A week later, it still hadn't happened. From what Sam had told me about Accepting him, something was supposed to happen, things were supposed to change. I didn't understand why things were staying the same; it obviously meant that I hadn't officially Accepted him, but I didn't understand why it hadn't worked.
As I was waiting outside my English class contemplating this, Tristan popped up suddenly and plucked my notebook out of my unsuspecting hands.
"Hey!" I called angrily, trying to grab it back.
He just turned his back to me, using his height and athletic ability to keep me at bay as he flipped through the notebook, looking at the papers I had stored in the pockets. He quickly found what he wanted: my sketches were right in the front. They were ones I had done recently, ones that didn't have the pain of my past in the images. Lizzie asleep in a patch of sunlight, Nate and Paula laughing over cupcakes, and to Tristan's delight, Sam.
I tried snatching them back when Tristan pulled them out. It was a hopeless cause, though--it just fueled him. "Drawing in our spare time, are we?" he said.
"Give them back."
"They are quite good, especially this one of Durand," he mocked. He titled his head as he dramatically examined it, as if contemplating the merits of my work.
"Tristan, I'm going to be late to class. Give me back my stuff."
He smiled deviously at me, holding the notebook and sketches behind him. "Buy it back with a kiss."
What? "No!" I exclaimed. If that's how he was going to play it, he could keep it. I didn't care that all my class work and sketches and school ID were suddenly in his hands. Never in a million years would it be worth it.
"Come on, one kiss."
No way.
But before I could get away, Tristan backed me up to the wall. The corners of the books in my backpack pressed painfully into my spine. My blood heated and my eyes went wide with fear as I tried to push him away. He grabbed the back of my neck, and despite my fighting, he kissed me.
I froze.
It was instinct, to freeze. But as it happened, memories flooded back. When he domineered me, when he overcame me and did something I didn't want, I knew better than to fight back. So when Tristan stood over me, his tongue shoved down my throat, I did nothing but freeze.
Well, freeze and cry. When my chest shook with a sob and I tried to gasp for air, Tristan pulled back and looked at me.
That's right, go ahead and cry, Princess.
I don't know if he realized that there was more to my crying than just fright of Tristan himself, but he just looked at me as if I was stupid. "Tristan, stop," I begged through my tears.
People had stopped in the breezeway to watch what was going on. What was the weird new girl who hung out with Sam Durand crying about in the middle of passing period? Why in the world was she sobbing because Tristan kissed her?
No one considered: Hey, should we do something to stop this?
Before Tristan could respond with more than an amused smirk, running his hand suggestively through my hair like he usually did, he was suddenly snatched back from me. My head lurched sideways as his fingers snarled in my hair before ripping through it. It took me a few confused moments to figure out what was happening.
Sam had torn Tristan off of me, and had punched him. Hard.
Blood poured from Tristan's nose as he stared at Sam in rage and surprise, then lunged at him with a roar. They started fighting right in the middle of the hallway, exchanging brutal punches. Students all rallied around, watching and cheering them on, and I just stood there, still frozen. I squeezed my eyes closed tight and put my hands to my head. No!
Sam had the upper hand in the fight, and it was obvious that he was winning, but Tristan wasn't relenting. Tristan wasn't fighting for me, he was fighting because his pride and manhood had been challenged when Sam threw that first punch.
Although there was blood coming from Sam's split lip and Tristan was getting in some blows, I knew that Sam couldn't be defeated. Not with his immortal strength. Who knew what Sam would do? He just might fight Tristan until he was dead.
I desperately pushed my way past the spectators and into the center ring where they were attacking each other, a new pulse of anxiety ripping through my veins. "SAM! STOP!" I screamed. He didn't even glance at me. I didn't think he even heard me. "STOP IT, BOTH OF YOU! STOP IT!"
A group of teachers made it to the fight scene as I continued to scream uselessly, and they forced their way in between the boys. Three teachers were doing the duty of blocking Sam, and I knew if he wanted to, he could overcome them in seconds.
"Apologize." Sam growled his compulsion to Tristan. "Apologize to her."
"Yeah?" Tristan taunted. He fought the command as if Sam had no power behind his words. "Apologize to your little whore?" Sam lunged at Tristan, sending a ripple through the teachers trying to break them up. When Sam got thrust back by Coach Wilson, Tristan continued, "You've got her pretty whipped to get her to cry when I kiss her."
"You leave her alone or I will make sure you never enjoy a woman again." The crowded 'ooh'ed at that. I alone knew Sam wasn't bluffing.
"Please," Tristan scoffed. "I'm twice the man you are. You'd never be able to please Abby the way I could in your wildest dreams."
Sam lunged again, and I cried out as I finally made it to his side. "Sam!" I shouted. "Sam!" Tears still streamed down my face.
As Coach Wilson deterred Sam's next blow, I reached out and grabbed Sam's arm, digging my fingernails into him to make sure he noticed me. Only then did he look at me. It took a moment, but clarity eventually cleared his eyes enough for him to finally comprehended me standing beside him.
Determined fury on his face, he pulled me to his side and clenched me to his body in protection. Surprisingly, it relieved me. No memories, no terror shot through my veins; just the opposite. It was Sam.
"Break it up!" Coach Wilson called. "All three of you, to the principal's office!"
Tristan and Sam had a stare down to see who would triumph in the fight, completely ignoring Coach Wilson. "You stay away from her," Sam growled again. Then he looked down at me, saw that we needed to go somewhere to talk it out, and guided me down the walkway.
"Let us go," Sam commanded Coach Wilson when our teacher started to direct us to the principal's office for punishment. Sam would make it so we didn't get in trouble, leaving Tristan to take the fall for it all. I didn't care. "We will not be disciplined." Coach Wilson stopped trying to corral us.
No one else tried to stop us as we broke through the ring of spectators. I pulled away from Sam's grasp, wiping fiercely at my tears as I made my way into the women's bathroom. He followed me in.
"You aren't supposed to be in here," I protested half-heartedly. I wanted him to be there with me, but I also didn't want him to see me having such a huge meltdown.
"I will do what I want," he replied with surprising gentleness, since I could see that he was still fuming. He kept glancing at the door, as if he wanted to go back out and finish Tristan.
I ignored him and pulled a couple of paper towels from the dispenser, wiping at my tears and blowing my nose. When my face was wiped dry again, I leaned against a sink, eyes closed, just trying to breathe normally again. It was alright, I was safe. It wasn't him, it was only Tristan. And Sam stopped him.
Useless.
I inhaled deeply while I came out of my daze, and wiped some cold water on my face.
Sam had finally calmed himself down. "Are you okay?" he softly asked. I knew he wanted to embrace me, but he was hesitant. So was I. I didn't know what I was feeling.
I wiped at my face again, trying to wash away the splotchiness of my skin and the puffiness of my eyes. "Yeah," I replied, grabbing another paper towel.
Gently, he asked, "What happened?"
I sighed, my gaze cast low as I busied myself drying my face and hands and explained woodenly what had happened. "Before I could do anything," I finished, "he backed me against a wall and stuck his tongue down my throat."
Worry filled his eyes, and he clenched his fist to control his emotions. "You froze up," he guessed.
"It's instinct," I said. "I can't do anything about it. I couldn't move. When I started to cry, he just pulled back and ran his hands through my hair with the worst smirk... Ugh, Sam, I totally lost it."
"I saw."
I closed my eyes again. "Sam, you can't do that. You can't lose control like that."
When he didn't respond, my heart was aching too badly, so I turned and slipped my arms around his waist to rest against his firm chest. I breathed in his clean ocean scent and my limbs started to numb. Once I felt calmer, I pulled back and looked at him seriously.
"You made things worse, Sam. You made me feel like everything was out of my control."
He sighed, frustrated. "I am sorry. I come from a time where men were expected to defend their loved ones with violence. It was standard for so much of history."
I pulled all the way out of his arms. "I want a solution where I don't have to give up my control."
Gently, he asked, "What would that be?"
"I don't know. But there must be something." I sighed, letting it go for now. "I understand where you're coming from. Thank you for doing what you considered as protecting me, but please don't do it again."
"I will always protect you, mon amour, but I will respect your wishes."
I gave a shaky smile. I had left tear marks on Sam's chest. I reached out and touched them, feeling bad for defacing his shirt. Oh well. I straightened, looking him in the eyes again. "I need to get back to class."
"Abigail—"
I shook my head. I wanted out of there. "No, I need to go."
And so I went.