Cameron stays the night and I don't budge once until morning. I didn't get any sleep. I didn't even take my glasses off. I really need to pee, but I still can't bring myself to move. I just lie there until I feel Cameron start to stir.
Around nine, he wakes up and starts throwing his clothes back on. I force myself to sit up and as soon as I do I feel the entire contents of my stomach shift. I want to throw up.
I grab my bedsheets, covering myself. I want to get dressed, but I don't want to get out of bed. I don't want him to see me. Isn't that stupid? He saw all of me last night… I don't have anything to be worried about anymore. But, still. I don't want him to see it again.
He tilts his chin in my direction. "So, you cut yourself? Was that the big secret?"
I swallow harshly. "Yeah…" I whisper and it comes out meek and small.
It was idiotic of me to think he wouldn't notice.
"Why?"
"My dad," I say curtly.
"That sucks," Cameron scoffs. "Kinda thought so, though."
He keeps walking around the room, stopping to fix his hair in the mirror on the door of my closet.
He pushes his bangs forward and then back. "Some of those looked pretty new," he comments.
I press my tongue into the side of my cheek, not really wanting to answer. "Yeah," I admit after a minute.
"Well, that's fucked," he snorts, reaching up and tugging on the collar of his t-shirt. "I can't believe I got so upset over you seeing these. You're way more messed up than me."
He must be talking about the bruises from Jackson. I can't bring myself to reply. Cameron doesn't seem to notice, though, or if he does he doesn't care.
"So," Cameron starts again. "Hungover?"
"Yeah."
"Pff, yeah. Not surprised."
I want him to go.
I want to be alone.
He's taking too long.
Why is he taking so long?
Cameron keeps putting himself together and eventually, he says, "All right, Rudy, I'm heading out."
"Okay," I say, relieved.
He shows himself out and when he's gone I lie back down, trying to let myself relax. I pull the comforter up over my head and sink into the mattress. I feel sick. I still have to pee. My body's like a fucking rock though and no matter how hard I try, I can't move.
I shouldn't have made Cameron mad. I should have gone along with it like I did every other time this has happened to me. Anything would be better than this. Even if we didn't date. Even if it fucked our chances up.
Now that he's cooled off, maybe he'll regret it. He'll text me and say he's sorry. My dad always said sorry.
I lay there until my bladder feels like it's seriously about to burst. Then I get out of bed and grab a towel before heading for the bathroom. I keep my head up because I don't want to look at myself.
I pee and debate on making myself throw up because I'd probably feel less nauseous, but I don't. I just take a shower.
I feel disgusting and dirty for about a million different reasons.
I turn the water scalding and stare at the wall. There's some blue paint on the tile from all the times I've cleaned my brushes in here. I scratch it off and wash the flakes down the drain.
When I'm done, I grab my towel and head back to my room without bothering to dry off. I flop down on the bed and look up at the ceiling. Everything's fuzzy. I can't focus. Is this even real life? Did this really happen?
There's homework I have due Monday, but I don't care. I'm not gonna do it now. I wonder if I would have done it anyway. Doubtful. I'm such a pathetic slacker.
I shouldn't be surprised. Things like this always happen to me. Bad things. Someone once told me that when a person has so much bad shit happen to them, it's probably because they attract it with their own negativity.
Am I negative? Do I attract these things?
Probably, yeah. I feel like I do. I always feel like crap. I never feel good. I felt good briefly, but it's over now. It's gone. As always. I can't believe I was dumb enough to think Cameron actually might have wanted more from me.
He was a good thing in my life. He and Avery. I meant that.
I don't know what to do now. It's not like I can tell people. I couldn't tell Avery. She'd never believe me.
I just want him to say he's sorry. I'd forgive him if he did. I'd be okay if he did. I just want him to feel bad.
I take a deep breath. I should be used to this by now. Maybe I am. Maybe that's why I'm not hurting myself or crying. I'm just lying here, feeling nothing and everything at the same time.
For the rest of the evening, I lay there like a lump in the dark. I listen for my phone to go off. I want Cameron to text me, but he doesn't. It gets later, but I'm still awake. I keep tossing and turning, checking the clock, then flipping over and facing the wall. Eventually, I flip the light back on. There's no point in trying to sleep.
It hurts to move. I keep going over everything in my head. All the stuff that went down last night. I don't want to keep fighting with myself over all the what-ifs. I feel stagnant.
It's over, and it happened, and I can't do anything, but I also can't be here. I can't.
I reach for my nightstand and grab my phone, staring at the screen. Then I call the only fucking person I can think of.