Team Spirit

30. Lars is Out For Blood

30. Lars is Out For Blood

The newfound knowledge that Sam is gay does somehow make it okay to change in his presence as far as Casey and Amy are concerned. The TV movie cliche doesn't extend to Sam, though, who covers his eyes with his hand while we get ready.

I am first dressed, first out. Partly, it's a symptom of overdoing my skin care last night, but also partly a symptom of desperately needing out of the room. Zach kindly left Sam's gym bag outside the door. How thoughtful of him.

I toss it back into the room, mumbling something about continental breakfast and vanishing again before anyone can volunteer to join me.

My thoughts are too big for my body. There's only room for one distinct thought and that thought is who the hell told Zach. Everything is static in the background for the moment. I cannot handle the weight of abandoning my opportunity with Wren right now, or Casey's well-meaning attempts to make everything better. I cannot deal with the turn the other cheek mentality Sam's decided to adopt.

There are small things I know about Roman and I thought so much of that would turn useless now that we aren't dating. Some of it retains value. Roman is an early riser, quick to claim the mornings for himself. It's purely tactical. Mornings are the very best opportunity for solitude that won't be interpreted as being antisocial. Roman is a chameleon like me. We trick people into thinking that we thrive in their presence, but we are simply experts at conserving energy.

He slips out of his room, hair still slick from a shower. He looks dewy and fresh. Innocent. My jaw clenches before I spring on him, a panther pouncing from a tree.

I drag Roman by the arm into the stairwell, my nails burying into his skin until I'm positive it hurts. He grits his teeth, ready to hiss something out but he doesn't. The stairwell is an unforgiving place in an otherwise moderately starred hotel. It's an opportune place to commit murder should the need arise. 

"Do you want to know what happened last night?" I feel taller, bigger in my rage. I hope it looks that way to him. It helps that the concrete and steel of the stairwell reverberates my tone. My words don't carry, but it makes me sound thunderous, like a Greek goddess demanding recompense from mere mortals. 

Roman blinks.

"What happened last night?" he asks.

"Zach and Brady inarguably assaulted Sam, sprayed his hair pink, and locked him out of their room," I say. It takes everything I have not to grind my teeth together. "Because someone told Zach that Sam is gay."

Roman stiffens in my clutches.

"What?" His face falls, and he twists, turning to the door like Sam might be standing right behind it. "Is he okay?"

"What do you think?" I snap.

There's a silence and I mean to break into a meaningful, fierce monologue, but instead, my breath hitches in my throat. It still doesn't feel real and it's worse that it happens far from home. There is no choice but to be jammed against the people I want so badly to strangle.

"Lars, you don't think—"

"No one knows, Roman. What am I supposed to think?" I push the heel of my hand into my eye before the tears fall. Furious tears, maybe furious at myself for telling him in the first place. I let it slip. I failed my best friend.

"I swear I didn't. I would never do that." Roman takes advantage of my loosening grip to grab my hand. "Please believe me."

His eyes catch mine and it's impossible not to believe him. That makes it worse. Brown eyes should be banned. They are too powerful, too capable of melting me into a useless, trembling puddle.