AMELIA

My eyes open, blinded by the streak of sun from the slit of the curtains. It is Sunday morning, almost eleven when my eyes wince, finding the clock.

Aware I am alone in the bed, I still roll over, hoping Cam is within the room, but it's quiet; there is nothing from the bathroom too.

Stretching and yawning, I propel my sluggish body to move up. It is only my panties that I have on, so my eyes wander about while I am on my feet, gladly finding a top on the couch without having to go through the closet or the suitcases that I can't even find around the room, and I am sure we loaded them off the trunk last night. Perhaps we left them downstairs.

Punctuating on that thought, I slip into the white T-shirt I have available, then realize it's a crop top when it doesn't cover my midsection.

Just great!

I'm too lazy to find an alternative; I'd rather go find Cam and get some hot latte while at it.

The house is neat just as I left it. It smells so homey, which I never appreciated or even noticed to begin with until now. The entire aura of this place easily gives one a comforting vibe, and it just sank in that I really love it here.
Before I get to the first floor, my spirit is boosted. I have a broad smile on my face thinking about what Cam said in New Jersey, about being able to live here like he's in a normal home only with me around.

He said lots of things, which came very slick for me to take in. I have always known I am ready to give him my hundred percent. I was only waiting for him to acknowledge his fervent feelings and make peace with them, so I waited patiently until he knows there is no alternative but us.

On the first floor, there is movement coming from the corner that would take me to the living area and the kitchen, and down the archway by my left, the perceivable sound of washing machines is audible. I trail towards the living area and boom, my man is in the kitchen, holding a spatula with an apron on over his fine bare torso. On top of that perfection, his sumptuous hair is cluttered over his head, adding so much magnificence to his muscularity that I wouldn't care about stationing in this spot to his view perpetually.

"Hey, my one and only love," he flatters me as he notices my presence. My face heating up intensely.

"You woke up early," I say. "What are you doing?"

"I thought to do some chores then I found my gift and I thought why not cook us a good meal in the morning when I have all the spices I need?" he says, and I giggle, walking toward him. The island is tidied up as though he doesn't have multiple things going on, some on the stove, some already done, somewhere in the oven cooking, and some in the fridge, which is the only thing that is not in order. One door is left open, but even so, I can guess there is a reason for it. Cam is so organized in everything he does, mostly when it comes to being in the kitchen.

"Where did you get the groceries? Or did you do some shopping before you left for New Jersey?" I am curious about the results of everything being available because I know I had given out to the needy all that's left in our fridge before I left here in December.

"No, I did some shopping this morning. There was no way I could stay here a day last month. Right there," he points with the soup ladle toward outside, and goes back attentively stirring the soup he's making, "My father kept picking on me that you drowned into the lake and asked me to go get you at the bottom. It was crazy and he was pretty persuasive, there was no time to waste. I got running over to you," he laughs, but it's not funny.

What the actual fuck?

"I must caution you early, though," he mischievously says, looking up at me while I am struck with fear for his mental health. "This isn't some light breakfast food. It's heavy, more like lunch."

With a strained heart in my chest, and holding back my tears, I find a stool by the island and settle on it, feeling so many chills, including those from the weather gusting through the partly open double doors, that he says he saw his father while I was away.

Now I understand what he meant when he said the house was haunting.

The therapy papers I found, it's all adding up to the puzzles. Cameron isn't well. Of course, he isn't well. A child who shot at his father, who saw so many things and lived so many hard days wouldn't be okay.

"You are shuddering." He remarks.

When my eyes couldn't leave the doors, he must have notice and thought I was only disturbed by the freezing weather. He walks over there and shuts the doors, adjusting the house heater too.

"Wait, I have your latte, ready." He suddenly remembers and rushes back to the kitchen, filling a cup for me with my favorite that I missed, but right now, I couldn't care about it. All through the time while he went around the kitchen and chattering, I wasn't listening to him. All I thought was, how did I think he would be fine? How bad is it? What else don't I know about this good man?

"Here!" I hear him say, snapping me out of my thoughts, and I found a cup of latte in front of me. I look up at him with furrowed brows, processing my surroundings. "Are you okay, Princess?" he asks, concerningly.

Shit!

I nod and swallow to recompose myself as I realize I was acting weirdly.

"Cool, because you are beginning to scare me that you are rethinking being with me," he says with a smile, and all my defenses go up at his statement.

"What? I will never leave you, Cameron," I utter impulsively, and his eyes study me like I am something new.

"Okay!" he says with a hint of skepticism in his eyes and backs away towards his food that is on the stove. "Anyway, let me tell you something about these spices," he begins.

I just couldn't hold it for another second. I couldn't.
"Cam, what do you mean your father was out there talking to you to go into the lake?"

It's pestering me. I can't breath.

He stops, his demeanor changing when he looks up at me.
"You are not leaving me?" He whispers, his voice breaking with drips of fear. It slashes at my soul that he thinks of that.

"What? No, Cam. I said never."

"Then why are you asking me that?" He swallows, his lips parting. He is breathing through them.

"I-" I start, but he interrupts fiercely, "Then don't talk to me about it. It's just a regular thing. It's nothing."

"You said regular, Cameron," my voice cracks, terror strangling me.

"I SAID NOTHING," he yells, putting a pause on everything, including my breathing.

Hell no!