AMELIA

I feel the car finally stop moving; it's in the middle of nowhere. I have stopped caring about anything or the fact that I have no reasonable clothes on and despairingly observe the rain sliding down the misty window from outside.

The quiet gets intense because right now, he isn't concentrating on the road like earlier, so he could likely be staring at me or about to say something.

"Can we talk?"

I totally guessed right.

"Don't give me silence," he goes on when I don't turn over, his voice not loud, not quiet, "I want to know what the-what the hell was that? What were you doing with those jerks?"

"Are you warning me they are jerks now sooner like you should've done with Jake?" I mock.

"Amy," he pauses, taking a meditating breath, and continues, "Do you realize you were naked for those clowns?"

I think he should worry more about this car, not what I do with my body.

"Oh, so only you could smooch a girl. I don't get to do it?" I exhale a sarcastic laugh; he's irritating me.

"No! No, no, no, no." His tone is rising now; he sounds agitated. "I told you, there's nothing between Harper and me. Fuck no!" He's panting, as though he's out of breath. I turn to him curiously.

"Cameron..." He doesn't let me finish but cuts me off; his darted stare looks distant and striking to harm. "Being heartbroken shouldn't define you. It isn't a pass to be an asshole. You get to choose how to come out of it. And you are choosing this way."

He's got to be kidding me.
"I am the asshole?" I exhale a sharp scoff in disbelief, feeling the back of my eyes burning.

"You are," he nods with tension and boldness. "You come here and act so gullible, but your inexperience has blinded you from seeing who you're hurting around you. I've never disrespected someone like this, Amy. I will never disrespect you like this." He rubs his eyes, and his hand travels to his hair, pulling on it. "You brought men to my house and kissed them right in front of me." When he finishes, he exhales in fright.

Now he knows how I feel. He didn't like it, yet why does he repeatedly do this to me and sit there and claim he never disrespects me?
Every time he's with Harper, this is how I feel. Up until now, after seeing him with her, whispering in each other's ears, which triggered me to act, I still feel hurt at their hand placements, their closeness, their bond that I can never reach.

"I saw you and Harper," I retaliate, an immature tear escaping from my eyes from the thoughts in my head.

"Just stop with the Harper thing, just stop it, please," he yells in the warm light of the car, his intense eyes wide and wild from so many strong emotions, but the easiest to tell is fear. But I wonder, for what reason? "Why can't you trust me? Why can't you believe me?" His voice lowers, cracking. I look away, feeling the walls caving in.

"We are talking about it, really?" I wipe my eyes, sniffing. "You were with literally every woman you set eyes on. Tell me, are you worthy of trust?" I choke, my heart hurting.

"You're just gonna use that against me," he mumbles, pained. "A past you aren't a witness to."

How will I know it's his past? How will I know he stopped? "Everyone knows your type, Cam. Everywhere you go, there's literally everyone flirting with you."

"You are never going to ask me. You will judge me by something I have no control over. You will punish me by kissing men in front of me, in my space," he slams the wheel, my eyes closing at it, feeling my heart breaking more. "You will hurt me as brutally as it could get over the truth you don't know. What do you want me to do?"

I can't hold back my tears, my chest feels heavy and tight. I am so confused, I don't know what to do. Should I trust him? Should I not? Is he playing me? Is he not? Does he feel what I feel for him? Does he not?

The sob I had been holding back breaks out, and my body shudders along with it. I bring my knees to my chest, burying my face in them, so he can't see me.

I hate this feeling.

"Fuck!" He curses, hitting the steering wheel again. I feel the door open, allowing cool, fresh air to blow inside. The sound of the rain pattering against the soil and drumming over the surface of the car becomes audible before the door is slammed shut.

And suddenly, I'm alone; the silence is oppressive, amplifying reminders of everything I desire and cling to about Cam. Yet, the fear creeps in, echoing in the other part of me; he and I are so opposite, I fear I can't have him.

We both self-sabotage.

Look what I did. Not compared to him, but I've never done something like this. He's made me crazy; the extent I'd go for him is scary.

It's so unlike me.

He remains out there in the front, leaning against the hood of the car for so long. I can't see his face; his back is turned to me. Though with the harsh headlights piercing the night, I can mostly only see his silhouette through the windshield. And the rain is pouring intensely.

He's going to get sick.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I gather the last courage in me and lower the window.

"Cameron?" I call, intending to tell him to come back in, but my voice is hoarse, and the pouring sound of the rain drinks up my voice without traveling to him.

He doesn't even turn.

Drawing a breath, I seal the window and clear my eyes, mentally embracing the cold before swinging the door open. My bare foot touches the muddy ground.