CAMERON

Who would have thought the long sleep I had at Garrett's place would become quite beneficial, for here I am in a situation where I can't afford to look away or even blink from the hall in front of me?

I know it's going to be a long night, but I didn't know it's going to be a ride of a roller coaster of feelings. No one ever has me fidgeting, much worse to wait, staring wide-eyed into space with expectations that the situation could change, except Amy.

The atmosphere is extremely silent, my knees relentlessly bouncing and my hand clammy and wriggling, eager for any sort of noise, maybe the creak of the door, slapping footsteps against the ground, or her voice. I will appreciate her voice in this early morning.

However, she is mad at me, and it's hard to get her to believe that I didn't have a choice, given this is the girl who has been looking for my flaws even where they're not. So now that I just handed her all the balls in her court, I have a feeling she won't be nice. I don't like that.

As the hand of the clock ticks seven, the click of the door I had been optimistic about happens, bringing dryness to my throat.

I hold my breath and stand up, tracking the halls until I find her.

She notices me and turns her face, quickly wiping her tears and clasping her hands behind her before she looks over to me again.

"How are you doing?" I curiously ask, hoping she'd drop the idea of leaving.

Where will she go, anyway?

"Better," she replies silently, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her hands so tiny that they dance in the sleeve of my hoodie, she guides them to her back again, and those straps of hair plunge again. I have the urge to help her fix it, so I could see her face more, but I know there are moments I have to hold back those urges, and this is one of those times.

"Okay, Uhmm... What do you want to do?" I provide her with the opportunity to share how she feels, ensuring she knows I'm attentive and open to listening.

"I don't know," she says when she looks up, and I devour the beauty of her glistening eyes.

"Is okay. You can take some time to think, and I will make you breakfast," I offer apprehensively, my voice raspy, I clear my throat, not that it helps, because there's an unmoving lump there.

She sighs gloomily, rubbing her hands together, "Cameron, I am leaving."

It's razor cuts painful, but I contain it, jamming my hands into my pockets as the fingers start to shake.

"I need time alone. This house is suffocating; I can't stay. I hope you understand," she runs her hand through her hair.

Last night she gave my soul a genuine taste of recovery and then blew it away as instantaneously as the first kiss she gave me.

But I understand though, I get it. "Okay," I smile at her.

Her breathing is hard as a flush creeps up her face and her glossy eyes swim with tears while she studies me, with unsaid words I hope she spills, so I wait, but she only stalls, her chest rising and falling faster.

When she didn't say anything, I was forced to keep the communication going, "So where will you go?"

"I will find a place," she retorts, pressing her deep pink lips tightly together.

A persistent ache in sharp pangs catches me off guard. I won't be selfish to stop her, even as a pervasive sense of loneliness overwhelms me.

Back in the same chair I waited for her all night, once again waiting this morning while she packs her things.

After some time, I hear her footsteps, and I try to swallow but can't.

"I call the cab. It will be here anytime," she announces, and I nod with my head down, staring at the ground in front of me.

She won't let me offer to drive, so I can't know her location.

"Can I ask you, though?" I question.

"Yes," her sad voice tendering in the silence.

"Will you come back?" I look up, and she suddenly looks away.

"Cameron, there is nothing left. There is no reason to stay," she whispers laboriously.

"You know you are lying. It's written all over your face," she is visibly crying. I know she's deceiving herself because I felt all of her in her kisses last night. "Why do you have to tell yourself that when you know without a doubt there's more about whatever you feel that I feel too."

"Cameron, I told you-" She starts, her voice breaking, and I interrupt before she could rule out things, "It doesn't have to be now. I am not rushing or pressuring you. All I am asking is you give me a speck of hope, and I will wait until you stop hurting, and you can find it in your heart to forgive all that happened."

Her hand covers her eyes, and she sniffles.

"What if it doesn't stop hurting, Cam? What if I can't trust you ever?" She trails off, looking over with pain in her teary eyes.

"I can only hope that you feel half that I feel for you, then I am sure you will return back to me."

She exhales a sob and wipes her face briefly.
"Goodbye, Cameron," she chokes, pulling her suitcases for the foyer.

I believe the beauty of time is that it changes everything. So for the first time, I hope for something. I hope time brings later sooner because this intense silence is one that resembles the calm I sat after the sirens left with my father's body and my mom in handcuffs while we waited until the child support came.

***

One day turns into two... This weekend LA doesn't feel exciting. Garrett and Layton came with me. There is no concentration in anything I do. I race on foot against a car with a haunting sense of regret for how things ended up with Amy, feeling those emotions chasing after me. I speed up on my foot. I heard that I did well.

On Saturday evening, Harper shares some photos to my messages, and the caption is luring, saying to check how Amy has been doing. I want confirmation that she is striving, but I can't bring myself to see her. I tell myself to restrain from tapping on those photos, so I resort to flipping tires for hours, groaning and sweating exceedingly until Steve, the man in charge of my training in this base, takes the tire and tosses it away from me, offering me a bottle of water.

I just hope Amy knows I didn't want to hurt her and that she considered the situation I was put in. She called me selfish, but if I really was that, I wouldn't have cared about ripping her heart and sowing the reality of what she mistook for good, all just so she might see me over Jake.

I am in thought, sitting on the floor when my phone pings, and my eyes reluctantly cross the lit screen. I wonder if I am really seeing a text from Amy.

Confused, I pick up the phone and tap on the message, and there's a picture of my car. I don't understand.

I read the caption under it, and my eyes widen in absolute shock.

Amy: I've bet your car, the man who kisses me better takes it. It starts at 10:30.

"What the fuck?" My jaw slackens.

"What? What is it?" The boys, using some of the equipment, ask at my exclamation.

My eyes are blinking, trying to process what the actual fuck is this.
"Amy put my fucking car in a bet."