Jeez. I get that he feels strongly about this, but there's no way in fucking hell he understands what I mean. Frankly, Cameron's lucky. I'd give anything to have his life.
"It's shitty, okay?" he insists angrily, still not looking at me.
I just nod along, not having anything to contribute.
"So, other people like my art," Cameron continues, tightening his grip around the neck of the liquor bottle, "big fucking whoop!"
"It sucks that we can't control what our parents think," I offer, hoping I sound sympathetic.
"Fuck, yeah!" he scoffs. "My mom even says she likes it, but she's such a big fuckin' idiot about everything else that I can't even take her seriously!"
"You keep saying that," I try to say without sounding snarky. "That her opinion doesn't matter. What do you mean?"
"Well, for one thing, she doesn't know anything about art," he starts, sounding sour. "It never feels sincere. I think she just says it for the sake of praising me. I mean, she's always been that way, but sometimes it feels like she loads it on extra heavy. It's like she's trying to make up for things she fucked up on in the past."
"Like, going through your texts?" I ask.
He nods slowly. "She felt like she had a right to do it because she's my mom and she was worried. I think being a psychologist makes her paranoid. She's just… too much. I can't even be around her because I literally feel claustrophobic."
"I'm sorry," I say.
"She's always trying to make herself look good," he continues, sounding even angrier. "Or maybe she's trying to make me look good? Or our family? Fuck! I don't fucking know!"
"What does your dad think about how she acts?" I pry.
"Like I'd know," he rolls his eyes, "he probably thinks the same thing I do. That's she's a fucking dumbass."
I guess I can relate to that. Parents not being on the same page. My mom was awful too, but in a completely different way from my dad.
"Oh," I mumblr.
"She's a serious control freak," Cameron continues. "She always had to know exactly where I was going or what I was doing when I lived under their roof. She always wanted to drive me everywhere and if she couldn't because she had work, then she'd arrange a ride for me. She didn't even want me to get my license."
"That sounds overwhelming."
"Yeah, that's one way to put it." He sits up a little straighter and then turns his body towards me. "Obviously that didn't stop me from getting my license, though… and moving out as soon as possible."
"When did you move out?" I ask.
"When university started. I was NOT staying in that house. She didn't even let me wear headphones when I listened to music in case it was something she thought I shouldn't be listening to," he pauses and laughs at that. "She probably wanted to shield me from shit, but that didn't work."
I wonder if that's why Cameron is into such outlandish and provocative art.
"That's why I had to start lying about every little damn thing," he goes on to explain, sounding more and more upset. "I can't believe I was stupid enough to think she wouldn't look through my phone. I should have been deleting my messages the whole time."
"You didn't have a passcode on it?" I wonder.
"Wasn't allowed to," he scoffs. "She said it looked suspicious."
"That sucks" I say. "Were your parents okay with your relationship?"
"With Jackson?" Cameron wrinkles his nose and shrugs. "Eventually. I can tell my dad would rather I was straight, but too damn bad for him. My mom was just upset I didn't tell her… but she never really gave me any reason to. Neither of them did."
"That's fair," I nod, although I never kept any secrets from my parents.
I told them everything. They just didn't give a fuck.
"It was really annoying," he grimaces. "She forced me to tell my dad and that was like the worst day of my life."
"Jesus Christ," I take a sip of my drink. "She forced you?"
"She said she would tell him if I didn't."
"That's fucked up."
"It was so embarrassing and uncomfortable," he says with a sneer.
"Yeah, I can't even imagine…" I muster up.
"Your parents didn't care about you being gay, did they?" he asks me. "I remember you saying something like that."
"Right. I mean, I'm not even totally sure that they know, but they probably do… and if they do, they definitely don't care but that's just because they didn't care about me in general."
"I wish my parents cared less," he mutters.
That comment bothers me.
"No, you don't. It's upsetting."
"My parents literally ruined my first relationship," he says, shaking his head and looking at me in a way that reminds me just how trashed he is.
"I don't know if I can even handle a relationship because of all the shit my parents pulled," I snap back. "Like, ever."
Cameron makes a face and tugs at the collar of his turtleneck.
"Stop," he says after a minute, obviously irritated that I'm disagreeing with him. "Talk about something else."
"Uh, okay," I frown, not sure of how to change the subject at the drop of a hat.
When I don't pick up the conversation right away, Cameron breaks eye contact and takes another swig of liquor.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask him.
"Shut up," he replies.
So, I don't ask again. Clearly he isn't, but I can't force him to talk.
For a while, I keep my mouth closed. It's uncomfortable. I debate on texting Avery and asking her what the hell I'm supposed to do, but I don't. I have no idea if she's awake still and if she's not, I don't want to risk waking her up.
Cameron keeps drinking. The contents of the bottle grow less and less. Neither of us speaks. It's like he's concentrating solely on finishing the bottle. I don't want him to, but he seems intent.
He'll probably get sick in the morning.
"Cameron -" I start, but he cuts me off by shoving the liquor bottle in my direction.
"Hold this," he says. "I'm hot as balls right now."
Yeah, no wonder.
I take the bottle and he strips off his turtleneck. Around the collar of his undershirt, I notice a ring of bruises. He also has a few bruises on his arms. It looks like someone might've grabbed and choked him.
They're dark and obviously fresh. Probably from within the past week. I don't know what to make of them, but they look...not great.
"Um," I speak cautiously. "Did something happen to you?"
Cameron looks at me, eyes half-lidded like he has no clue what I'm talking about. So, I point to my own neck.
When I do that, his hand flies up and covers the marks. He quickly realizes there's no point to that though, and his expression drops.
"Ugh, fuck."
He lets his hand fall to his lap, looking hopeless. It's strange. I didn't expect to ever see him like this.
I set the bottle of liquor on the coffee table and ask, "Do you want to talk about it?"
He lets out a shaky laugh. "It's not a big deal. There's nothing to talk about. Jackson's just fucking crazy!"
"Jackson did that?" I ask slowly. "Why? When?"
He forces another laugh. I know he's trying to brush it off, but I don't think he should.
"You don't have to do that," I say quietly.
He doesn't move and he doesn't say anything, but his eyes kind of glaze over. "Fuck," he hisses, like he's scolding himself.
He sounds upset. Really upset. He also sounds fucked up. Cameron leans forward and puts his hands over his face. At first, he's quiet, but after a minute he makes a few muffled crying sounds.
"Cameron," I say softly. "What happened with Jackson?"
He doesn't respond.
I can't even begin to wrap my head around this situation. Jackson seems like a piece of shit and I guess based on what I've seen I wouldn't put this past him, but where the hell were he and Cameron alone?
"Did you guys get in a fight?" I press.
"No...I don't know!" he says into his hands. "I guess. We're always fighting."
"You should get a restraining order…" I say.
"No," his head snaps up. "I didn't ask for advice. I'm handling it."
"Okay," I say calmly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Obviously not," he says, sounding angry I'm even here.
"Okay," I repeat in the same, calm tone.
He looks miserable.
We sit there for a few minutes while Cameron tries to collect himself. I keep my hands folded in my lap, not saying anything. Eventually, when Cameron goes to get up, he puts a hand against his forehead and groans.
"Ugh, Jesus Christ," he steadies himself against the arm of the couch.
"Are you okay?" I ask as he wavers.
"Everything's spinning. I'm going to bed."
"Oh, um," I stutter, wondering if I should head home.
"You can come," Cameron says, staring at me and looking like he doesn't have the energy or patience for this. I must look unsure, because he sighs and then specifies.
"Come to bed with me."
"I don't have anything here. I don't have my toothbrush. I don't have any clothes."
I guess I'm just looking for an excuse because I don't feel like he wants me here anymore.
He crosses his arms, leaning against the wall. "You can borrow clothes from me and I have a spare toothbrush under the sink."
"All right," I give in.
He points down the hall. "Bathroom's the last door. Toothbrushes in the third drawer."
I nod and as he goes into his room, I turn down the hallway.