Drop Dead | Sam Fender

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty One

Sam

I felt sick from the minute I read the headline. I was in shock. Who the fuck had told the Daily Mail? I was spiralling. Not for me but for Rory. The girl that had stolen my heart so long ago and still held it in her tight grasp, except now it was bleeding for her. I knew she wouldn't be okay but as far as I knew, she was in London. Three hundred miles away when all I wanted to do was comfort her.

My mind was screaming that she had Finley for that now. It wasn't my place, I wasn't the one she could run to for comfort anymore. No, I had been replaced.

But I couldn't bring myself to care as I reached for my phone.

"Sam?" Her voice bled through the speaker, cracking slightly.

"Scarlett," I mumbled sympathetically.

"I'm guessing ya've seen?" she laughed slightly but I could hear her soft sniffles.

"Yeah," I told her. "Are y'alreet?"

"No," she whispered. She sounded so vulnerable that at that moment, all I wanted to do was seriously hurt whoever had told the press.

"Are yer on your own?" I asked, concern bleeding into my tone as I chewed at the skin around my nails.

"Mmm," she hummed meekly. "Er, dad's in work."

"You're at home?" I frowned. I thought she was back in London. She had been at least. Harlow had told me as such. "Alreet, I'm coming over." I didn't wait for her reaction as I made my way out to the hall and began pulling my shoes on.

"Yer don't have to do that, Sam," she protested.

"I want to," I assured her as I balanced the phone between my ear and my shoulder and pulled my coat on. "I'll be ten minutes tops. Do yer want me to stay on the phone with yer?"

"Please," she mumbled.

"Alreet," I smiled softly. I was out of the door in record time, hastily locking it behind me as I made the all-too-familiar journey to Rory's. I tried to distract her until I got there, anything to take her mind off the subject matter but I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was hurting.

"Hi," she greeted me meekly as she pulled the front door open. She looked so frail with her arms snaked around herself as though she was protecting herself from someone and her forehead was scrunched into a seemingly permanent frown.

"Hi," I whispered, immediately pulling her into my arms. "I thought yer were in London?"

"I got the train back as soon as I saw," she mumbled, instinctively burying her head in my chest. "Just wanted to be home like."

"Ceemon, let's gan inside," I crooned, smoothing her hair assuringly and gently guiding her into the front room.

She pulled away from me, which left my arms feeling empty and sat down on the sofa, her head buried in her hands. "How do they know, Sam?" she cried quietly.

"I dunna, darlin'," I frowned, settling beside her and rubbing her back in comfort. "Who knows altogether?"

"No one who would tell!" she fretted, snapping her head upwards to look at me. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, tinged with the stains of her mascara. "It's just yous all here, dad and- oh."

"Oh?" I inquired, my brow furrowing deeper. Who had she told outside of our friends and her dad? Not Finley, surely? "What does oh mean, Rora? Yer didn't tell Finley?"

"No, he doesn't know... well, he didn't," she mumbled, her head tilting down towards her lap as she picked at the loose skin around her fingernails.

I let out a light sigh, taking hold of both of her hands and pulling them into my own lap. Her eyes raised to stare at me from under her lashes, a flicker of something akin to guilt in them. What had she to be guilty about? "Who is it?"

She swallowed thickly before speaking, "Natalie."

The name caught me off guard as I began choking on my spit, unsure of whether I had heard her correctly. "Natalie?" She nodded. "Yer told Natalie?"

"No. Well, not exactly," she mumbled as her eyes averted to her lap, avoiding my confused gaze. "Remember when I lost my journal?"

"Yeah," I frowned, my memories reminding me of the time when Rory and I were on a break. "What about it?"

"Er, I lied... about finding it the morning after," she admitted nervously.

My brows furrowed. "Why? Wait, if you didn't find then how...?" I asked as my brain tried to fit the puzzle pieces together.

She lifted her head with determination and stared at me but I could see the nerves that shone in her eyes. It made my stomach churn. "Natalie found my journal," she announced.

"W-what?" I gaped, shock overloading my system. "Why didn't yer say sommat?"

I watched as she inhaled sharply, her eyes lifting to focus on the ceiling as she tried to compose herself. "Because she said some things to me and... I was embarrassed."

"It was about me, weren't it?" I mumbled in guilt as I recalled her asking whether I had been with her out of sympathy. I remember how sick I felt hearing her words.

"It wasn't your fault," she frowned but I wasn't convinced. "Yer can't blame yourself, Sam."

"What did she say to you?" I inquired, purposefully ignoring her words as I tried to repress the guilt but it only served to build the rage I felt at Natalie. God. I thought we had washed our hands of her years ago. That she was out of our lives. For good. "Rory."

"I-I can't remember," she shrugged.

"I know when you're lying to me," I smiled weakly. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "Talk to me, darlin'."

"Please... please stop calling me that," she pleaded, tearing her hands from my grasp. I had forgotten I was even still holding them so it came as a shock, my hands feeling cold at the loss of touch.

"Rory," I mumbled.

"This was a bad idea," she announced as she stood quickly, moving as far away from me as she could with her back turned away from me. I couldn't stop myself from following her though, reaching out to grasp her waist lightly and spin her. "Sam, please."

"What did she say to yer, Rory?" I asked her firmly.

Tears had welled up in her eyes, threatening to fall at any second as she shook her head frantically. "I can't," she whispered.

"Was it that bad?" I questioned with a deep frown.

Her bottom lip quivered as a tear fell from her eye, my thumb instinctively reaching up to wipe it away and lingering there. I watched as her eyes fluttered shut, subconsciously nuzzling into my hand. I didn't overthink it too much, not like I usually would. She was probably seeking any sort of comfort she could find.

She shrugged, peering up at me through her dark lashes and pulling her lip between her teeth. "She basically just called me fat and ugly," she murmured.

I could feel my rage simmering and my blood boiling, wanting nothing more than to shield Rory from all the hurt she had been caused. Then it dawned on me. "She was the one yer punched," I stated blankly.

A small smile graced her lips as her chest vibrated with quiet laughter. "Aye," she nodded.

"Good. She deserved it," I growled.

I didn't realise how tense my whole body was until a pair of delicate arms wrapped around my waist. "Thank you, Sam," she whispered.

"For what?" I asked softly, holding her head to my chest and wrapping my other arm around her body.

"For not giving up on me," she replied.

A smile tugged at my lips as I rested my chin atop her head. "I could never give on on yer, Aurora Nightingale," I admitted. "Besides, we made a pinky promise, remember? Best friends always."

"Yer actually remember that?" she cooed.

"Course I do," I grinned.

"Best friends," she repeated, mostly to herself as though she was testing it on her tongue.

"Always," I smiled.