I jump up.He's sorry? What the fuck for?"No, Cam. It's my fault- why areyousorry?"
He stops in front of me, shocked.What did I say to shock him?"Don't you ever fuckingsay that!" he barks rabidly, and I flinch again. In fact, I practically cower.
Cam and I have shouted at each other plenty. Like all best friends who have known each other a lifetime, we've had our share of arguments. But I've always been one to give as well as I get. A loud voice never bothered me, but now...
Cam registers my reaction - however involuntary - at his raised voice, and this, too, he knows enough to attribute to Robin. It devastates and infuriates him at once - I can see it in his eyes. He sucks in deep breath. "No, Ror, I'm sorry. I won't yell. But, God... don't you ever say that again, okay? This is not your fault. This is his fault. This is my fault. But this ain'tyourfault. No fucking way, okay?"
I shake my head. "How- how can this possibly be your fault?"
"Because, Rory! Because, I should've protected you!Fuck. I knew somethin' was up with you. Somethin' was wrong. But I never thought... fuck!" He rakes his hand harshly through his hair again.
"No, Cam! You can't just fix everything for me! This ain't a damn bee sting. I'm not your responsibility. I don't know why I didn't break it off after he did it the first time. I don't know what's wrong with me. But I do know none of this is your damn fault," I mutter pitifully.
Cam brushes away my tears with his thumb, then slowly brings his lips to each of my cheeks, one at a time, and kisses their remnants away."Youaremy responsibility," he whispers. "You'vealwaysbeen my responsibility. We've always taken care of each other, you and me." He blows out a deep exhale. "I need you to tell me everything, Ror, okay?"
I shake my head. He doesn't need details; they will only upset him more.
"Please," he implores.
"Cam, it won't change anything."
"Please, Ror. I need to know. You know I do. And you need to tell someone. Please. Rory girl," he pleads in earnest. I can't remember a single instance in our fourteen year friendship I denied him something he truly needed from me. The magnitude of Cam's torment is such that I worry he imagines mine was even worse than it was. That's the curse of a soul as creative as his. And how can I deny him the truth when I'm the cause of his pain?
I sit back down on the edge of the bed, lock my gaze on my fidgeting fingers, and I do it - I tell him.
"He'd been aggressive before. Touched me when I'd asked him to stop. I'd even smacked him once, but he got real mad. But he had never..." I pause to fight back tears. "That night, he was upset. He heard me tell you I love you. You know, when we were leavin' the party. He came upstairs after I'd gone to bed... said he shouldn't have to listen to me tell another man I love 'em. Said I was his." My eyes fall closed as I remember how fast things shifted from sweet and playful to violent and terrifying. How many times it happened since.
"He just, you know, held me down, and forced me... But then, after, he cuddled me. Like it was normal, you know, sex." My voice is soft and timid, and I wonder if Cam has ever heard me sound like this. I barely even recognize myself.
"I told him I wasn't ready, but he said I was just playin' hard to get. That I'd never feel ready all on my own, and that I needed to trust him. Said he'd waited six months and it was time. That's when he started talkin' about wantin' to marry me, and all kinds of sweet talk. I told him I didn't wanna do it again until I was ready, and he agreed...
"But when I stayed over there a couple weeks later... he did it again. The same damn thing. I tried to fight, but he liked it when I fought back, it... excited him, I think. I asked him why he did it again when he'd agreed he'd wait 'til I was ready. But he just said he meant he'd wait ‘til I wasn't sore anymore from the last time. Like he was doin' me some big favor." I sniffle back bitter tears. I can't imagine what Cam is thinking right now. He's quiet and pensive, absorbing the truth, and I don't allow myself to wonder what he must think of me. Because if I do, I won't be able to keep talking. "It hurt, Cam," I breathe. "Not just the first time. Every damn time."
Cam stands still as a statue, his entire body stiff with tension. His is the stance of a man consumed by fury, but when I meet his gaze, those familiar, beloved honey-brown eyes are weighed with such profound despair that I flinch at the sight of it. And damn if they don't glisten with tears. I haven't seen Cam cry since his father died when we were seven.
He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out before he closes it again. He sits beside me on the bed and hangs his head in self-condemnation. I have never before seen it on Cam, and it feels all wrong. "I'll never... I can't...". He doesn’t finish his whispered phrases, but then, Cam has never needed to say words aloud for me to hear them. And I hear my best friend loud and clear. He’ll never, he can’t…forgive himself.
I shake my head, hating that he's drowning in guilt when he has been my only salvation. The only light in the dark hell I've been trapped in for months. "No, Cam, you-"
"Yes, Rory, I!" He sucks in a ragged breath."Ishould have known.Ishould have protected you.Ishould have been here for you!" He reaches over and grabs my wrists and begins to stroke them with his thumbs, but I'm not expecting the contact and I wince. Cam's eyes widen in shock and I watch in horror as he realizes I'm hurt.
Without further warning he yanks my sleeves up to reveal the deep rings of black and blue around my wrists.
His gaze dartsfrom the offending bruises to my eyes and back again. I'm powerless as he connectsthe dots,deducing the real reason for my turtleneck.
His gaze never leaves mine as he slowly reaches up to the top of the fabric covering my neck, and carefully pulls it down to reveal the ominous purple shape of Robin's open palm around my neck. Cam sucks in a gasp, but says nothing else as he lets the cotton slip from his grasp. But his silence speaks volumes. His jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring as he grits his teeth.
His fingers move to the hem of my shirt, and he carefully lifts it, watching me for my consent, which I give him wordlessly,raising my arms to assist him. I sit topless but for my bra, in front of my best friend for the first time since I grew breasts, albeit modest ones, and there is nothing sexual about it. He surveys my skin, taking in every bruise, every scratch, every bite mark.
"Oh, Rory, no," he breathes. His eyes close, his thick lashes fanning his cheeks. I watch as he battles between grief and rage, my heart aching with regret.
"What the hell, Ror?" Cam whispers. "He's been beatin' you? Bitin' you? Fuckin' chokin' you?!What the hell?!"
I shake my head fervently. "No. I mean, yeah, he's pushed me around a little, but nothin' more than a bruise here and there or some pulled hair," I tell him. I don't want Cam to think Robin's been hitting me all the time. It wasn't like that. "He didn't beat on me. Not really. He was just real upset when I tried to break up with him yesterday, and he- well you know, he did it again. In the locker room at school. He was just more aggressive about it than usual."
Cam leans forward until our faces are almost touching. "You mean, more aggressive thanrape?" he asks carefully.
I blink at him, hating how right he is.
