AMELIA

The current week, I successfully went to school without getting upset since I followed the cab every day, for Jake made his friend stay home the whole time while he healed.

A lot is happening, all good news. Firstly, I don't have AIDS. When I confront Cam with the news, all he has to say is, "Oh, you believe that? I only want to get you out of the house to get some peaceful sleep. I will never make skin-to-skin contact with any pussy in my lifetime, Princess."

Struck with shock at his explicit language, I ask how he plans on having children, and he directly rejects ever wanting any.

It's the only encounter I have with him this week, and the only time I am frustrated, having to feel stupid for strolling at midnight to the hospital for his prank. But something good comes out of it. Rachel, the gynecologist who's warm with me, has me on birth control shots and certifies that I do not have any STDs. Jake also gets permanently reemployed, not as Randy's personal assistant but as the company's Content Coordinator. Though not the editor he wanted at the publishing job in LA, his salary is better than before, and Randy doesn't get to boss him around too much.

On top of that, I get a reply from the boutique Carl accompanies me to apply for a job, and they recruit me. I started a few days ago. Lastly, as Jake kept pursuing me, I finally befriended two lovely students, Malia Turner, and Isaac Mitchell in my class since Wednesday.

I find out the blonde girl at Cam's wearing his t-shirt also goes to general math and Yoga classes I attend, and even though she's a freshman, she's quite a prominent figure. Walking around in a group of three girls, Bree and Rose, all too good-looking like their genes were constructed in the modern lab. Her name is Harper Clarke, eighteen years old like us. Isaac and Malia say Harper's a spoiled brat, and it's undeniable in all of her ambiance, her wardrobe, the way she exercises control over all the students, driving the latest Audi R8, painted in pink, deceiving herself she's the stereotypical Barbie.

She glances at me in all the classes we have but never talks to me, which is a relief because it would have been awkward as I am waiting for the opportunity to tell her to her face; to know who she's sleeping with.

It's Saturday, and sadly Jake still doesn't get a break; he's often at work and even traveled a couple of days back to Vegas. He never complains about how tiring it is, and it is clear he doesn't want me to think any other way after what happened about the LA Job. But I know he isn't having fun here. Sometimes I feel guilty, knowing he barely has good hours of sleep, returning late at night and leaving early in the morning. But tomorrow at least he will be free, and we will get to do something together.

I am at work at Midnight Mirage Boutique, restocking piles of men's shirts in the late evening as the store assistant, and Malia and Isaac are lounging on the bean chair. Isaac, laying his head on Malia's lap, in his sweet voice reading to us, 'Introduction to the Middle Ages,'
"The great Theodosius died just as Alarie was chosen leader of the Western Goths. His empire was divided between his two sons, Arcadius in the East, and Honorius in the West, and was never again to be united under one hand. The sons were a wretched pair. With ruin staring him in the face, Honorius shut himself up in Ravenna and left the defense of the empire to Stilicho."

He's fluent with words, and his tone is clear; it's like listening to a good audiobook while you work. Malia's hands are in his hair; we are quiet, listening to him, and then the peace is interrupted by Aiden, the fashion stylist, and Alex, the security in a verbal conflict with what is possibly some customers. It isn't my job to interfere; Malia and Isaac dart frustrated eyes at me, expelling breaths.

"What can I do? It will calm down. Is not like this often happens," I assure, shrugging and proceeding to arrange stuff until I hear the third voice.

"Get the fuck away from me, retard. You can't tell me I can't go in there. I am a citizen of America; I have no criminal record. What's your deal with me?" The male voice rudely yells, instinctively telling me whose body it is meant for.

Only Cameron will dare to be this stupid.

For goodness sake.

I didn't tell him where I work or that I even have a job, which is understandable he heard from Jack, but he should have known I didn't tell him because I didn't want him coming to me.

Taking in calming breaths, I stomp out of the corners to find him. But who is there is someone else.

My heartbeat falters.

His face looks pretty banged up from what I can swear is a trouble fight-lots of bruises and a swollen eye. You can see he is tired, with dark circles around his eyes, and his lip is bleeding a little. That's clearly why he's not beating up everyone here. But, even with all that, he has this stubbornness; he isn't about to give up on finding trouble here.

When he spots me, his eyes light up.

"There she is. That's my friend," he waves, and I don't know how, but it warms my heart, and I smile.

CAMERON

I grab a bottle of a hundred-dollar whiskey in the retail shelving unit and get to pay with my fake ID that will be of no use very soon.

In my car, my phone screen is lit up; when I swipe the screen, there is a reply from Jake. I've asked him for his girlfriend's location, and it's right there; 700 SW 5th Ave, shop 34, Midnight Mirage Boutique.

Taking a long swig of the vanilla-tasting whiskey, it slides into my dry throat as my daily medicine, regaining my spirit after the few punches that the asshole had managed to connect to my skin, and step on the acceleration, taking off to the location.

Fifteen minutes later, my car was parked by the shopping mall. But despite having down half of the bottle of whiskey, I still haven't gotten out of the car. Jake says Amy has been going to this job throughout the week. I don't know how she works through it, but I know it has been taking so much of her time; she barely has any more rest. She doesn't even stop by home after school, the whole week while I listen to Jake and stay home; it's like I live alone. So I am going in there to make it right. If I hadn't made living with me unendurable for her, she wouldn't be coming home late these days.

The alcohol kicks in around thirty minutes of staring at the mall out there. And when I'm mentally reinforced, I set for Midnight Mirage Boutique.

It's the easiest of passages.

Maybe it's my ragged appearance, but the security doesn't see me as fit for the classy atmosphere. The funny thing is none of them dare to touch me, and it is all I am begging.

"Hit me or don't stand in my way." It will be a pleasure to break another person's nose today.

"Please leave," the chicken at the back, looking frightened, begs me.

Luckily, she appears, preventing the hell I want to unleash. She stands in perfect jean trousers that cling to her curves and a white top that exposes her shoulders. Her green eyes twinkle in the lightning's brightness.

"There she is. That's my friend." I wave, and I smile.

The man standing in my way steps back and looks at Amy.

"Cam?" her tiny voice calls, and the smile slips, replaced by wide-eyed surprise.

"You know him?" the chicken asks her, and she absentmindedly nods.

Bored, my eyes roll heavenward. I stride over to her, snatch her arm surreptitiously, and pull her down the aisle to somewhere private-the dressing cubicles. Pushing her backward into it, I pull the curtains close. When I face her again, she's squinting in derision.

"You need to leave," she blurts straightforwardly.

"What is this? I said I will find you a job."

Her frown fades, and she scoffs. "You are kidding me, right?" She laughs, pressing my nerves.

Patience.

Breathing, I swallow down the bitterness in my throat. "You will quit and let me find you a decent job."

She proceeds to laugh like I said something funny. I don't understand.

"Do not test my anger." I grit, and she stops. Her tongue sweeps over her lip.

She folds her hands over her chest and shoots me a questioning stare. "Who do you think you are to tell me what to do with my life? And decent job you say? Do you see me stripping? Or is that your idea of decency?"

Oh, I see. She's trying to grow a backbone. Maybe I haven't told her I am not the one she could try that with. I could crush her baby bones way before she could stand.

"I can make you do things you don't even know you're capable of doing. I can run you mad without even trying."

"Are you asking for war?" She lifts her head, meeting my eyes. "Because, baby, I do know how to ruin your days too."

Does she have to be uncompromising?

"Amelia, just quit the fucking job." I spell out in her face and step out of the room.

Okay, not to seem like I give a shit about the quality of her job, because, basically, this seems like a commendable job for a freshman, but I have my plans, and it involves another job and her doing as I say. It's the only way it will benefit both of us.

Is it a little unfair? Maybe yes. But I am used to getting what I want, and she's under my leash. No matter how she tells herself she's in control, she knows she's lying to herself. I may not sleep with her again, but I want her and I will use whatever it is to fulfill some of my desires because she wants me. I can see it in her eyes and the way she turns crimson and begins to sweat in my presence.

Oh and now she's tailing after me.

A smile takes over my lips as I maintain my pace.

"You think so much of yourself."

"I told you I do." I candidly answer.

"This is unbelievable," she doesn't finish when some dark-haired girl comes from the other side of the aisle and calls her name, her face brightening.

"Wait for me," Amy says to her.

The girl is in a unicorn kind of world, staring at me like I am a source of bubbles in her imagination.

"Malia!" Amy reprimands her, and she snaps out of the reverie, adjusting both hands in her pants pockets.

I stopped walking. Narrowing my eyes at the rage on Amy's face and the flush and apology on her friend's countenance, it immediately registers in my head that they know each other, and Amy doesn't like her being here, clearly because I exist here.

"Hey, pretty? You work here?" I pick up towards Malia, is it? And the girl seems to lose breathing like all girls usually do.

Footsteps rush from behind me, and the next second Amy is overtaking me and standing between us.

"No, she doesn't. What do you want?" She grumbles with a warning stare.

"I don't. But I can help if you want something," Malia interjects, and Amy's head tilts back at her, and they mouth something at each other. It's just too entertaining after the hectic day I had.

I excitedly shrug and lean back onto a table.

"Malia is your name, right? Can you help me choose new things for my wardrobe?" I beam at the blushing-faced girl, getting secretly scolded by Jake's bully girl.

"I said she doesn't work here." Amy huffs, bringing her eyes at me, it's glistening. And she crosses her arms like she did in the cubicle.

"And so?" I dumbly shake my head.

"She's my friend." she steps back and protectively takes her arm over Malia's shoulder, holding her to her. "Cam, I am warning you-"

"Amy?" The girl exhales a frustrated laugh.

"He is leaving now!" Amy was fuming, drilling daggers at me. She's a big skull, heated on jealousy. If only she didn't care like all the other girls don't. But sadly I happen to be her first, and for her, it is a big deal.

I wave over at someone wearing the boutique t-shirt, and while the woman walks over to me, I wonder why Amy doesn't have one. Well, probably a good thing because she's not staying for long.

"What are you doing?" Amy begins when her eyes shift to the woman approaching.

She should be grateful I am trying to save her relationship because it seems like she's forgotten about Jake and made me her first thought.

"Hello, I want to restock my wardrobe. I had an angry ex burn down everything. Here." I held out my debit card and with a smile, the woman took it, not giving me a homeless man judgment like the men at the front.

Amy scoffs, mumbling something under her breath. I am sure she has something to say about my look.

"But can you have this lady away from me? Get her to do something. I just don't like her service." I reported, and suddenly Amy's face turned grim. If only looks could kill.

"Amy, go back to restocking." The woman, whose tag name I am too lazy to read, orders.

A fierce frown furrowing her brows reflects her displeasure. It's clear she wanted this job so much to not scream at my face and self-sabotage it.

"Malia, I hope you have good choices." I held out my arm, and the girl nodded, grinning, her shaky hand hooked around my arm.

Winking back at Amy, her countenance darkens with rage, I pull her friend for shopping.

If I don't get her fired, she will do it herself. One way or another, I will win. I always do. And then I will get her the job that I wanted to.