Chapter Five

"I hate you," Sansa said to Margaery later that evening as she lay face down on her bed, her face buried in her pillow. "This is all your fault."

"My fault? How is this my fault? If I were you I would have gone up to Jon and put my arm around him instead of playing his fucking wingman," Margaery retorted.

Sansa turned her head so she could breathe and look at her friend. "But now I'm all…I don't know what I am, but I'm not happy! Oh, no. I'm being a terrible friend. I should be happy for Jon. I should be helping him further, giving him advice and getting all giddy with him—"

"Yeah. Cause that's what Jon does. He gets giddy."

Sansa glared as best she could with only one half of her face showing. "Well, you should have seen him today! He was glowing. It was like he swallowed the sun."

"Do you pay any attention at all to anything?" Margaery asked in exasperation.

"What are you even talking about?"

"Sansa, Jon looks at you like that all the time! He looks at you like you are the bloody sun!"

"He does not!" Sansa shouted, getting angry now.

"He so does!"

Sansa decided she'd rather suffocate and so she stuffed her face back into the pillow.

"Come on," Margaery said and Sansa felt the bed dip as her friend sat down. "Let's go out. There's a party tonight Theon Greyjoy is having at his apartment."

"Ugh. The one that he shares with that dick Ramsay Bolton. I hate that guy!"

"Chin up, little dove," Margaery cooed. "There's going to be a shit ton of people there, you won't even have to talk to our illustrious hosts if you don't want to."

xxxxxxx

Sansa had gotten to know Ramsay Bolton and Theon Greyjoy through Margaery. Margaery knew everyone on campus it felt like – especially if they partied hard like she did. Ramsay and Theon threw a party almost every weekend.

Sansa was always cordial to both of them, but she really didn't like either of them very much. Ramsay always sought her out and flirted with her despite the fact that she made it very plain she wasn't interested. The only time he left her alone was when Jon was with her, and Sansa suspected that Ramsay was actually a little afraid of Jon.

Sure, Jon seemed rather harmless, but Sansa knew from the few fights he and Robb had gotten in, in high school that if provoked, Jon could definitely hold his own.

But, without Jon as her protective shield and Margaery off getting drunk and probably hooking up with some random guy, Sansa was left to her own devices. Tonight, Ramsay seemed extra annoying and quite grabby. After the third hug in a half an hour, Sansa had had enough.

"Ramsay, seriously, back off," she told him, and all but shoved him off her.

His eyes were glazed over and he mock pouted. She rolled her eyes.

"You have never liked me, have you?" he asked, slurring his words.

"I like you fine," Sansa said. While she wanted to say 'no, you're annoying as fuck' she still couldn't be that rude, even if did deserve it.

"Sansa, Sansa, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind!" Ramsay sang.

"Oh my God," Sansa muttered and shook her head. She couldn't help but at least laugh a little.

Ramsay beamed, looking like he'd won something. Theon came over then and whispered in Ramsay's ear. Ramsay rolled his eyes and his expression darkened considerably. "Excuse me, Sansa," he said and marched off with Theon in tow.

Sansa thought perhaps this was a good time to leave. She wasn't in a party mood, and hadn't wanted to come in the first place. She just wanted to take a shower, crawl into bed, and watch TV.

She sent Margaery a text because that was easier than looking for her, and then left, placing a red Solo cup of warm beer on a tableful of other red Solo cups.

She had just gotten down the stairs of the apartment building and had walked no more than fifty feet when she heard Ramsay shouting her name. She sighed heavily, rolled her eyes, and turned around.

"Where are you going?" he asked as he jogged over to her.

"Back to my dorm. I'm tired and just not in the mood for a party."

"Come on, Sansa," Ramsay said and grabbed her hand. "Stay. We'll do a couple shots, find somewhere quiet to talk…" He grinned. "Or whatever."

Sansa slipped her hand out of his. "I don't think so, Ramsay. Good night."

She started to turn around, but he grabbed her arm and tugged on it. "Sansa, do you ever just get tired of playing hard to get?"

Was he serious?

She attempted to pull her arm from his grasp, but he held on. A little tightly, too. "Ramsay, seriously, come on. I'm not playing hard to get. I just want to go home."

"You never talk to me. You come to my parties and just find ways to get away from me," he said, his voice beginning to rise. "I try to be nice to you, to show you that I like you, and you give me nothing in return."

She tried again to free her arm. His hands tightened. She winced. "Ramsay, let me go."

"No, I want to know what your problem is with me. I want to why I'm good enough to visit when you have a party, but otherwise you act like a frigid uptight bitch with me."

His face was twisting into anger and it was not a pretty sight. Sansa felt panic begin to rise up within her. He wouldn't let her go and his fingers were digging into her arms. She knew they were going to leave a mark. "I do like you," she said, trying to muster up as much calmness as she could. He was drunk and apparently prone to mood swings when so inebriated so she just had to placate him. Find a way to get him to let her go.

"Then why don't you come back to the party and let's find somewhere quiet where we can be alone," he said and started to pull her closer.

Sansa dug in her heels. "Ramsay, no."

"This is what I mean, Sansa! You're doing it again. You tell me you like me and then you tell me no." He wrenched her toward him and she stumbled and fell into him. "You're a fucking tease," he hissed, spittle hitting her in the face, his eyes wild and his face red.

"Let me go," she said, trying not to let her fear get the better of her. "Please, Ramsay, just let me go. You're hurting me."

"Give me a little kiss and maybe I'll consider it."

"No, not like this." Not ever.

He turned and started to pull her with him. "Let's go, Sansa. Let's find that quiet place."

She dug in her heels hard, pulling against him. "No, let me go! Ramsay, stop!"

He let go so abruptly that she fell on her rump, and he growled and stalked over to her. She crawled away from him, backwards, trying to put some distance between them, trying to not turn her back on him. When a car slowed down beside them, Sansa jumped up, ready to shout for them to help her.

And then she heard the voice of her savior asking, "What's going on out here?" It was Jaime. He got out of the car and Ramsay ran.

Jaime went over to her as relief flooded her and she started to cry from it. That, and the fear of what Ramsay could have done to her. Jaime placed his hand on her face gently. "Sansa, what happened?"

"Ramsay, he wouldn't leave me alone," Sansa said through her tears. "He called me a tease, he grabbed my arm and wouldn't let me go. I fell trying to get away from him."

Jaime's expression darkened. "What's his last name?"

"Bolton."

Jaime's expression darkened. "I will take care of him, Sansa."

"Thank you," she said and wiped furiously at her tears.

"Come on, let's get you out of here."

He led her to his car, opened the passenger side door for her, and she slid inside. He drove a BMW. Of course he drove a BMW. It smelled brand new and looked that way, too.

"How would you like a drink to take the edge off?" he asked as he climbed inside.

"I'm not twenty-one," she said dumbly.

He smiled. "I won't tell if you won't tell."

Sansa nodded. She felt safe now. Safe with Jaime. Her thoughts drifted to Jon, and she thought about calling him, but then decided against it. Not now. Not until she was calmer. If she freaked out on the phone to him, he would freak out too. Knowing Jon, he'd go after Ramsay and that would just be a mess. Better to let Jaime handle Ramsay.

"Are you all right, Sansa?" Jaime asked gently.

She nodded and mumbled despondently, "I feel stupid."

"For what?"

"I didn't even want to go to that stupid party. I hate Theon Greyjoy and Ramsay even more. I let Margaery talk me into going anyway. I just wanted to get out and forget about Jon and Ygritte drinking my coffee and having my Danishes together."

"...Pardon?"

"Nothing, it's nothing," Sansa said and just looked out the window. "Jon went out with that girl."

"And he drank your coffee and ate your Danishes?"

"He took her to my favorite coffee shop."

"Ah, I see. And it felt like a betrayal."

She pursed her lips together. She was so fucking tired of thinking about Jon and Ygritte. "Jaime, can we talk about something else now, please? I am so over this thing with Jon."

He reached over and placed a hand on hers. "We can talk about anything you want, Sansa." He squeezed her hand gently and then put it back on the wheel.

Sansa stared down at the hand he'd just touched. She could still feel his warmth. She shuddered out a breath and sat further back in the seat. "I'm glad you were driving by when you were," she said softly.

"I'm glad too," he said.

xxxxxxx

Jaime Lannister lived in a mansion. Not that Sansa wasn't unaccustomed to mansions - her family was very well off - but it still took Sansa's breath away when she saw the house that looked like a castle. Set on a hill with lights hitting the front of the house and along the brick walkway to the house, not to mention the grand stair case that led up to the front door and the porch. It was Victorian, huge, and gorgeous. There was even a balcony jutting out of the second floor and Sansa just wanted to run her fingers along the ornate woodwork.

"Jaime, your house is beautiful," Sansa breathed.

He chuckled softly. "Why, thank you. I got it in the divorce."

"Oh. Um - I'm sorry?"

"No, no. Don't be. It's better this way. Cersei didn't have the same love for this house as I did."

Once he'd parked in the two car garage in the back (his other car was a sleek silver corvette), Jaime led Sansa up the front so she could take it all in. All Sansa could do was gape. She wondered who decorated the house because as they passed by room after room after room, all she could do was marvel at how gorgeous each carpet, each vase, each extravagant lamp looked. It was like stepping back in time.

"I know I keep saying it, but your house is seriously so beautiful, Jaime," Sansa said once they'd reached the kitchen - which was definitely modern and massive. There was a fireplace in the kitchen complete with an Oriental rug and rocking chairs all around it.

Jaime just smiled as Sansa wandered over to the fireplace. She just looked out at the sleek stone countertops, the silver of the appliances, and the long table at the other end of the room with dark heavy looking chairs.

Jaime was at the fridge and broke her out of her ponderings by asking, "Would you like a martini?"

Sansa had never had one, but she nodded. "Yes, please."

"You can sit," he said softly and gestured to a rocking chair. "Please."

She sat. And didn't know what else to do. Or say.

"Tell me the story of your life, Sansa," Jaime said. She looked over at him and watched him prepare their drinks.

"The story of my life?" she asked with a little laugh. "I haven't lived much life. Tell me about yours instead. Have you traveled?"

"Yes. To Paris, Sweden, Germany-"

"Tell me about Paris," Sansa said and she hoped she didn't sound as dreamy as she felt.

She wasn't sure what it was, the sound of Jaime's voice or how he could tell a story and make you feel as if you were there with him, but she hung on every word he said. Before she knew she had downed two martinis and was feeling mighty good.

"I better take you back to your dorm," he said and held out his hand for her glass. She handed it to him and stood and he smiled at her and gently.

"Thank you, Jaime," she said softly.

"You're welcome."

When Jaime pulled up in front of her dorm he said, "I don't think I need to tell you that it wouldn't be a good idea to tell anyone you were at my house having a couple martinis."

"Of course!" Sansa assured him. "No way."

He smiled and then grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Good night, Sansa. And please, don't worry about Ramsay Bolton. He won't be bothering you or anyone else for a long time."

Sansa beamed at him, her heart thudding hard in her chest. "Thank you. Good night, Jaime."

"Goodnight, Sansa."