Page 10 of Fractured Souls
That’s what I want. What I have with Bo, but with my girl. I don’t think that’s unreasonable. “You never had an issue before we moved in,” I say softly. All the things she said are settling into my chest. “Didn’t realize you hated me that much.”
“I don’t hate you.” Her face softens. “You’re a good guy, Cam. You’re hot, great in bed, but it’s just not enough. I thought you’d grow the fuck up if we lived together. If maybe you weren’t . . .” Her lips pinch shut, but I understand loud and clear.
Me.
If I wasn’t me.
She’s right, though. I’m immature, and boring, and not very bright. I don’t know why I ever thought this would work. I feel my lip begin to wobble. Blinking fast, I look over at our bed and find my blanket, and I storm over to it snatch it up. “You better not have fucked on it.”
“Really, Cam! That’s all you can say?”
I bite back the mean things I want to say to her. I just can’t. I don’t have it in me to be mean. “We just started living together.” My voice sounds hollow. I feel hollow. “You could have broken up with me.” Why am I even talking to her? “We had fun, played, laughed. We had fun. I thought we were solid. You made me believe we were good.”
She looks away, and I want to know who this person is because this sure as shit isn’t the girl I’ve been with for nearly half a year. “I don’t want to be good, Cam. I want my boyfriend to act like aman who wants me. I don’t need another friend.” I look at her, drinking her in for the last time.
Her curly red hair is pulled into a messy bun, the kind I love most, and an oversized shirt stops mid-thigh. Realization hits me. A punch right to the nuts.
That shirt isn’t mine. I’ve never seen it before, but it’s not new. It looks worn . . . slept in.
I feel sick. It’s his shirt, isn’t it?
She’s been waiting for me to get my shit, then she’s going to be with him for the rest of the day. Why did I think this would go anywhere? Part of me wants her to beg for me to stay. Maybe if she acted like losing me hurt just a little I wouldn’t feel this awful. It’s so stupid.
Losing me isn’t painful; it’s a deep breath of relief.
I should know this by now.
My chest breaks open. I need to get out of here.
My fingers bunch in the blanket. It’s baby blue and some of the edges are frayed.Don’t cry. She’s not worth it. Don’t cry.Only it’s my abuela saying this to me and she’s talking about my mother and father.“Don’t let them see you cry, nieto, they’re not worth your tears.”
Most of the time it only made me cry harder. “Cam?” I blink up at her voice. She’s waiting for me to say something, or more likely for me to go.
“I’m calling you really mean names in my head right now. Just so you know. Words that start with B, and C, and Q.”
“Q?” Her brow quirks.
“It’s a new one I just invented, and it’s really fuckin’ bad.”
Her pink lips split into a tiny smile. “As you should.” She leans in and I don’t have the strength to stop her. The floral scent of her perfume floats around me. I used to love it, but now it’s turning my stomach. “I’m sorry, Cam. For what it’s worth, I am.”
I pull away from her, blinking fast and turn toward the door where I scoop up my bag with my clothes inside it. I look quickly and everything’s in there. She packed my shit. She was waiting for me to hurry up and get my stuff.
I walk out, not looking back at her.
My eyes sting worse with every step toward my car, and my throat tightens as I try to swallow and take a big breath. I can’t. I throw my shit in the back then slide into the driver’s side.
“Cam—”
“No. Please.” My throat tightens. I swallow hard, pushing the starter, and I can’t meet Bo’s eyes as I look behind to pull out of her driveway. I only get a block away before my vision is underwater and I have to pull over, shutting the car off. I drop my hands into my lap and take a deep gulping breath.
“I’m so sorry.”
I swipe a palm at my eyes. I don’t want to break down right now. I’m so pathetic. “I hate this feeling.” Breakups suck, and I’m always on the bad end of them.
“Her loss, Cam.” It’s not, though. Not even a little. In fact, she just looked ready to be done with me. I don’t have any words. His hand wraps around my arm, tugging me to him, and I hold steady, unable to look at him. Well, that won’t do for my best friend. He slides his body onto my lap to look at me, cramped tight between the steering wheel and my chest. I know he won’t move, so I move my seat back more to give him space.
He feels good in my lap.
