AN: There's seems to be some confusion about the whole "Beck/Cat" thing, mostly my fault. When I said "related but not sequel to SLTWHL1", I should've said "companion to SLTWHL1". It's not exactly the sequel, because I think it's unrealistic that two best friends should have the same thing happen to both of them. It's more like two possibilities: if Cat had been abused, it would've looked like Part I, but if Tori had been abused, it would've looked like Part II. I based Part I off of Ariana Grande's cover of "Love the Way You Lie II", which sounds more like an innocent girl being beaten, while Part II is off of Rihanna's original, specifically Eminem's rap, which sounds more like a couple is having fights so heated it actually gets mutually violent. So long story short, in this version, Bade is still on, although I do love Bat and am actually working on a Bat one-shot :) Thanks for reading, please review!
...
Our love is crazy, we're nuts
But I refuse counseling
This house is too huge
If you move out I'll burn all two thousand
Square feet of it to the ground
Ain't shit you can do about it
'Cause with you I'm in my [freaking] mind,
without you I'm out it . . .
~Eminem, "Love the Way You Lie (Part II)"
...
"I just can't do it, André. He needs me."
"Tori." He was begging now, and Tori had to turn away from the pleading in his eyes. "Please. Come with me. I'll drive to your house, you can tell your parents and pack your things, and we can be at the beach house by midnight. He'll never find us. You can call a counselor or whatever and get him help from there. Just let me get you away from him."
Even after all the screaming fights with Harrison, Tori Vega prided herself on never, ever crying. But something in his voice had her eyes burning with unshed tears. Still, she shook her head. "I . . . I can't."
She expected more arguments, persuasions, even shouting. Instead, he just gave a deep sigh. "At least stay the night here. Just so I know you're safe."
She couldn't refuse him that, and nodded mutely. He touched her knee briefly and stood, walking out of the room. He came back in a moment, holding a bundle of blue flannel in his arms.
"Sorry, my sister took all her pajamas with her when she went to college. Guess mine will have to do." He dumped them into her arms and made for the door again. "I'll let you change and go tell Grandma you're here so she doesn't freak. Shout when you want the fold-out bed set up."
His kindness had her eyes swimming again. "Thank you," she whispered past the lump in her throat. He smiled, but it was a sad smile; there was something there that he wanted to tell her, but couldn't. And then he left her alone with her thoughts and his pajamas.
She sat utterly still for a moment, and then leaned over and buried her face in the shirt. The familiar sweet spice of André clung to the flannel, and she breathed deeply, drawing as much comfort from the scent as possible. Then she shook off the moment of vulnerability and stripped, shrugging the pajamas on over her cami. She had to roll the sleeves and legs once or twice, but they were altogether incredibly comfortable. She hesitated before calling him up, suddenly shy in his clothing, but in the end it was André who knocked first, balancing two mugs of hot chocolate heaped with marshmallows. "I come bearing gifts," he announced, and then paused. "Dang, girl."
Crap. Her hair was a mess, her makeup smudged, and her eyes hidden in shadow. Harrison would be laughing so hard. "I know, I know, I'm a wreck –"
"No," he said, his face changing slightly. Was he . . . blushing? "I – I was just wishing I looked that good in those, actually."
"Oh." Now they were both scarlet. "Um . . . thanks."
"Yeah, well . . . no problem." He quickly offered up her mug, and just for something to do they both took a scalding gulp. "Let's get that bed made," he said, smacking his lips.
The cocoa was fantastic, the bed soft, and the atmosphere more peaceful than anywhere Tori had been in a long time. They sat on the bed and sipped and talked and grew steadily quieter until André had to slip Tori's mug from between her limp fingers and arrange the blankets around her. She snuggled her cheek against the quilt and sighed. He sighed, too, and went to turn off the light.
His grandma was already at the door, eyes characteristically huge. "An–!"
"Shh!" he hissed, actually clapping a hand over her mouth. She nodded, eyes still stretched wide, and he let her go.
"Is that the angel you said was staying here?" she whispered loudly.
He flipped off the light and closed the door. "Sure is, Grandma. Good night."
He dreamed of her all night long.
...
Tori blinked sleepily, stirring. The guest bedroom was full of morning light, and the bed was so wonderfully warm she seriously debated never leaving. The moment was shattered, however, when her phone rang. She almost didn't pick up, but she needed to check the time anyway, so she dragged herself out of bed and snatched up the phone.
She noticed two things immediately: one, she'd slept for nearly twelve hours.
And the caller was the last person she wanted to talk to while wearing another guy's pajamas.
Still, she couldn't afford not to pick up. "Hi, baby," she purred, hoping she didn't sound as intensely guilty as she felt.
"Where are you?" he asked tersely.
She prayed she'd heard him wrong. "What?"
"I came to your house to surprise you," he said with painstaking clarity, "and your mom met me at the door. Claimed you'd never come home last night."
Oh, shit. "A friend randomly called and invited me for a sleepover," she said casually, scrambling for her shirt and jeans. "I just woke up."
"Which friend?"
Shit, shit, shit. What now? If he offered to drive her home, she was screwed; she couldn't get to another fast enough and if she invented a friend, he would probably find out. "Actually, I meant my cousin," she improvised quickly. He'd been to one of their family reunions and been staggered by the sheer number of Vegas. No matter how many cousins he visited, she could always be with another. "I'll be home soon, okay? Don't move."
"Hurry," he said shortly, and hung up. Oh, he was really pissed.
She flew into her clothes, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and dashed downstairs. André greeted her at the foot of the stairs, and the smile on his face tore at her heart more than anything Harrison had ever said. "Morning, muchacha." His smile faded, and she almost cried then and there. "In a hurry?"
"Harrison called," she said, practically dancing on the spot. "I gotta go." She stepped. He blocked.
"What, that's it? No breakfast, no goodbye? He just calls you up anytime he wants and just like that – gone?"
"He can't know I was here," she said desperately.
"Why not? We didn't do anything wrong. We're friends, Tori."
"I don't think he'll see it that way."
Oh, God, no. He was starting to get mad. "Is he the only one that counts? 'Cause that's all you ever say anymore. Harrison this, Harrison that. What about you, Tori? What about us?"
Her breath caught, her eyes widened; the room spun crazily around her. "André . . ."
"Yeah, that's right, I said 'us'," he said defiantly. "We both know what I'm talking about and I'm tired of pretending." He grabbed her hand in both of his and looked her squarely in the eye. "Tori, you're going to have to choose. And I want you to choose me – and leave him. I love you, Tori Vega, and there's no way he does."
She was breathing way too fast, there was no way this was happening, she refused to believe it . . . "André, I can't talk now, I really have to go."
He dropped her hand. "I get it. You choose him."
"André, that's not what I –"
"All right. Fine. I believe you said you had somewhere to be, anyway." He stepped aside. "Go."
It was a dismissal. She forced herself not to look at his face, not to cry out or beg him to stop her all the way to the car. But God, she wanted to.
She expected to cry as she drove away. She didn't. She didn't feel anything at all.
...
Harrison's car was in the driveway, but he was nowhere to be seen. Waiting upstairs, then. Probably in her room. She wrenched the keys from the ignition, slammed the door shut, and bolted inside. Her mom and dad were already at work. Thank God.
He greeted her with the same quick, hard kiss; it was as if yesterday had never been. "Hey. Sleep well?"
"Very, she said truthfully, acutely aware she hadn't had time to put on any makeup or even brush her hair. He must have noticed, because his smile twisted into a smirk. "Um, hey, do you mind if I freshen up a little?"
"Not at all," he said a little too fervently, laughing. She gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Still, he seemed much more content now that she was within reach, and she found herself relaxing. She pasted on a smile, her heart rate still slightly fast, dropped her backpack on the floor, and headed for the bathroom.
Leaned over toward the mirror, she noticed something. The silver music note. She still had André's gift around her neck. She touched it gently, and was still fighting the tears when she walked back into her bedroom.
She noticed the difference immediately; the very air was slightly chilled, like the room was bracing itself for impact. Harrison was standing over her open backpack, his clenched fist holding a wad of flannel as far away from him as possible.
André's pajamas.
"What is this?" he snarled, turning almost feral eyes on her.
"M-My cousin's pajamas," she said weakly.
"Liar!" He threw them across the room and advanced on her. "You little whore!"
"We didn't do anything," she protested, backing away. He seized her by the arm so harshly she cried out. He didn't falter.
"It was that Andrew guy, wasn't it? Wasn't it, you bitch?" He shook her hard. "Tell me!"
Her free hand fluttered to the music note. And something deep down snapped.
"Yes, it was André, okay? He let me sleep in his guest room, and he offered to take me far, far away from you, and I might just take it up on it, and you know why?" She wrenched around so she could see his eyes. "Because he loves me, Harrison. I think he's loved me since the first time he met me. And I think I just might love him. He loves me more than you ever could and he'd never lay a finger on me unlike you because he loves me, he loves me, he loves me –"
The first blow knocked her clear against the door, but it wasn't until the fourth blow that her chant of he loves me, he loves me died off. After that, all she heard was roaring in her ears.
...
...
AN: Thank you to babyluv360 for the suggestion of a song for Tandre, but I want to make something clear that I didn't in the last AN. As my song for Tarrison (humor me) is so dark and violent, I'd like something light and sweet for Tandre, something along the lines of "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane (yes, I know what the obvious solution is, but I'm using that song for another one-shot). If you don't know the song, I'd strongly suggest listening to it, but if you'd rather not, please just suggest a sweet, innocent song that seems to describe Tori and Andre's relationship. Any reviews at all are deeply appreciated! Thanks!
