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Sam is worried. Worried for Robby who can't focus on the tournament and is going to cost them a chance at the finals at this rate. Worried about Miguel who is on the brink of ruining his friendship with Robby. But most importantly, she's worried about Tory, of the way she runs away every time Sam is around, even on the mat where they best get their emotions out.
Sam is tired. Tired from the days of fighting, emotionally and physically. She thought she finally would be free of the sleepless nights that plagued her eyes. Of the hatred,d everyone carries in their lips, their fists. This did not happen, and she is beginning to think they never will. She feels contaminated, the evil clinging to her skin, loving the taste of fresh tears on her skin. Devon’s quiet snores ring inside the small hotel room, Sam focuses on them, instead of her silly old thoughts that don't seem to leave her alone. She rubs the scar on her bicep, and feels the scar that just out of her body, marks her for life. She can't remember the pain, can't remember the way she cried for days. Instinctively she reaches up to her eyelids to check for the puffiness.
Tory, her hand bleeding and red from an ice pack. Tear stains hang lowly on her cheeks, the numbness behind her eyes that never seems to go away. Sam never really saw Tory till that day, the Tory who led her inside her apartment despite having no reason to. The one who leaned on her and cried, the one who got into her car and let Sam treat her hand. For once, Sam thought Tory might change, and let herself hope for the better. Till everything they'd built disappeared. Sam understood why she did what she did, and tried to anyway. Tory’s mom… she wished she could have been there, Hugged her tight, wiped all of her tears, treated her like she did once. Even though she knew nothing could cure this wound she still wanted to take care of her.
Sam's breath hitches under her covers, why pain herself with memories that don't matter now? She shifts around and finds a new position to pretend to be asleep in, the white covers crumpling underneath her. She pictures Tory lying in her room alone, just as she was. Fuck, why was she so obsessed with Victoria Nichols. It didn't matter, Sam wasn't going to sleep and she knew the other girl wouldn't be able to either.
Sam brushed the comforter off and stood up as quietly as possible to struggle to find the puffy uggs she brought with her. Once they slipped on she snatched one of the hotel keys and left all the crying behind. Comfortration was one of her expertise anyways, who cares if Tory didn't want to see her? She needed, to fill the gaping hole left inside of her, the missing piece owned by her worst enemy. Ha, she scoffed when in the safety of the elevator, enemies didn't begin to describe what they were. Number 13 shining bright, Sam remembers the way Tory pressed with desperation like it was her salvation from Sam's outstretched hands trying to catch the elevator. The ride had been silent, tension static in the air, so thick they could barely breathe. What was Sam supposed to say? Sorry, I have been a jerk and ignoring your mother's death. Or maybe fuck you for not trusting me and still being mad? Sorry for not trying hard enough.
Sam clenched her fist as the elevator door opened into a fancier area of the hotel. 135 was Tory’s room, she had been reciting the number all morning, seeing it everywhere. Robby kept yapping about how he'd found out where Tory had been staying, about how they were taking a break. Maybe Sma wasn't meant to be overhearing Robby ranting to Miguel about his personal problems, but she wants to come up with a stupid excuse for why she was conveniently there just to make her feel like less of a stalker.
She pictured her knuckles crushing under the hardwood of the door, of making noise to alert Tory hey! I'm here, you can kill me now! She held her breath in case Tory could hear her through the door, see-through her false confidence. Who was she thinking she was? Her own pounding on the door scared her of the impulsivity she was capable of when Tori was involved.
“Who is it?” A voice spoke through the door, a thick layer of exhaust laid upon it,
“It's me” Grateful she could still speak.
The door swung open, to reveal the tall blond in the doorway, wearing a cut ACDC for a tank top, with navy pj pants. Tory, wore surprise on her face, defying her brows with something Sma couldn't tell.
“What do you want Larusso?”
“I-” Sam took a deep breath, no, she couldn't tell Tory she missed her. Missed making her laugh, the sweetest sound in the world. “Why are you avoiding me?” it comes out breathy and her stupid eyes won't stop watering making her feel pathetic. Tory’s face plasters with guilt, and then sorrow and anger or something in between.
“I thought- I thought we were friends, I thought-” Sam says before Tory can get anything out before Sma gets her heart crushed again.
Tory’s brow furrows, her grip tightening on the doorframe like it’s the only thing grounding her. She doesn’t speak right away, her lips pressed into a thin line as if she’s biting back a storm of words—or tears. Sam steps forward, her heart racing, unsure if it’s from the weight of her own words or the raw vulnerability painted on Tory’s face.
“Friends?” Tory finally says, the word sharp and disbelieving, but her voice cracks at the end. Her eyes dart away, focusing somewhere over Sam’s shoulder. “I don’t even know what that means anymore.”
Sam doesn’t move. She doesn’t dare. She watches as Tory exhales sharply and steps back, leaving the door open just enough for Sam to follow if she chooses. Sam does. Slowly. Closing the door behind her, she’s met with the suffocating silence of Tory’s hotel room. It’s dark, save for the faint yellow glow of a lamp on the nightstand. Clothes are strewn over the back of a chair, and an untouched bottle of water sits on the desk.
Tory sinks onto the edge of the bed, her hands clasped together, her knuckles pale. The ice pack lies forgotten beside her.
“Why are you here?” Tory asks, her voice quieter now but no less defensive. “To check if I’ve fallen apart? To feel better about yourself?”
“No!” Sam blurts out, shaking her head. “I—” She pauses, struggling to find the words. “I’m here because I care, Tory. I’m worried about you. About—everything. You’re pushing everyone away, and I—” Her voice falters, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to try.”
Tory scoffs, but it’s half-hearted. Her eyes glisten, betraying the wall she’s so desperately trying to keep up. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t need fixing. I don’t need—” She stops, her voice breaking. “I don’t need anyone.”
“That’s not true.” Sam takes a step closer, her voice soft but firm. “You think shutting everyone out is going to help? That it’ll make the pain go away?” She hesitates, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “I know what it’s like to feel like no one understands. To feel like... everything’s broken, and nothing will ever be okay again.”
Tory looks up at her then, her eyes narrowed but glassy. “Oh? Your perfect little life fell apart too, huh?” Her tone is biting, but there’s no venom behind it, only exhaustion. “Did you lose your mom? Did you have to watch her... waste away until she was gone, and there was nothing you could do to stop it?”
Sam flinches. The words cut deep, but not because they’re meant to hurt her. It’s the rawness in Tory’s voice, the pain she’s been holding onto for so long, spilling out like a wound ripped open.
“No,” Sam whispers. “I didn’t. And I’m so sorry, Tory. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Alone.”
Tory looks away, her jaw tightening as tears spill over despite her best efforts. “I don’t want your pity,” she mutters, her voice trembling. “I don’t want... anyone’s pity.”
“It’s not a pity,” Sam says, her voice gentle. She takes another step forward, her heart aching for the girl in front of her. “It’s love. And I know you don’t believe it, but you deserve that. You deserve to let someone in.”
Tory doesn’t respond right away. Her shoulders tremble, and she presses the heels of her hands into her eyes as if to will the tears away. Finally, she exhales shakily and looks up at Sam, her defences lowered just enough to let a crack of light through.
“I don’t know how to do that,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sam kneels in front of her, her hands resting on her knees, close but not touching. “You don’t have to know. You just have to try.” Her lips quirk into the faintest of smiles. “And maybe let me help?”
For a long moment, Tory says nothing. The silence stretches, heavy but not uncomfortable. Finally, she nods, a single tear slipping down her cheek.
“I miss you,” Sam admits, the words falling out before she can stop them. “I miss... this. Talking to you. Being around you.”
Tory’s lips twitch, a shadow of a smile. “I’m still a mess, you know.”
“Yeah, well,” Sam says with a soft laugh. “So am I.”
Tory exhales, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She reaches out hesitantly, her hand brushing Sam’s for just a moment before pulling her into a tentative hug. It’s awkward and stiff at first, but then Tory’s arms tighten around Sam like she’s afraid to let go. Sam doesn’t mind. She holds on just as tightly.
When they finally pull away, the tension in the room feels lighter, like some invisible weight has been lifted. Like it was always meant to be like this.
Sam feels the weight of tory against her own chest, the need for her to make a new meaning of the scar. To patch it, fill it with plaster for a new meaning.
“I hate being like this” wisps of breath slide into Sma’s ears, “I hate being the evil one, who hurts. All. The. Time.” She pulls away, avoiding eye contact with Sam, as she must hide after being so raw.
“Maybe it doesn't have to be all the time,” Sma breathes heavily, trying to let herself out, “Letting go is not as easy as it seems.” She instinctively reaches for her right bicep and caresses it out of habit, out of comfort. Tory closes her eyes, “Will you ever forgive me?”
She looks at Sam like a puppy, like somebody else. This is the real story Sam thinks, really trying to see, hidden beneath her green eyes. Read the secrets that lie beneath hazy clouds.
Sam doesn’t hesitate. “I already have,” she says softly, her voice firm yet warm. The words hang in the air between them, settling over Tory like a blanket.
Tory doesn’t look away this time. Her green eyes search Sam’s face as if trying to find any hint of dishonesty, but there isn’t any. There never was. For once, Tory looks... lighter. Her lips part slightly, but no words come out. Instead, she nods, the faintest hint of relief flickering in her expression.
They sit in silence for a moment, the quiet not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken things. Sam doesn’t push. She knows how hard this is for Tory—how much it took for her to open up, even just a crack. She’s about to suggest heading back to her room when Tory’s voice, barely above a whisper, stops her.
“Don’t go.”
Sam’s chest tightens, a warmth blooming there she doesn’t entirely understand. “Are you sure?”
Tory nods again, this time with more certainty. “I... I don’t want to be alone tonight.” She looks down, fidgeting with the hem of her tank top. “And... you look like you could use the company too.”
Sam blinks, caught off guard by the honesty in those words. “Yeah,” she admits quietly. “I could.”
Tory shifts over, making room on the bed, and Sam hesitates for a moment before slipping off her puffy Uggs and climbing in beside her. The bed is small, forcing them closer than either expected, but neither complains. The lamp casts a dim, golden glow over the room, but neither makes a move to turn it off.
For a few minutes, they lie there in silence. Sam listens to the sound of their breaths, to the faint hum of the hotel air conditioning. Slowly, the tension begins to melt away, replaced by something softer, something quieter.
“You’re warm,” Tory mutters suddenly, her voice muffled by the pillow.
Sam lets out a soft laugh, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks. “Thanks, I guess?”
Sam shifts slightly on the mattress, trying to find a comfortable position. The proximity between them feels strange—intimate in a way she can’t quite put into words. The silence stretches, warm and not entirely awkward, but her thoughts churn with things she wants to say.
“You didn’t have to come,” Tory murmurs, breaking the stillness. Her voice is softer now, the sharp edges dulled by exhaustion. “But... I’m glad you did.”
Sam turns her head, catching the way the golden lamplight dances across Tory’s face. “Honestly, I didn’t give myself much of a choice. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Tory glances at her, raising a skeptical brow. “Thinking about me? What, like, plotting my demise?”
Sam chuckles, her laugh light and genuine. “Something like that,” she teases, but there’s no malice in her voice. “But mostly just... worrying. Hoping you’d talk to me again.”
Tory’s expression softens, and she shifts onto her back, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. “I didn’t mean to push you away, you know. I just... I’m not good at this.”
“‘This’?” Sam prompts, resting her head on her arm as she turns toward her.
“You know... people. Friends. Whatever we are.” Tory’s lips twitch into a ghost of a smile. “It’s easier to be angry. To keep people out.”
Sam nods, understanding more than she wants to admit. “Yeah, but it’s lonely, too.”
Tory doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, she glances at Sam, her green eyes searching. “You’re annoying, you know that?”
Sam smirks. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Mostly from you.”
A quiet laugh escapes Tory, and the sound makes Sam’s chest ache in the best way. “You’re also... kind of brave,” Tory admits after a moment. “Showing up here, not taking no for an answer. That’s... not something I deserve.”
Sam’s heart twists, and before she can stop herself, she reaches out, her fingers brushing Tory’s arm. “You deserve a lot more than you think, Tory. I wish you could see that.”
Tory doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans into the touch just slightly, like she’s testing the waters. “You’re so weird, LaRusso,” she says, her tone playful but soft.
“And you’re impossible,” Sam shoots back, her smile widening.
For a moment, they just look at each other, something unspoken lingering in the air between them. Sam feels her cheeks heat up under Tory’s gaze, but she doesn’t look away. The butterflies from earlier return, stronger this time, fluttering in her stomach in a way that makes her feel both giddy and grounded.
Finally, Tory breaks the silence. “You should probably get some sleep. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Sam hums, her eyelids already heavy. “Only if you promise you’ll try to sleep too.”
“Bossy,” Tory mutters, but there’s no bite to it. She turns onto her side, facing Sam, her expression softening. “I’ll try. No promises.”
Sam mirrors her, their faces only a few inches apart now. The warmth between them is palpable, a quiet comfort she didn’t realize she’d been craving. “Good enough,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
As the silence settles once more, Sam feels a weight lift—not entirely gone, but lighter, manageable. The spark she’d been missing isn’t fireworks or some dramatic revelation. It’s this: the quiet connection between them, the warmth of knowing neither of them is alone tonight.
Sam’s eyes flutter shut, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she lets herself relax. For the first time in weeks, she feels at peace. She feels safe. And as sleep pulls her under, she’s faintly aware of Tory’s presence beside her, a steady reminder that maybe, just maybe, things can get better.