Atseventeen?" Sam is astonished. Of course he is.
"It's different where I'm from. Our parents were all married young. And it wasn't like he was proposing, he was just saying he wanted to marry mesomeday. It wasn't until later that I realized he meant sooner than I thought. But no, I never wanted to marry him. But it did confuse me more. It was a really confusing time for me in general."
Then I tell him the most humiliating part. I explain how even after Robin raped me, I stayed with him. I went back for more. And more he gave me, again and again. Every time. No matter how loud I tried to scream, how hard I cried or tried to fight, or how desperately I begged. I explain how controlling and possessive Robin became. How rough he got with me even when it had nothing to do with sex. How I had to wear warm clothes in freaking Florida to hide bruises. How I protected the person who was hurting me.
This, though, Sam understands. He says his parents used to make up stories about his injuries, always blaming football, and it made him resent the sport itself, until his father finally left them when he was in the eighth grade. He says his mom did the same thing. Hiding her bruises behind modest clothing.
I'm crying now, and Sam's eyes glisten too, so I start talking faster, desperate to get the story over with. I'm also vaguely aware that although I know this will change the way Sam sees me forever - and not for the better - somehow, like with Cam, the more I tell him, the more unburdened I feel.
I tell him about the Gainesville trip. How my fear of being alone with Robin, unlimited by time and space, struck me with enough terror that I knew I had no choice but to finally tell my father what had been happening. Sam takes my hand now, and not gently either. I squeeze his back, clinging to the strength he offers.
Sam grits his teeth as he listens to me explain how sure I was that with my confession to my father, my suffering would be over. But that isn't what happened. I describe the things my father said to me. How it was my fault - that I'd asked for it, and how. How I had to listen to my father attack my character while he defended that of my assailant. How I watched any ounce of hope I had die with his words, just minutes before Robin arrived to collect me for school, and how my father shook his hand and told him he'd consented to my joining him for the weekend.
"So your father handed you over to your fucking rapist?!" Sam growls.
I shrug. Yes. That is exactly what he did. "I guess we both have sucky fathers, huh?" I murmur.
"That's an understatement," Sam replies bitterly, and squeezes the hand he still holds. He scoots over, just a little, so that we're sitting closer. "Tell me you didn't go away with him. Tell me he didn't have you to himself for a whole weekend," he pleads soberly.
I shake my head, hastily swiping at my cheeks with my free hand to rid them of tears. "I didn't," I breathe, and Sam's relief is palpable. "I knew I couldn't. But..." I steel myself, and as I do, I realize I'm saying the same words I said to Cam exactly one year earlier.
"But?"
I sniffle. This is the part I can't even think about, let alone describe, without reliving the terror I felt in those moments. Sam slides even closer until he's right beside me, so close our knees are touching. He doesn't release my hand, and his other hand reaches up to tuck my hair behind my ear, lingering to brush my cheek with the pad of his thumb. I close my eyes, just for the shortest second, relishing the feel of his touch, so impossibly comforting to me. I picture Sam as a little boy, terrified of a tyrant father. It is not my experience, but it has some symmetry, and I feel for him deeply. I stare at the man before me, so kind and compassionate despite his violent upbringing.
It's that moment, right before I confide one of the worst horrors of my life, that I realize I've already fallen in love with him. Another tear falls, clinging to the line of my nose, and Sam's thumb gets to it before mine does. But this tear - this tear I don't shed for Robin, or for my father, or even for Cam. This tear belongs solely to Sam - the boy he was, and the man he is.
"I waited until the last minute to tell him I wasn't comin'," I whisper. We sit so close that it doesn't matter how soft my words are. "I was so scared of his reaction, and I didn't want him to have time to get my dad to make me go with him. He met me at school after the basketball game. I had to cheer at it, and we were supposed to leave right from there." I pause and swallow, my throat bone dry. Sam notices, and he hands me the bottle of water that sits in front of us on the coffee table and I take a sip.
"I told him I didn't want to go and that we needed space. At first he was just, like, sad. He looked like he was gonna cry. And I don't know why I cared - he'd made me cry a thousand times, but... it confused me. I ran off before I could waver, into the girls locker room.
"I didn't hear him follow me. Everyone was gone. They' all changed and left after the game. It was always like a switch would flip, you know? One minute he'd be one person, and the next..." my breath hitches in my throat.
Sam's hand squeezes mine, and in his eyes I can see that, yes, he does know.
"He was real mad. He slammed me against the wall. He... It was worse than before. Much worse." I start to tremble at the memory, and Sam's hand drops mine and wraps around my shoulders, pulling me to his chest. In his embrace, it's easier to continue, or maybe it's because I no longer have to look into his eyes, no longer have to watch him digest what happened to me.What Iallowedto happen to me.
"He did it right there in the girls locker room. I tried to fight. He was so rough. So much rougher than usual. He was just so strong and I'm just- I really tried so hard," I sob. I don't know why it's so important to me that Sam knows I tried to stop Robin, but right now, it is.
"I know you did, Ror." I can't see his face since mine is cradled against his chest, my head tucked safely under his chin, but his voice is earnest.He does. He knows I fought.
"He always ripped off my underwear, because I would always try to fight him off. But I was wearing my cheerleading uniform. We wear these spandex spankies over them-"
"I'm familiar."
