BOOK 2: DATING MY CUCKOO ROOMMATE

CAMERON

I have a feeling this night is going to be long.

Amy has remained silent since then. We sit together, and although I'm not keeping track of time, I'm certain we spend over an hour on the side of the road as she cries. It takes me those hours that have passed to realize that she might be in shock, which could be the reason she can't bring herself to get up.

"Do you want to go home?" I ask her, but she doesn't respond either. I go on and get on my feet, picking her up in my arms. She also doesn't fight it or even acknowledge it. It's like she has lost the feelings and cognition of the things around her, and she's numb.

I put her into the passenger side of the car and successfully fix her seatbelt as she stares ahead of her, without blinking an eye.

My head hurts ten times worse than earlier; I had taken those pills hoping they would help, but they didn't even work effectively when my blood started boiling up in my brain again at Jake being the world's biggest asshole.

When I get into the driver's seat, I sigh and step on the acceleration, driving out of Jake's new street.

My phone rings a few times, and all the calls are important, but I can't pick any. I am hurting listening to Amy's crying in the silence. She's curled up in the seat, scratching her scalp as though it's itching, but it is unequivocally her nerves.

I've never seen such intense agony in a person. It may be likely because I've never had a girl around to see it ever happening.

As we arrive home, I turn off the car and circle over to get her. She settles into my arms perfectly. I wish it would remain like this, not her pain, but to be able to have her this close that it is her I could only inhale, and she wouldn't push me away.

Upon arrival into the lit-up house, I head into the living room and sit her on the couch. She huddles on her side, drawing her knees close to her chest as she lays.

There is nothing to cheer her up, but I think of hot chocolate. My mom has the recipe she used to make for us when we were little, written in the cookbook. I will make it for Amy.

By the armchair, I grab a blanket and cover Amy before taking off my hoodie and going into the kitchen.

In there, I start the stove and add the ingredients for her hot chocolate and a bitter coffee for myself into the machine. While I wait for them to be ready, I quickly respond to text messages. First is Myles; I let him know I won't be fighting tonight. Gardon and the team left tons of messages concerned as to why I didn't show up at training today. Then Alex left a message asking if I needed his service. How I wish I let him respond to my messages as well, but we will get there soon.

The last is Harper; she's letting me know her father has given up his research about her fake 80 percent tuition scholarship that I actually am responsible for. The man has been wanting to know how she got a scholarship, given Harper isn't the smartest when it comes to studying.

Smiling in relief, I text her a thumbs-up and place the phone down on the worktop. I reach for Amy's cup, intending to prepare her some hot chocolate, but when I glance over at her, she isn't in her previous spot. All that remains is the blanket.

Dread grips me.

"Amy?" I call, but only silence follows. My breaths become shallow, and cold sweat breaks across my forehead as I frantically scan the surroundings, desperate for any trace of where she went. My eyes notice the glass door is slid slightly open.

She can't be left alone in this state. I just took my eyes off her for a beat, and she disappeared.

I follow outside to the backyard; there is only the chirping of crickets. It is so quiet that I start to turn away to go check the rooms. Not that Amy should want to sleep in their room anymore, but there's an odd chance she might want to and it doesn't sit right with me. While passing, my eyes spot something.

Something orange deep at the bottom of the pool and red hair spread out, floating in there.

Panic sets in, and my mind races with worst-case scenarios.
"What the heck, Amy?"

I jump into it impulsively with my boots on, dive down as fast as I can go, and grab her by the arm.

She's still there, but at my touch, her eyes open, and she begins wiggling her arm, smacking my hand to let her go.

I don't understand, but I won't give her the satisfaction she wants; I pull her until her head is above water, where she gasps for air.

"What are you doing?" She yells, shoving my chest. Her hair clings to her scalp and neck, gradually falling down to her shoulders in a sleek manner.

I stare at that, wondering how her hair practically glows. It's almost ethereal. It isn't until she begins drowning that I snap out of the trance and reach for her arm again, stopping her.

"What are you doing?" I asked her the same thing she asked, but I didn't answer, and the uncertainty of whether she was trying to hurt herself or not began pressing down on me like a crushing force.

She's choking in the cold water, wiping her wet eye with a wet hand. It isn't helping; she keeps wincing her eyes.

I rinse my hands and partially dry them before cupping each side of her face, and she stops kicking, splashing, and wriggling her limbs to get away from me, letting calm settle around us. In the water, I gently help her wipe her wet eyelashes so she can see clearly.

Her breathing accelerates noticeably; she opens her eyes.

"You can't help me. Leave me alone." She pulls back, stubbornly. Hating the calm she finds, I am sure.

"Not like this."

"I want to cry, Cameron. I've been cheated on. I've been fooled. I'm hurting. Don't you understand?" Her lips tremble.

She want to cry at the bottom of the pool?

"Underwater?"

"Yes," she breathes out, exasperated.

"Why?" She's sad; I get it. "Come on, come with me inside the house, somewhere warm and safe, and I will give you the space," I promise, grabbing her hand, but she slips away from my reach, making me sigh.

"Cameron, please go." She begins to cry.

"I'm not leaving you here. It's not safe." I'm not going to stop her from crying out her emotions, but I just can't let her get hurt.

"You do realize I'm not a child and I can swim?" She frustratedly spats.

"You were literally at the bottom."

"So?" Her eyes are wild.

"What were you trying to do?"

"Chill, Cam. I wasn't going to drown. I was screaming where you couldn't hear and started acting exactly like this." She rolls her eyes, turning away from me.

Okay!
"Like what?"

She exhales a short laugh that doesn't reach her eyes and brushes back her hair. "Like this, Cam. Like you really feel bad for all that is happening."

Okay!
"That's because I do?"

"Oh please, we both know that's a lie." She scoffs, slowly swimming in front of me but with her back to me.

That's what she thinks right now about me?

"You might be the happiest person over my mom and Carl that my relationship had failed. This situation worked greatly well for you. Isn't it what you want?" She adds, her voice cracking.

"Do not be unfair." There was a lump in my throat; I wasn't able to swallow.

"Unfair?" She swims gently around, finally facing me. Her face is pale from the chills of the cold water. "Tell me I am lying." She presses.

"You are," I reply. "I feel your pain intensely. I am bleeding, not the worst you assume about me, Princess."

She nods her brows, her lips pressed into a thin line, thoughtful.
"Okay, let's check," she says.

I don't understand.

She swims nearer with a smirk on her pretty face, and suddenly, I feel her hand slipping underneath my shirt to my chest.

This is her idea of what exactly?