Sam takes a deep breath. "Let's get it cleaned. Who knows where those nails have been," he jokes and I offer him a weak smile.
Sam takes my hand and leads me to the sinks. He grasps me by my waist and lifts me onto the counter as if I weigh nothing at all. He wets some paper towels and adds soap, and cleans the scratch under my chin. I watch him wordlessly as he works, his brow creased adorably in concentration.
I can't help but think of Cam. Of all the times he'd cleaned up my scrapes and scratches. And of course the last time.
"Was it a friend of your father's?" Sam asks cautiously as he dries my chin with another batch of paper towels. When he's satisfied with his handiwork, he begins to button the shirt I'm wearing from the top down.
"I think she stole my tee shirt from my bag while we were walking the track. Chelsea, I mean. But I have my gym tee, I could-" I'm stalling. I wonder idly if he's aware of that, but if he is, he doesn't call me out. He doesn't pressure me.
"Just keep my shirt, Ror, okay? It looks better on you anyway," Sam murmurs as he continues busying himself with the buttons.
Hell if that's true. But it's still nice to hear from him. I've spent so much time trying to be invisible that I surprise myself by my desire to be attractive to him, to hear him compliment me. I never thought I'd want to hear a man compliment my appearance again. And holding on to his shirt does have certain advantages. I wonder how long it will retain his clean, masculine scent.
"His friend's son. My ex." I force the words out before I can change my mind, and they emerge as little more than a whisper. I don't know if I even want to tell him or not, or how much. I just know, at this point, that Sam deserves some answers. And if he's going to work up the courage to ask, the least I can do is try to answer.
"Is this the boyfriend you mentioned before? Who hurt or abandoned you? Thebad breakupone, or someone else?" He stops working after fastening the final button and meets my eyes. I'm perched atop the bathroom counter and Sam stands right in front of me, his hands planted on either side of my hips, my dangling knees pressing against his thighs.
"I've only ever had one boyfriend."
"And he's anex...?"
I blink at him, perplexed. "I've already told you I don't have a boyfriend," I remind him. For some reason he looks puzzled instead of enlightened.
"I know. I just thought... that maybe you did have someone," he murmurs hesitantly.
I shake my head, wondering why he would possibly think that. "I have no one." He knows I mean more than just romantically.
Sam looks sad, and I didn't mean to make him pity me any more than he already does. And I hate thinking about Robin, it only frightens and confuses me. I let out a bitter laugh. "Although, if you ask him, he probably wouldn't agree. When we broke up... he says I belong to him no matter what I say, that I'll always be his."
"Ah, but I heard you say you, uh,'ain't anyone's'," Sam drawls in his best Scarlet O'Hara he's convinced sounds like Rory Pine.
"That's right," I agree.
"Hecutyou, Rory?" Sam whispers incredulously, leaning even closer to me. Any closer and our noses would touch. I swallow and bite my lip. His eyes fall momentarily down to my lips and I look away, knowing the last thing I need is to delude myself into believing he would ever want to kiss me.
"It was an accident." My voice is faint and hesitant and even I can hear the uncertainty.
"I don't believe you."
"Me neither."
Sam and I stare at each other. I know he wants me to tell him everything, but I can't. He doesn't understand that there's so much more than how I got the scar, and I can't tell him about one without telling him about it all. And I can't tell himeverything.Despite what he thinks, he'll look at me differently. And even if he's only ever offered me friendship, it's one thing for him to know I'm damaged, but I can't bear for him to look at me like I'm...ruined.
We both startle when we hear my name called out loudly. We look to the door as Carl bursts breathlessly through it. She looks around and spots us - me seated on the counter with Sam standing too close. If she notices the intimacy of our position, she doesn't say anything, she just runs over to us.
"God, Rory! Everyone is saying you and Chelsea got into a fist fight!"
I look to Sam who holds out his hand, and I realize he means to help me down from the counter, so I take it and hop down.
"Chelsea's a crazy bitch. She came at Rory. Rory kicked her ass," Sam explains with a proud smirk, and I roll my eyes.
"Um, haven't you and Chelsea been friends since, like, birth?" Carl accuses Sam, who grimaces, and I feel instant guilt at putting him in a position to choose between two friends. And vaguely, I wonder why he didn't choose the one he's known for more than two months.
"Yeah. We were."
Carl's brows draw together in an inquisitive look.
I sigh. "She followed me in here after gym and took pictures of me changing, so I threw her phone in the toilet and... well, like Sam said, she came at me..."
