"You could sleep with me," I whisper.
"Ror..."
"Just sleep," I qualify. "Just... you know, hold me?" My voice is barely audible, and I know I'm just embarrassing myself even more after last night, but that was an exceptionally bad dream - the ones where I can't breathe are the worst - and I'm feeling terribly vulnerable right now.
"You sure that'd be okay? I don't want to make it worse, Ror," he murmurs tentatively, and if I didn't know better, I'd think he actually wanted this right now. To hold me.
"Please, Sam."
And with my plea, he scoots over to lift the comforter and then slides in next to me on his back. He holds his arm out and I snuggle into the nook of his shoulder, resting my head on his chest. Sam's arms wrap around me, holding me in place. He sighs, and I take it as encouragement and rest my arm over the perfect ripples of his abdomen. Who ever knew something so rock hard could be so damn comfortable?I'm tempted to entwine my legs with his, but I know it would be inappropriate. I don't want to make Sam uncomfortable, and I definitely don't want to make this so-close-and-yet-so-far situation any more blurry for myself. I force down any amorous feelings and cuddle into him, delighting in the comfort my friend is blessing me with in this moment.
No, I don't think I'll have any more nightmares tonight, after all. In fact, I feel unfathomably safe.
NINETEEN
S P R I N G B R E A K, L A S T Y E A R
IN CAM’S ARMS, magically, my nightmares can't touch me. Even after yesterday. But I wake before the sun in a jolt of panic. Last night, I was so desperate for the comfort only Cam can offer, that I didn't quite think everything through. I can't let him see me like this. In the light of day it will take no more than a glance for him to see everything Robin did to me.
Even with the worst of it - my back, my breast, the bandage on my hip - covered by his tee and boxers, the bruising and bite marks on my neck are visible. As is the swelling and black and blue of my wrists.
I still feel sore between my legs, but it's gotten much better over night. I've found that this has become a resilient part of me, mercifully almost always healing before Robin could hurt me again.
I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Cam. I tiptoe out of his room and carefully close his door, then pad down the stairs and out the back door.
Once inside my own house, I quickly dig out my black cotton turtleneck, grateful that it will cover both my neck and wrists. I check my cut and am relieved the bleeding has stopped. I leave on the butterfly bandages and replace the soiled gauze before I pull on loose black sweatpants. It's seventy five degrees outside and climbing, and my outfit makes no sense for the season-for any season here in Linton,really-but I've no other choice.
I don't know what to do next. I just want Cam, or my mom, but she's out of town, and Cam's asleep. I realize I left my phone in Cam's bed and try to remember if I powered it off or not.
I curl upin a rocking chair on my back porch, hug my knees to my chest,and weep while I watch the sun rise.
I don't notice Cam approach, but he doesn't startle me either. I know he'll chalk up my tears to my breakup. Silently, he sits in the chair beside me and hands me a mug of Earl Grey tea. I take a welcome sip. He's sweetened it with honey just how I like it. Of course he did.
"You look like you're going to a funeral," he gestures to my clothing. "A casual one, anyway."
I crack a smile and shrug. He's still in his pajama bottoms, though he's pulled on a tee shirt. He notices me lookingandnods back toward his house."I gotta shower and get dressed. Then we can go down to the lake and talk."
I nod. "I'll come with you." I climb out of the chair. I've had enough alone time. Cam slings an arm around my shoulders and I lay my head on his.
"You gonna try and watch me change again?" he teases. I smack him on the chest and he laughs.
"Shut up," I mutter, but I can't hide my mirth. In truth, I wouldn't mind watching him change.
****
Isit on Cam's bedroom floor and digest the short story he's allowed me to read. He always tells me the pages I'm allowed to see, and is very clear that I'm not to look at any other pages. It's been the same system since he started writing his stories downwhen we were about twelve. I've never broken his trust, and I'm sure he's never doubted me.
Cam dresses in the bathroom and emerges in his trademark jeans and white tee shirt, his hair still damp, and I stand up on my tip toes to style it.He laughs. I haven't missed an opportunity to do this since he first asked me to before our first school dance in the sixth grade. The truth is his hair needs no styling at all. It flows in perfectly thick, chocolate wavy locks all on its own. I think I just like to run my fingers through it, and Cam just likes to indulge me.
"Am I presentable?" he chuckles. God, it's like his laugh has healing properties for me. If I just spend enough time today listening to him laugh, I think all of my injuries just might disappear.
"You'll do, handsome," I smile and pat his cheek playfully.
****
We sit in our spot by the lake, under the weeping willow, and I listen with my eyes closed as Cam reads aloud another story he's deemed me worthy enough to hear. Or that he's deemed worthy enough to share with me.
Since we were kids he's had this recurring protagonist, a girl I've always suspected is at least loosely based on me, though Cam has always teasingly denied it. I know he thinks the similarities of character are glaringly obvious, but in truth, she's nothing like me. She's tough, strong... unbreakable. Everything I'm not.
