Chapter 29 #2
And in the end, the choice is easy.
Grabbing my phone, I tap out a quick message to him and hit send before I can chicken out.
Me: Can we talk after you get back from graduation?
The message whooshes away, and I drop my phone back onto the cushion beside me, feeling like I might throw up.
My head rolls to look at Lexi, who is staring at me with pride.
“You better be right about this.”
“Either way, you can’t be any more miserable than you are right now,” she points out with a shrug. “Like you said, I would know.”
Guilt coils around my throat like a boa constrictor, tightening to the point where I can barely breathe.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, but she shakes her head.
“Don’t be. You’re hurting. I understand.”
“But so are you, and it was shitty of me to throw that back in your face. Especially when you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”
A smirk pulls at her lips and she winks. “Yeah, I know, I’m pretty great.”
I laugh, feeling the tiniest amount of levity at her teasing tone. But that’s why I love her. It’s what makes her a person I could never imagine my life without—and why I was desperate for a life with her for so long.
How ironic that it’s a picture I could never conjure now.
The sound of the basement door opening greets us, only for a familiar feminine voice to shout, “Guess who’s graduated, bitches!”
Lexi and I lean forward, finding Willow on her way down the stairs, still in her cap and gown. She’s holding a navy-blue diploma folder, which she promptly lifts in one hand to show us.
“Did you know they don’t even put the diploma in here before they give it to us? What kind of crap is that?”
“They have to mail it to you,” someone with a deep voice says from behind her.
Not one, but two, dark-haired guys have followed her into the basement. They’re both well over six feet tall, and their size creates an illusion of them being her bodyguards.
“Well, that’s stupid,” she says with an eyeroll. “I worked my ass off for that damn piece of paper, so getting this empty folder is anticlimactic as fuck.”
The one with turquoise eyes arches a brow. “Will, do you understand how difficult it’d be to ensure thousands of students got the right one if the diplomas were actually in there? Or how hard it’d be to fix if they got it wrong?”
Willow just rolls her eyes again.
“Logan, Lex. Meet my pain in the ass brothers. Biological and bonus,” she mutters, pointing to each of them.
And it all makes sense.
My hand lifts, absently waving hello while I check my phone to see if Camden’s replied. He hasn’t. In fact, the message still just says delivered beneath it. But if Willow’s home, then he’s out of the ceremony too. Meaning he should’ve checked his texts by now.
My gaze flicks over to Lexi, who’s staring at me. And apparently reading my damn mind when she inquires, “Will, did you see Camden after the ceremony?”
“Yeah, he left with his parents a bit before we did.”
My heart crawls into my throat, but I somehow choke out, “Did he say where they were going?”
She frowns and shakes her head. “No, but I’d assume he’ll be back soon, unless they all went out to eat first.”
Worry scratches at the back of my head, causing goose bumps to break out across my skin, and I start to spiral. My thoughts move at hyperspeed, playing out possible scenarios, and I glance over at Lexi, finding her phone in her hand now.
“Can you text him? On your phone,” I ask.
“Already on it.”
I watch as she types out a message, congratulating him, before hitting send. Meanwhile, Willow crosses over to us and drops down on my other side to look at Lexi’s phone screen.
“Uh, what’s going on? Why are we texting Camden?”
Willow’s brother lets out a sigh. “Can this wait? Mom’s still in the car, remember?”
She shoots him a look of annoyance. “Oh my God, River. Can’t you see we’re in crisis mode here? Five more minutes isn’t gonna kill her.”
Lexi’s phone chimes, and the three of us stare down at the response, reading two simple words.
Thanks, Lexi.
Tension lines my jaw, my worry molding into some mixture of frustration and relief—glad to know he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere but infuriated by knowing he’s blatantly ignoring my attempt at reaching out.
It’s the anger that has me pulling up his contact and slamming my thumb on the call button, though.
As I lift the phone to my ear, I realize I have no clue what I’m gonna say when he picks up. But I sure as fuck know—
“You’ve reached the voicemail box of…”
My heart stops.
I’m off the couch in an instant, barrelling toward the stairs.
“Logan! Where are you—”
“He fucking blocked me,” I bite out, already rushing up the stairs.
More emotions than I can define rush through my body all at the same time; frustration, rage, and confusion, just to name a few. They all mix together, creating a fuel that pushes my body up the steps two at a time until I reach the main floor.
Fear and hurt join the party on my way up to the second floor, and by the time I reach the end of the hall, I’m chock full of anxiety too. Because my intuition is screaming, trying to prepare me for what I’m about to walk in on. What I’m about to see when I shove open his bedroom door.
What devastation I’m about to come face-to-face with.
But even knowing what I’ll find does nothing to ease the pain of my heart shattering at my feet.
Because gone are the trophies and awards and Leighton memorabilia hanging on the walls. There’s no pile of clothes in the corner that missed the hamper. No laptop on the desk or sheets on the bed.
No trace of Camden.
My chin trembles as I step into the room, feeling just how empty and lifeless it is with his existence stripped away. How desolate a place once filled with joy can be. It’s enough to have my knees threatening to give way, collapsing under the weight of the devastation.
I go to drop down on the foot of his bed, only to notice a lone piece of sketchpaper, covered in black ink, lying atop the bare mattress.
With trembling fingers, I pick it up before sinking down where it lay moments before. It shakes in my hand as I stare at the page. At the memories. At the love radiating so fucking clearly between the version of us I brought to life.
But all that’s clear now is the people drawn there in ink aren’t real.
Neither is their love.
My entire body swells with a tidal wave of grief, but I grit my teeth against the impact. Tears threaten to spill over, but I manage to keep them at bay, despite knowing I can’t hold strong forever.
Sooner or later, the dam always breaks, leaving devastation in its wake.
I fall to my back and close my eyes, pressing that goddamn piece of paper to my chest like it’s a lifeline.
And I refuse to believe this is reality.
None of this is real. I’m in a nightmare, waiting to be woken up.
And I hope that when I do, I’ll be in bed, tucked into Camden’s side while he’s fast asleep.
With my eyes shut, I can almost believe it.
Can almost feel the warmth of his skin, hear the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.
But it’s merely the ghost of him haunting my memory.
I let myself live in that world anyway—the one where he’s still mine—and for a few blissful seconds, it helps. It eases the waves of anguish relentlessly crashing into me.
Until I open my eyes and see it, in the patterns of the popcorn ceiling.
A bunny on a unicycle.
And the dam breaks, leaving me to drown in despair.