I wake up when it's just starting to get light out. Rolling over, I see Cameron's still asleep.
I don't want to wake him, so I sit up quietly and make my way out of the room. I head to the kitchen where I left my phone last night and check my messages. There's one from Avery asking if I made it home safely. Should I tell her I stayed the night? There's no harm in that really, but I feel like Cameron would be upset if I told Avery he kissed me. I don't want to risk it, so I decide to omit that part.
I hope Cameron won't regret it when he wakes up and is back to normal. I'll feel really bad if he does. I'll feel like I fucked up, even though he's the one that made the first move. I hate rejection. I don't want to set myself up for failure. I want him to like me.
Phone in hand, I wander around his house aimlessly. Should I try and make him something to eat?
I go back to the kitchen and open the fridge, trying to figure out what would even be an option for breakfast. There's a carton of eggs. Would an omelet be good? I know that kind of stuff helps hangovers.
I pull out the eggs and root around for a frying pan. I try to keep things as clean as possible while I cook and put the dishes straight into the dishwasher when I'm done. I feel like if I don't, Cameron will have a conniption fit.
When I'm finally done, I stick the omelet on a plate and head to the bedroom. When I open the door, Cameron stirs.
"Hey, how do you feel?" I ask him as he sits up.
"Fine," he mumbles, but it's a blatant lie.
He stares at the plate in my hand, letting out a hoarse laugh. "You cooked for me?"
"Yeah," I say. "And don't worry, I did the dishes."
"Well, thanks," he responds as I hand him the plate.
I want to talk about last night, but I should wait until he's in better shape. There are a lot of things I want to bring up, but I don't know when the right time will be.
He takes a bite and then says, "You're a good little cook."
His tone is kind of mocking, but I brush it off. "I used to cook for my parents and their friends a lot," I explain.
"Guess it suited you."
Well, that comment bothers me.
"Guess so," I shrug.
Cameron takes a few quick bites and then slows down. He starts pushing little bits of egg around the plate. At first, I'm sure he's just feeling sick, but then I start to worry that something's wrong with it.
"Is it… all right?"
Cameron nods. "It's fine," he reassures me, "I just… ugh."
"Your stomach?"
"My whole body."
"Take it easy," I say. "Do you want Tylenol or something?"
"I don't know."
"Water?"
"Maybe…"
I run back to the kitchen and grab him a glass. As soon as I return, he holds out his hand and I pass it to him. He takes a long sip and then groans loudly. Before I can ask him what's wrong, he sets the water and food on his nightstand.
"Fuck," he says, covering his mouth and running down the hall for a repeat of last night.
I stand up and follow, poking my head into the bathroom. I don't say anything, just walk over and crouch down, putting a hand in the middle of his back.
"Ugh, don't touch me," he shrugs me off, moving a hand to his forehead. "Fuck, I feel like I'm dying."
"Maybe try to sleep a little bit more," I suggest. "I mean, it's still early. Your body could probably use it. I bet you'll feel better after."
"Yeah… fine…" he breathes heavily. "You probably think I'm fucking disgusting, huh?"
"Uh, no...not really," I tell him. "This doesn't really gross me out. Like I said, we all have bad nights."
"I'm never like this," he insists.
"I believe you."
Cameron sits there for another minute, probably trying to gauge whether or not he's done. When he finally seems okay, he puts a hand against the wall to brace and pushes himself up off the tile.
"I'll clean up," I offer before he can say anything about the bathroom floor. "You should go lay down."
He leaves and for a minute, I just stare at the toilet trying to figure out the best way to tackle this. Should I find a mop? Probably. Cameron obviously likes his place spotless. He'd probably be upset if I didn't do it right.
So, I mop. It takes a while, but when it's done, everything looks good. Everything looks the way it looked before.
I'm used to this. Taking care of messes that aren't mine. I don't mind it so much. It's familiar. I like when people let me take care of them. It's comforting, in a fucked up way.
I head back into Cameron's room and say, "Hey, all good."
"Thanks," he mumbles.
"Want Tylenol?" I ask yet again.
He sighs. "Yeah, I guess so… It's in the cabinet by the stove."
I head into the kitchen and bring back the bottle, handing Cameron a pill. He swallows it and then takes a sip of water before lying back down.
"Want me to hang around here?" I ask.
"Sure," he mumbles, not seeming to care either way. "You can watch TV or whatever… We can Uber to my car and I can take you home when I feel better."
"Don't worry," I say. "I can get myself home."
"I'll be fine," he hisses. "I'll take you. Stop worrying."
But I can't stop. I feel terrible when people I care about are sick or uncomfortable. It also doesn't help that when people feel like shit they tend to get short and snappy. That just makes me even more insecure.
"All right," I shrug, not sure what else to say.
"I'm going back to sleep," he says forcefully and I take that as my cue to get out.
I stand up and head for the door. "Is there anything else you want?" I offer before I go.
"No, it's cool," he tells me, starting to sound annoyed. "I can get it."
I nod and then leave him alone, closing the door behind me. I move into the living room and flip through channels on the TV. I try to find something to watch, but I'm not coming across anything interesting. My parents always had control over the television. Even now, I don't really watch. I just can't get into it.
I check my phone and see that Avery responded to my text. She asked me if anything happened. What a vague question, but I get what she means. A lot happened. Cameron got fucked up; more than he already was somehow. He puked his guts out and I cleaned his damn house. Also, he kissed me!? I don't say that, though. Instead, I just tell her everything was fine.
I wonder what's going to happen between Cameron and I now. He hasn't mentioned what happened last night. I don't know if he even remembers what happened last night. I wish he'd bring it up, but at this rate, I don't think it's going to happen.
Is it even possible for Cameron to like me? Keep telling myself it was probably just the alcohol, but I still can't seem to crush the hope. He's been hanging around me a lot, right? That has to mean something…or maybe it doesn't. Maybe I'm reading too far into things, like always. Cameron has so much going on and the idea that he would waste his time on me is unimaginable. Maybe he just wants to hook up?
I don't know… I feel like I could have done that in the past, but I don't want to be that person anymore. I never felt right doing the things I used to. I want to start doing things right. I want more for myself. At least I think I do. The cycle comes and goes. Sometimes I want to treat myself better, but other times I just don't care.
It's good to have goals, right? I'll try to make this mine.
I keep flipping through channels and eventually just end up turning the tv off. I mess around on my phone and text Avery a bit. Surprisingly, she's not very nosey about last night. I appreciate that she's respecting my privacy. I would do the same for her.
We chat about our final project for the class we have together. I ask if she needs a hand setting up her senior show and she says yes, so I promise to come and help out.
Around five, Cameron appears from his bedroom and heads for the shower. I hope the bathroom is clean enough for him. I hear the taps start running, which is a good sign. He didn't immediately come out to criticize my mop job at least. When he's done, he comes to the living room. He looks better. He's even wearing real pants.
"Hey," I say. "How do you feel?"
"Fine. You don't need to dote on me."
"I really don't mind…" I promise.
He flops down on the couch next to me. "Yeah, I can tell."
Wow. Okay, dude. That makes me feel fucking weird. Should I not be doing any of this? He asked me to clean up last night but maybe breakfast was too much? I probably came on too strong and now he's creeped out.
"I think I'm good to take you home now," he says, running a hand through his wet hair.
Well, that pretty much confirms my suspicions.
"It's fine, I can get myself back to campus," I tell him, trying to make up for being awkward and hanging around all morning when I probably should have just seen myself out.
Cameron gives me a disbelieving look. "What's your problem? Think I'm gonna puke in the car or something?"
"No," I shake my head, getting nervous. "I just don't want to make you leave the house if you're still hungover."
"Ugh, just shut up and let me drive you," he snorts. "It's the least I can do or whatever."
I don't want to fight, so I just give in. I let him take me home, feeling fidgety the whole way. Cameron doesn't notice. He keeps his eyes on the road and bitches about traffic. I listen, giving him one-word answers here and there.
I'm so distracted. I want to ask if he regrets kissing me, but when? How do I bring it up? I'm nervous. If he says yes, it'll hurt. If he says no… what happens next? I feel like all he wants is a hook up. I did say I felt like I owed him. I flirted with the idea. Cameron probably took it to heart. Should I prepare to dish out what I offered up?
When we finally arrive in the dorm parking lot, I'm a mess. Cameron must be able to feel the anxiety spilling off of me, because he keeps glancing at me out of the corner of his eye and curls his lips.
Jesus Christ. I wish he would say something. Why is he avoiding it? Is it the same reason I'm avoiding it? Does he feel awkward because he likes me or does he just want to forget?
"So, do you remember anything about last night?" I finally muster up the courage to ask.
"Sure," he shrugs nonchalantly.
Sure? Are you kidding me? What does that even mean?
"Okay…" I mumble uncomfortably. "Do you remember like, I don't know...kissing me?"
He chuckles. "Yep."
"Uh, okay...I mean, what was that about? Were you just wasted or like...do you wish you hadn't?" I ask, playing with the sleeve of my jacket.
Instead of parking the car in front of the school and dropping me off, he drives circles around the parking lot as I stutter out what I've been trying to say.
"Nah," he says. "I don't care about shit like that. Did you somehow get the impression I did?"
"Kind of," I admit. "Or that you would with me maybe…"
He laughs. "Why? Do you think that badly of yourself?"
"Kind of," I repeat.
"Well, I don't regret it," he says. "It doesn't matter that I was drunk."
"Doesn't it?" I wonder.
"Not really. I mean, I've had tons of drunken hookups before, and I'm sure you have, too."
And, yeah, I have… but the point is I don't want to be that person anymore. I want more.
Jesus Christ, I keep talking myself in circles. Maybe I don't know what the hell I want. I want to take things slow with the next person I end up with, but at the same time, I like Cameron, and I want to give him what he wants.
"Did you want to, um, come in and talk about it, then?" I ask.
"Sure," he accepts, finally parking the car in an empty space.
I start feeling nervous all over again as we head into the building and up to my room.
God, I need a drink.