He smiles wistfully.
"So you're a shoulder-man then?"
"I'm aRory-man," he corrects.
"Hmm," I muse, "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 along 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.
He kisses me, sweet and gentle, 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's upset because of me. That my life - my past - has come back to bitehim.
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, to fighting because of me, being so upset he needs to walk to clear his head - so upset he can't evensleep- and now he's havingnightmares. I'm flooded with guilt, and once again wonder if I can really 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 fuckingpiece of shitpinning my girl to a wall with his hand around your throat, trying to-" his voice cracks and he trails off, his eyes falling closed.
I swallow nervously. "How is that not my fault?"
Sam's eyes shoot open in disbelief.
"If it weren't for me-"
"If it weren't foryou,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.
"Heis the problem. Not you.Youare fucking perfect. How many times do I have to say it?"
I don't respond. I don't 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.
TWENTY-SIX
P R E S E N T D A Y
CARL AND TUCK, true to form, took care to ensure 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. They 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 as well.
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, 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, for comfort and support. For so long she was the only person close to me who really stood by me, who knew everything I'd been 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 would 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. Helovesme. 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. Idly I hope 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, compared to Linton anyway. More like what I've 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, which Sam notices, and he directs me to sit in a random empty seat next to a random empty desk while he seeks out someone who can actually assist us.
