Page 20 of Aftermath

"I'm—I'm Bill." Someone spoke up, his voice cracking. Cam was fairly positive it was Pete. He shared a cell with Chris.

"What does it say in your review?" Psycho asked impatiently.

Pete cleared his throat, the sound muffled by the layers of steel between them. "It says…it says, 'You are fired.'"

"That’s right." Crazy laughed. "You're useless! And I'm sick—damn sick!—of how you've treated me, Dad! No goddamn respect!" A door was pushed open. "Ever since I was a teenager, you've favored Fred! Even Remy, that little queer!"

A shot rang out, blasting through the entire basement, and the ear-shattering sound stole Cam's and Austin's breaths.

"Fuck," Cam breathed out. He pressed his index finger and thumb to his eyes, as always struggling to remain calm. "Why the hell did I come here?" He was sure as shit starting to regret it. He should just head home to Bourbon instead. The pup shouldn’t be left alone for long anyway.

He wanted to call Austin, but he refrained. He couldn’t rely on him forever. Plus, he'd been thinking about that man too much today already.

Austin was probably at home with his family. It was dinnertime, and Cam could picture it. The all-American family. They probably had a nice house, perfect dinners together, movie nights, and played board games with Riley. Cam could definitely see that. Mr. MBA, the flawless father and husband. Jade certainly fit the role of a perfect wife with her statuesque figure, brilliant smile, blond hair, and blue eyes.

Lighting up a smoke, Cam sat down on the marble bench that looked new and just stared at the grave. If he wasn’t so lazy, he'd look up Pete's spot. His death had hit him harder, mainly 'cause Pete hadn’t chosen it.

"Motherfucker," he groaned as his heart began to race. No, he shouldn’t have fucking come here.

Cam sat on his cot, arms wrapped around his drawn-up legs, and rocked back and forth. To keep sane, he tapped his thumb to his other fingers rapidly. Index, middle, ring, pinky. Pinky, ring, middle, index. Repeat. Pete was dead. Index, middle, ring, pinky. Repeat. That insane motherfucker had shot Pete in the head. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

No words were spoken in the basement, but it was far from quiet. Someone was vomiting, another one was crying without shame, Chris was banging on the walls of the cell he now shared with a dead man, Cam's fucking cuffs clanked together each time the pad of his thumb tapped a finger, and someone else was kicking things around.

"Breathe," Cam whispered to himself, close to hyperventilating. "Steady. Calm." He squeezed his eyes shut, angry at himself and his weakness—his flaws, his damaged brain. "Can't lose control. Can't lose control."

If his brother's wife heard him say shit like that, she would kick his ass. In truth, Cam knew his brain wasn’t damaged, but goddamn…whatever. It sure as fuck felt like damage now.

"Cam."

Cam ignored his cellmate's voice and presence.

Austin sat down next to him. "Anything I can do?"

Fuck. He didn’t even ask if something was wrong, 'cause a blind person would see thateverythingwas wrong with Cam.

"We—we're outta c-control," Cam said between shallow breaths. "No control, no control. Fuck." His chest felt fucking tight. Another attack was on its way. "Nothing we can—nothing we can do. Nothing." Deserting his finger tapping, he fisted his hair and kept rocking.

Unbeknownst to him, Austin was worried sick. This kind of behavior wasn’t…normal. "Hey, stop that." He tried to loosen Cam's hold on his dark, nearly black, hair. "Talk to me."

Cam responded as if Austin's request had been a command he had to obey, and he spoke words without really knowing what he was talking about. "My sister-in-law used to tell me that any disorder on the spectrum gives a person character. It's the shit that usually comes with Asperger's or whatever that makes it a challenge." Cam nodded. "Naïve. My sister-in-law was naïve. Still is, I guess. 'Cause she still says it sometimes. But I haven't seen her in…um, I don’t know. I don’t fucking know." He groaned.

Austin was speechless after Cam's verbal vomit, but eventually he found his words. "I'm sure there are more fitting words for your sister-in-law. But this disorder… Asperg—uh, what was it?"

Cam sucked in a breath, slowly releasing his hair. "Asperger syndrome." He nodded again. "I used to say it was a lesser stupid than autism, but my mom whacked me on the head for saying that. She—she—" he swallowed dryly and tried to gather his jumbled thoughts "—she said I was stupid if I spoke stupid. She told me it made me come off as an idiot if I said shit that wasn’t true."

"Uh." Austin cleared his throat, and it looked like he felt the need to tread carefully. "I've heard of Autism, but…" He released some air. "Does this Asperger syndrome cause your breathing problem?"

"No." Cam shook his head, slowing his rocking. "No. That’s my anxiety disorder. It's what fucks me up." He tapped his temple. "I gotta be in control of my life. If I lose control, I panic. I don’t fucking like it."

Austin didn’t reply, appearing stunned.

"I'm not a fucking retard," Cam spat out defensively. "Before this, I hadn't had an attack in years. I don't like small spaces, I can't handle many people at the same time, I'm antisocial, I gotta have routines…but I ain't dumb." Cam's glare dared Austin to defy his words.

"Did I say you were dumb?" Austin arched a brow.

"I'm highly functioning." Cam went on as if Austin hadn't said a word. "I was behind when I was a kid, but that’s fucking it. So what if I didn’t speak 'til I was four?" He scowled at the floor. "And so what if I don’t like people?"

Again, Austin failed to respond.

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