AMELIA

We didn't go to the hospital. Cam refuses and drives himself back home, with Carl and me following behind.

I decide to ask Carl to leave since Cam is acting like a jerk. I might tolerate his behavior, but Carl, who's quite hot-tempered, can't. So, they're better off not in the same space.

Seeing the facade of the house satisfies Carl after we park in the driveway. He let me know he's set to leave for Princeton tomorrow. With a long hug and warnings about making good choices, we bid farewell. I hear Cam shutting the door of his car and then the house while I see my cousin off.

When I wave goodbye at Carl's departing car from the porch, and the red lights disappear into the corner, I turn for the door, greeted by the big "asshole" written there. I heave a sigh, twisting my mouth embarrassingly, almost questioning what I turn into, but it takes me down memory lane to my worst nightmare. I remember I was literally standing naked here just yesterday.

Nah! I do not regret a thing.

My skin crawls at the horror; I hurry into the house, breathing the gentle scent and quiet for only a beat as the next second, there's a loud groan that reverberates through the walls and my bones.

Don't tell me he's fucking a wall or bottle! I mean, I know he's hurt; it might be that pain, but you can't blame me for thinking that about him. He's always finding a place to fix his package in.

Nevertheless, I drag my foot to where the noises are coming from, leading me to a room with too many washing machines for a family house. Cam is there, shirtless and on his feet; the trousers are hanging too low around his hips to be called covering. He's leaning against a white washing machine stained from his palm, pouring alcohol over a fresh wound. He stops when he notices me and shoots me a grim expression, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

I try to keep my eyes straight on his face because it's the only decent place to look. His eyes and the smirk on his lips could be equivalent to ten stripped men's view.

"What the hell are you doing?" I chide, set in confusion.

"It's not your problem. Go, don't leave Cuz stuck on his own around my house," he says, of course, with a rude smile.

I glance up to the ceiling, begging God for patience. When I look back at him, he's putting a bandage over the wound.

"You will go to the hospital," I blurt at the obstinate asshole, and his whole face lights up in conceited cheerfulness.

He tosses his shirt into a hamper, grabs a towel, cleans the bloodstains he left, and begins washing his hands in the sink.

"Okay!" I swallow for the next bold move I'm about to make and step into the room.

"What are you doing?" he questions confusingly, wincing when I peel the bandage aside.

"If you're not going to the hospital, at least it should be treated better than this. It's a stab around your stomach," I say, looking at it. It's not that deep, but it needs treatment or could get infected. "Do you have first aid?" I look up, finding a sardonic look on his face.

"I don't," he smiles tight-lipped. I know he's lying, but he doesn't let me say a word; he grabs my wrists firmly away from the wound, shoving me back until I crash into one of the hampers.

I shouldn't have; now look, he's using that to humiliate me.

"Why will you do that?" I chew back my emotions and ask when I steady my balance.

"I hate people crowding my space," he lazily says.

"You refuse to go to the hospital; I was just trying to help. And I'm only doing that because you took the stab that came for me." My chest is rising and falling from the sob I was holding back from his disrespectful attitude.

He bursts into laughter; he does for a while holding his stomach, while I watch. Maybe he was drunk through the injury. When he composes himself, he wipes the sweat on his forehead despite the AC in the atmosphere. "If you think I took a stab for you, you must be even stupider than asking me to fuck you. I promised Jake to bring you home safe. That's what I did. Now stop asking me your virgin questions; I don't like going to the hospital. Go to bed."

Still, I stand staring at him, breathing, processing his blatant insensibility.

"Why?" I winced inwardly when my mouth uttered that, and he took off, passing me and taking the passage to the living room.

I'm supposed to exit the room and never care for someone with withered feelings. He doesn't deserve it. But my legs follow him.

"Why don't you like going to the hospital?"

He sighs dramatically, like he wishes me out of his head before he grabs the TV remote and flops onto the couch, breathing out heavily.

"You'd be lucky to have a brave child with my genes if supposedly you're pregnant with our child." He winks and turns on the TV.

"Cameron!" I warn him, and he chuckles, surrendering his hands.

"Okay! get lost, I have a fight to watch." He says, his eyes focused on the TV.

As I stare at him, his words register in my head, and then it all dawns on me, and my heart begins pulsating in full force. "Did you-Did you have protection when we-?" I swallow, my knees feeling debilitated.

He cocks his head, and his sensual eyes skim my body up and down. "What protection? Don't you take birth control?" he said insolently, and I immediately knew I was done for.

No! He can't possibly do this to me.

"For the hundreds of times, that time was my first," I screamed, and he pretended to be scared, staring at me as if I were a loose sick dog barking at him. But do I care what he thinks? No! "I didn't even have anything prepared. You bastard, you ruined everything for me," I thundered.

"Of course, yes," he rolled his eyes ridiculously. He isn't taking me seriously.

"This is not a joke, Cam," a tear fell from my eyes, and I wiped it, panting from the stress pressing on my chest.

"Is not my problem. In case you've forgotten, you were desperate for my taste. A lot of girls are and I don't have to baby them," he casually said, peeking behind me at the TV.

It's all getting on my nerves; I want to grab the lamp next to him and throw it at his head. At this point, he could die, I don't care. "You should be ashamed of yourself that you're casually okay about this even for the sake of Jake," I grumbled.

He huffed, frowning as he reluctantly brought his eyes over to me. "It's not pregnancy you should worry about, Princess. I didn't cum inside of you." He smirked, drawling the next word. "However, I do have AIDS. So you better go check; you'd be lucky to be HIV positive. I wish you luck."

My stomach churned. It had been the moment he stated having the disease.

I am going to die. I am going to die.

"What the hell? I-I can't breathe." I pulled at the neckline of my dress; it was only around my chest, but something is choking me. I can't see clearly. It is almost like I am about to die.

"Hey? Are you okay?" I heard him ask, his voice getting closer. "Amy, seriously, are you okay?" His face is too close, revealing hardened brows. He's now kneeling between my legs, looking up. He held my hands, and I felt them shook my shoulder. I pull them from him, shaking them in the air as they have turned numb.

The fear has robbed me of words; nothing can express how I feel.

He must have gotten the hint that I didn't want him near me. He gets up and leaves, giving me more room to find air, while I thump my chest with my fist to start my heartbeat.

"Water, here?" His voice returned.

No!

"Drink."

I didn't collect the glass cup, but he got the audacity to bring it to my mouth after he had said the next thing he would feed me would be poison.

No way!

I slap his hand with the cup, letting it crash and break, and with the idea of water, I rush to the kitchen and the faucet, flipping it on and bringing my mouth under it.

"That's so uncivil," Cam remarked from the fridge side. I don't give a fuck about him. I wash my face and cool off my neck and chest as I regain steady breathing.

"Know that if you're infected, there's nothing to panic about, Princess. A lot of people have AIDS. Everyone does," he said, and I shot him a murderous glare, and he looked away.

"All I am saying is you are not alone; I can walk you through the best medication and treatments." He smiled sadly at me.

"Don't fucking play with me," I rumbled, a bit wheezy, but my anger was returning in storm force.

"Why are you all worked up?" He innocently questions.

"Why am I all worked up?" I can't help but laugh, my eyes looking around what will come in handy, and I found the silverware and the pots and frying pan hanging beside me. "Let me see." I pull a pot and toss it at him, aiming for his stupid face. I want to see him bleed.

The color drained out of his face.

"Are you mad?" he yells.

He hasn't seen mad yet.

I pull out two frying pans and hit him with them. If only I could get his head, maybe if there's something broken, he could then be fixed.

"Ouch! What the fuck?" He flares up, coming for me, thinking I'm out of supply, but I have more actually. I have a knife; I wouldn't kill him, but I could chop off his dick and make a church boy out of him.

He halts as I pull it out and point it at him. "Okay! Stop it. Put down the knife. Don't be crazy."

"You are already a dead man. You infected me; why don't we die together?" I lurched at him, and he raced out of the kitchen like a boy with a lizard in his pants.

"Chill, why are you always aggressive? Now you're threatening to kill me," he said by one of the couches, as though we were playing tag. "I just took a stab with a knife; you are supposed to be a nice girl, not Nikita."

"Well, what were you thinking fucking the whole of Portland? That you won't bring your death to your bed someday?" I dashed at him like a bull in a china shop, and he sprinted away, saying rushingly and loudly, "These days people live with these diseases. It's normal; there are drugs that prevent pain. You can have a peaceful sudden death in your sleep anytime without having gone sick all the time."

I won't squander my time here. "Fuck you." I throw the knife at him, and he jumps.

Grabbing my bag and phone and exit the house, where I scream outside, stomp on the lawn, and trek the night street until my Uber arrives and takes me to the nearest hospital to take a medical test.