More Than Forever
Page 62

"When?"
I drop my head between my shoulders and inhale deeply, waiting for the courage to speak. "Yesterday."
Her sob has my eyes lifting to her. She's bent over herself, one had covering her mouth, and the other on her stomach. "Why?" she says, but before I get a chance to respond she's off the bed and walking toward me—or so I think, but she brushes past me and through the door next to me. A bathroom. I stand frozen while I watch her drop to her knees in front of the toilet and lift the lid. Then sense kicks in, and the vision of her at fifteen doing the exact same thing flood my mind.
"Stop!" I try to shout, but it comes out a whisper. I get to her and pin her arms to her sides. "What are you doing?"
She tries to push me away, but I hold on to her tighter. And slowly, I feel the fight leave her.
I let her go, but hold her shoulders so she has no choice but to look at me. "Fuck, Luce, have you been doing it again?"
She shakes her head, but there's a wariness in her eyes that tell me she's lying. "I'm fine," she says, and now I know she is.
I exhale all the air in my lungs and release my hold on her, then I eye the ceiling, trying to level my thoughts.
She stands up and walks to the sink to splash water on her face.
"Have you?" I ask again, coming to a stand.
She doesn't answer in words, but her tear filled eyes locking with mine is answer enough.
"Fuck." I spin on my heels and leave the bathroom, and then make my way to the bedroom door.
"Where are you going?" she asks, panic clear in her voice.
"I never wanted this, Luce. I never wanted to be the reason why you're back there, doing something so wrong. I created that. I made you want to do that again. I can't... I just can't. I need to let you go."
"Tell me what happened," she says, her arms crossed over her chest.
"What?"
"Why did you see her again? Are you guys... are you dating now?"
"What! No. Fuck no, Luce. She came over yesterday because asshole Minge told her where I was."
"And what did she want?"
I sigh, and I let the inevitable happen. I tell her the truth. "She told me she was into me."
"That fucking whore!"
If it were any other time, any other person, I'd be laughing. But this isn't a laughing matter.
"What did you say?"
"I told her to get her and her whore clothes out of the house or I'd kick her fat ass out of there."
And somehow, amongst everything we're going through, her lips pull at the corners and a smile comes through. "Really?"
My eyes drift shut when I hear the hopefulness in her voice. "Yes, really, Luce. I'm sorry that I never picked up on it, or that I didn't do anything to stop it when you felt it was going that way. I just never noticed it, but I should have listened to you."
Her arms drop to her sides and she releases a breath.
"And you?" I ask.
"What about me?"
"You're making yourself throw up again?" I stand so I'm only feet in front of her.
Her head tilts all the way back to look at me, the way she's done so many times before. "No. Not intentionally. It was only once, Cam. Never again."
"When?"
She sits on the edge of the bed and looks down at the floor. "The night I saw your sketch of her."
My heart drops to my stomach.
She lifts her legs onto the bed, raising her knees and wrapping her arms around them. "Why did you draw her?" she struggles to ask.
My heart breaks, but I tell her the truth. "Because I'm an asshole. Because she came to my dorm once and offered to help me study. I needed the help, because I was struggling so much, and I took it. I should have said no." I lean back against the wall opposite her.
"And you were alone?"
I nod, my eyes never leaving hers. "She came in, but I left the door open. I didn't want her getting any ideas. She was working on something of mine on my desk and I sat on my bed while I waited. I started to fall asleep and I knew that I shouldn't because I wouldn't be able to wake up, so I picked up a pen and paper and I just did it. It was so dumb. I just—I wasn't thinking. I didn't do the one thing you asked me to do, and that was to think about your feelings. I'm so sorry, Luce. I can't even tell you how sorry I am. I fucking hate myself for what I did." I stop to take a breath, not realizing how badly I was holding it all in until I could no longer speak. "I haven't been able to pick up a pen and paper since. I can't—I fucking hate myself."
"Cameron..." she says again—with so much sympathy I want to punch myself. I don't deserve her sympathy. "You know," she continues, "I've been thinking about it, a lot. About what you said at dinner."
"Oh my God." I moan and cover my head with my arms, too ashamed to face her.
"I've known you a long time, Cameron. I think I know you pretty well, right?"
I look up, not bothering to hide how I truly feel. "You know me better than I know myself, Luce."
"I know, right?" She kicks her legs out and sits on the edge of the bed again. "That's what I mean. So it doesn't make sense to me—why you would say all that stuff that night. I mean... you broke me, Cam. You ruined me, and you ruined what I thought we had. You left me devastated and for what? Because you were drunk? That can't be all. That can't be a valid enough reason. There has to be more. And I just don't get it."
"Because, Luce." I tilt my head up and stare at the ceiling. Then I push down my hurt and my fear, and most of all my pride. "Because sometimes when I’m with you—I feel like people can tell."
"Tell what?"
"That I don't belong. That you're way too damn good for me, and sometimes I wonder if you'd even look twice at me if I weren't the only thing standing in front of you. What if we met under different circumstances? What if you didn't rely on me? What if you still had friends when I started to chase you? What if Claudia was there... would you have even talked to me?"
"Cam," she says skeptically. "Of course—"
"No, you say that, Luce. But you don't know. And I know it sounds horrible, but I always felt like I was less, and I put you on a pedestal, and I shouldn't have. And with Roxy—"
She flinches, but I keep going. I need to keep going. "With her, it was the other way around, and there was nothing romantic, or physical with her, but it just felt like I deserved what I had. She just made me feel like it was okay to not be able to afford college, or fancy things, or have to work to support myself. I didn't feel like a dumbass for not being smart. I know that you can't understand that."
She cries now, her hands frantically wiping her tears. "Are you saying that I made you feel like that? Did I not show you how I felt? How much I loved you? "
"No!" I drop to my knees at her feet. "It's not you. You never did anything wrong."
"Then why?"
"It's so hard to explain. It's like every day I woke up with you in my arms and it felt like I was counting down the seconds until you realized what you were doing and you'd be done with me. So you can move on and find someone that's going to provide you the life that you're used to, the one that you deserve. I can't do that. I can't even—"