31. Three
After eight weeks of winter break, I come back to campus, no longer an eighteen-year-old but a more experienced and confident nineteen-year-old.
That doesn’t at all mean that break was smooth sailing. Jeremy has been coming over more often, which only increases my resentment toward him and my mom. Sometimes, I feel bad about my negativity about Jeremy because it’s not necessarily his fault, but that changes nothing.
Cameron has been dry in text replies ever since New Year’s. He wished me a happy birthday last week, and he still responds, but I might as well be texting the sidewalk with the affection I get in those messages. Part of me is dreading our first face-to-face conversation.
The best part of break would honestly have to be daily FaceTimes with Dad. He’s feeling better about his new position, and I’m feeling less lonely knowing I’ll see him every day on video chat. Bummer that David is part of our calls, but you win some, you lose some. Hehehe. No, I joke. David has been fine. He’s been decent.
I am able to take my packed items in one trip, thanks to my long linguini arms. As David and I walk through campus, I catch multiple people turning their heads in my direction. That would be the first.
“You talk to Brandy lately?” David asks out of the blue.
“Yeah, she’s my best friend, why?”
He shrugs and juts out his lower lip. “Never mind.”
Gross realization hits me. “Do you like her?”
He pulls his bag higher on his shoulder. “Does she like me?”
“Uh, I don’t know. We don’t talk about you.”
His brows dip, and his eyes narrow. Tell me why I actually feel bad. “Oh. Is she really the type to make out with someone multiple times and then drop them?”
“I don’t know. I’ll talk to her.”
He grips my arm with a barely free hand. “Don’t. Forget I said anything.”
We end the conversation, but I can’t forget it. Why do I care?
If I thought the looks outside were bad, the ones I get in our dorm as I enter my floor are much worse. A few people walk by me with pity in their eyes. Oh, God. When I reach my room, I nearly fall over and not because of my heavy bags. My arms go limp, causing all my bags to fall to the ground and stare at what is taped onto the door. A nauseating blown-up image of me, Brandy, and Ryland in Brandy’s parents’ room. It’s mostly innocent, considering that nothing came from that night, but how is anyone else to know? Ryland is buck naked.
How the freaking hell is there a picture of this?
The angle looks like the camera was set up behind my back, facing the bed— oh my God.
Just below it is the word WHORE in red permanent marker. I tear the picture away, swipe my card, and swing the door open. I kick my bags into the room and let it slam.
Brandy rises from the desk and rushes to hug me, but I hold up the picture. “Have you seen this?”
Her eyes bulge. “Yes, but I thought I tore it down.”
“Clearly not. And apparently I am a whore now.” That explains the odd looks. Where else has that picture found a home? The dining hall? The bathroom in the student center? Novak’s classroom? FUCK. I hope more than anything that Cameron has not seen it. Please god. This already feels like the start of a beautiful second semester.
Brandy takes the poster-sized image and tears it up. “Forget it.”
“I can’t! This means Ryland recorded us! And now people think I had a threesome. And there is one particular person I do not want thinking that.”
Brandy rakes a hand through her hair, messing up its near perfect style. “I know it sucks, I?—”
“It does more than suck. It’s disgusting! How could he record us—you like that? And what the hell is wrong with him?”
Brandy turns away but not before I catch a glimpse of her guilty expression. It makes my stomach turn. “Brandy.”
“Oh God.” Her breathing quickens, and she covers her face and lets her hands fall to her mouth before she drops her hand. “Don’t be mad.”
“Talk.”
“I knew.”
“You knew?”
“I knew because I suggested it.”
“You suggested it?!” I shout at her.
Brandy making a sex tape, huh. I shudder.
“I suggested it because I thought it would be kinda cool and funny to watch after we did it. I mean we were tipsy and all, not totally out like you, no offense, but it was supposed to be funny.”
I cover my mouth.
“I had no idea that you would knock on the door, let alone even enter the room in the middle of it. And I never could have guessed he’d somehow use the picture to expose you like that.”
“No, I…I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
Brandy crumples up pieces of the picture. “What do you mean?”
“Whore. That word was written there. I don’t know anyone else who sees me that way other than Brazely.”
“You think she’s behind this?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Brandy’s brows wrinkle in worry. “But you said Tamara talked to her.”
“Yeah, which upset her more because she saw me with her after. Damn it, I hate her!”
Brandy tries to ease my anger, but it’s not just me I’m angry for.
Almost like he knows what we’re discussing, my phone buzzes with a Cameron text.
Cameron
Checked off another item. Congrats.
My chest tightens. I should not have even talked to Ryland that night. I should not have taken that stupid shot from his mouth, though that was as far as my betrayal goes. Cameron has to know I would never cheat on him, not after everything that has happened or the things we’ve said to each other. Now I am the worst type of hypocrite in his eyes. I need to shut Brazely down, and I need to talk to Cameron. But he comes first. My relationship with him comes first.
“I would believe that if I didn’t see you sucking his face at the bar and grinding up on him at DropStix,” Cameron tells me.
I came to his room in hopes he would understand everything. Instead, he intends to use my mistakes against me, understandably. I wouldn’t believe me either when I clearly danced with Ryland that night. I thought Cameron missed that.
“Cameron, please. I did not have a threesome with him and Brandy. Are you aware how awkward that would make everything? And I wouldn’t do that to us.”
“It’s on your list, and you’ve done something like this to me before. Do I really need to mention Mikey?” He is quiet for a moment then speaks again. “Honestly, it’s not even about the threesome thing that bothers me, it’s everything that’s happened before it. You kiss me then have sex with my roommate, you keep your list a secret. We have sex, then you have your lips on another man’s. Then there’s Santa Monica. Now this.” He covers his face with his hand and curses. When he removes it, his eyes are red, and I can practically taste the stress radiating off him. “It’s too much right now.”
My chest aches. “I’ll admit that I shouldn’t have done what I did at the bar with Ryland. Brandy suggested it but—” I heave a sigh and do what I regret not doing before. Taking responsibility. “I did it. Everything up to now whether Brandy urged me to or not…I did it. I had a choice, and I chose wrong every time. The only good thing I did was kiss you. I’ve been naive and careless with your heart. Careless with my own. And I am so incredibly, infinitely sorry.” The words rush out of me before I have a chance to think twice about them. I don’t need to though, because they’re true.
Cameron is still for a long while. His eyebrows pull together briefly before he swallows deeply. He grabs a baseball cap from on top of his dresser and crushes his hair under it.
“Where are you going?” I ask, blocking his exit.
“A walk. My head feels like it fell into a goddamn volcano.”
He tries to get by, but I slide in front of him. I grab his face in my hands. “You have to believe me, Cameron Leary. I regret everything.” My words are desperate, and I hate it.
“I need some air. I need to think before I can trust you again.”
The air is knocked out of me. Stab me in the hand with a sharpened pencil and it would hurt less. “You can’t trust me?”
“No…” He hates to say it I can tell, but it sucks regardless. “I love you, but I can’t.”
My chest tightens to the point of physical pain.
He drags a hand across his cheek. “I need to walk away from this.”
“No.”
Cameron laughs softly and reaches for me, but I step back, letting it fall as disappointment fills his expression. I immediately feel guilty. “What? Am I not allowed to be upset by this?” he asks.
You are, but I don’t want you to be.
I hold my hands up. “Do what you want.” I wince at my own anger. How, even with someone I love this much, I can’t hold it back.
“You do realize that you were mad at me for years because you thought I was a dirty cheat. And now you?—”
I narrow my eyes into slits. “You’re calling me a dirty cheat?”
He shakes his head but more out of disbelief than in response to my question. My heart quickens, and my throat closes over any words that try to come out.
“I hate you,” I say and take in an unsteady breath.
He lifts his brow. “You love me, and I love you, but fuck, Lainey, I cannot talk about this right now.”
“No,” I start in frustration, the words after get caught. I clamp my mouth shut before a broken sob can escape, but my explanation echoes in my mind.
No. I cannot let you walk out this door having you think you don’t mean absolutely everything to me. And I can’t stand not having your trust.
Cameron takes a full step backward. “No, what? No, you don’t love me?” God, he’s exaggerating, but I don’t correct him. I can’t.
I look away and say nothing.
“Fine. I’ll see you later.” His face is stoic, but hurt is laced in his tone. He knocks my shoulder as he pushes past me. I back out of his room and wait for him to turn back, but he keeps going.
He should trust me, right?
Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t even trust myself anymore.
During dinner with Brandy and Tamara, it’s brought to my attention how wrong I am. Given my track record, he has every reason in the world to not believe me. Hell, I’ve screwed up. I just needed someone on my side. Me assuming that person would always be Cameron is taking him for granted.
God! I was trying to save face by turning his inability to trust me on him while the only person I have to blame is me. The desperation to hold onto my dignity caused the wrong words to come out—no words even—and the right ones to get stuck in my throat. Now I just need to prove I am worth his trust.
Unfathomable guilt aside, I have another stop to make. I have no clue why I think I’d be able to shut her down if Tamara couldn’t, but I’m already on her shit list, so what do I have to lose?
I bang my knuckles on the door I recognize as Brazely’s.
“I don’t have money, go away,” her voice calls from behind the door.
“It’s Lainey.”
“Yeah. I’m aware.”
Wow. What a comedian, but I lack the time for these shenanigans.
“Open the door right now.”
I hear her scoff. “Tell me through the door. I don’t want your whoreness on me.”
“Brazely Hastings, open up before I kick it down and smash your kneecaps.” Whoa. That just kind of slipped out. Nobody should disrespect anyone else’s kneecaps. Gross.
Brazely finally swings the door open, revealing the scowl already painted on her face. “You need therapy.”
“Maybe,” I say, pushing my way inside. It is a pigsty. Her side of the room is littered with clothes and more clothes. She must be in the unpacking process. Still, I pity her unfortunate roommate.
Brazely starts to speak, but I muster up all my nerve, and I hold up my hand to stop her. “I talk, you listen. How many times does Tamara have to talk to you to make you back off?” She opens her mouth, but I raise my hand again. “Rhetorical. It’s over now, so leave me be. I have done nothing to you, and you embarrass me, send Professor Nasty on me, and blow up a picture of me and call me a whore.”
“Professor Nasty?”
“Stef,” I grunt. “You sicced him on me like a rabid dog at the Christmas party, and you can’t deny it because I saw you making out with him.”
“I—sicced? What the fuck do you even mean?”
“He cornered me in the girl’s bathroom.”
Brazely frowns and looks genuinely unaware of this information. Faker. “Did you report him?”
“Not the point, but yes. Can you just stop it all?”
She stands there quietly for a moment. Then she turns away and picks a couple items off the floor and chucks them on her bed. After a moment, she straightens. “Stop flaunting your relationship with Tamara. That might help.” She snaps back. “You’re also unbelievably annoying. I mean, honestly, you go through people like PEZ candy.”
“Maybe that’s just you.”
Brazely shakes her head. “Nope. Tamara was my one and only, and Stef. He’s…” Her eyebrows pinch together, and she swallows hard. “He’s vile. I suck his dick for money, and I walk around with him so no one thinks he’s a goddamn loser who can’t please a girl.” Instantly, after sharing this information, her eyes bug out, seeing the obvious mistake. “Tell anyone, and I’ll boil you in Lainey-noodle soup. He can’t know I said that.”
And I thought kneecaps were messed up. We do not threaten to make human soup out of other people. My Lord, if anyone needs therapy, it’s this wild card right here in front of me.
“Understood. I’d just like you to quit attacking me so we can both live our lives.”
“What life?” Her quiet tone surprises me. So does the hint of desperation.
“What do you mean?”
“Tam is my life. Was.”
This lady will never understand. “You ever think Tamara doesn’t like it when you scare off her friends? What you’re doing to me is not going to win her over. She hates phonies and assholes like you. It boggles my mind that you two used to date. The only true explanation is that you used to be different. I don’t care about what is making you act this way, but knock it off. Being a bitch isn’t a way to get to her heart. Check yourself and leave me alone.”
With that, I leave her. As I descend the stairs, I whip out my phone and send a very important message.
Me: I have made some mistakes, Cameron, but I did not do this. I know you love me, and I love you too.
I feel proud of my maturity until I read his reply. My gut knots up, my chest tightens, and my heart disintegrates.
Cameron: I need a break. Let me be for a while.