"Ican't? 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'syou. You'rethe problem," I spit.
I don't know why I want to hurt him right now - maybe to get him back for making me want him, for making me care for him. But I do. I want to hurt him. And from the look in his eyes, I've no doubt I've succeeded.
Sam doesn't reply. He just stands there looking affronted.
"Iamfucked 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 know that? You're only hurtin' me. And the worst of it is, I was almost starting to believe you. But... Iamfucked up. The sooner you just accept that, the easier it'll be on both of us," I mutter bitterly. I blink back tears and take a deep breath. "I understand if you don't wanna be my friend anymore." I swipe at my wet cheeks and make my escape, fleeing down the stairs.
I climb into Carl's backseat to head back to school. She and Tina both ask if I'm okay, but I don't reply. I just ask her to drive, and mercifully, she does.
****
The rest of the day I'm numb. Or at least I try to remain numb. But thoughts of Sam and my horrible words to him creep back into my consciousness, as do words from Robin, from Cam. Words from another lifetime. One that may be over, but one so devastatingly ingrained what I've become that I can't move on to anewlifetime. I'm in limbo, and I fear I'm here for good.
I know my words hurt Sam. Imeantfor them to. But I'm not sure why.
He doesn't seek me out, and I don't expect him to. But I'm not quite prepared when he passes me in the hall and averts his gaze. He doesn't speak to me, he doesn't even look at me. It's just like that second week of school. We've reverted back into strangers, and I'm once again invisible. I'm not sure why I expected anything else. I asked for this.
But I didn't expect it to hurt this much.
I realize he'll likely take me up on my offer to end our friendship. Why wouldn't he? I basically took everything he's ever done for me and thrown it back in his face. What I hadn't realized was how much I would miss him - how much I've taken him for granted. It's been a matter of hours, and already I feel the loss like a gaping hole in my chest. I never really considered how much I looked forward to seeing him each day. To talking to him, to joking and teasing with him. To his simple, innocent, friendly touches, that I now know were only innocent from his end.
And that's why I needed to do this, I remind myself.
I can't have feelings for Sam. I can't have feelings foranyone. Not for someone else who's just going to betray or abandon me, or find some new way to hurt me.
Yet somehow he's gotten me to trust him. And I can't understand why when I've already learned that lesson tenfold - when I know better. I'm so damn confused. And Sam says I'm not fucked up. That statement alone is enough proof he doesn't know what he's talking about. I'm fuckingdecimated.
I go from class to class, still on the edge of losing it, despite my medication. I consider taking another dose. It's technically too soon, but I am allowed to take two if I have a really bad attack. But I'm not about to have another attack, I don't think. Not unless I'm triggered somehow.
I grimace when I realize I'm making excuses, talking myself into taking drugs - even if they're drugs that were legally prescribed to me - to numb myself and for no other legitimate reason.
God, I'm fucked up.
By the time phys ed rolls around, I'm just happy that it's finally the last period of the day. We walk the track outside, and I'm grateful not to have to participate in a group sport right now. I walk alone, around and around, and though I'm aware of Chelsea walking somewhere behind me, snickering with her friends, I ignore her.
She's already won. She got what she thinks she wanted - to cause a rift between Sam and me. But the joke's on her. Sam never wanted me as more than a friend - it wasn't me holding him back from being with her - and now that he's washed his hands of me, he still won't want her.
I hope.
When the period is almost over, I walk to the bathroom next to the cafeteria to change back into my school clothes. I go through the motions like a zombie. I tug my gym tee off over my head and dig in my bag for the grey U2 concert tee I wore today.
Where is it?
I'm vaguely aware that there's someone else in the bathroom, which is strange. It's usually empty the last couple minutes of the school day, but it doesn't especially concern me. But my missing shirt does. I can just put my gym tee back on, but it doesn't make any sense. I put my clothes in my school bag like always and left them on the bleachers during gym...
Click.
I hear the sound of the camera app on an iPhone. And it's close.
Too close.
I hear snickering - more than one voice, several in fact, and look up to see Chelsea -that fucking bitch -taking a second shirtless photo of me.
"See guys, Iknewshe was hiding something!" she calls excitedly out to her partners in crime. "She has a fucking c-section scar! Iknewit! Shit, Rory, you had ababy?!" she screeches triumphantly so anyone in the vicinity will hear, and cackles with laughter.
It takes me a second to fully register what's happening.
She's photographed my scar.
