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I stopped behind my couch, only realizing then what I was doing.
Looking down, I saw the sleeve of my shirt pushed up and my fingers were wrapped around my left wrist. Slowly, meticulously, I lifted up my fingers, one by one. There were faint pink indents from the bracelet pressing into my skin. For the last five years, I only took the bracelet off at night and when I showered. Those indents would probably be permanent.
Just like the jagged scar the bracelet hid.
I removed my hand completely. The two inch stretch of a deeper pink slashed down the very center of my wrist, over the vein. It had been a deep cut made with broken glass from the picture frame I’d thrown after the first picture had circulated the high school.
When I’d made that cut, it had been the lowest point of my life and I hadn’t been joking around. There would’ve been a matching violent cut on my right wrist if it hadn’t been for the maid hearing the glass break.
The picture had been of me and my best friend; the very same best friend who had been one of the first to turn their back and whisper words like ‘whore’ and ‘liar.’
I had wanted to end it then. Just check out, because at that point in my life, nothing could’ve been worse than what had happened to me, what my parents had agreed to, and the subsequent fallout. In a matter of months, my life had utterly separated into two ragged chunks: before and after. And I hadn’t been able to see a possible after when the entire school got behind Blaine.
Now? The after seemed endless, but shame burned like a low fire in my belly as I stared at the scar. Suicide was never the answer and if anything, checking out was letting all of them win. I’d learned the lesson all by myself since therapy had never been an option. My parents would’ve rather cut off their legs than suffer through the embarrassment of having a daughter that had tried to commit suicide and needed therapy. More money had exchanged hands to keep my afternoon hospital run quiet.
Apparently my parents were okay with having a daughter labeled a lying whore.
But I hated seeing the physical embodiment of my weakness, would be beyond humiliated if anyone ever saw it.
Sudden deep laughter from the hallway drew my attention—Cam’s laughter. My head swiveled toward the kitchen. On the stove, the clock read near one in the morning.
I tugged my sleeve down.
“Can’t you skip it Friday night?” a feminine voice asked, slightly muffled through the wall.
There was a pause and then I heard Cam say, “You know I can’t, sweetheart. Maybe next time.”
Sweetheart? Oh! I heard their footsteps round the railing outside the apartment, hitting the stairwell.
Rushing around the couch, I made my way over to the window. Since my apartment was at the end and overlooking the parking lot, all I had to do was wait. And then there they were, a shirtless Cam and a girl.
A really tall, leggy brunette wearing a cute denim skirt. That was all I could make out from the window as they crossed the parking lot. The girl stumbled but caught herself before Cam had to intervene. They stopped behind a dark colored sedan. I felt like a total peeper watching them, but I was riveted.
Cam said something and laughed when the girl playfully shoved his shoulder. A second later, they hugged and then he stepped back, giving her a little wave before turning back to the apartment building. Halfway back, he glanced up toward our floor, and I jumped back like a total idiot. He couldn’t see me. There was no way without any lights on in my apartment.
I laughed at myself and then quieted when I heard a door shut down the hall.
Relief poured into me, easing the muscles that had been tightening on and off. Seeing him with another girl was… good. Totally reaffirmed the fact that Cam was a very charming, harmless flirt who like to hand out cookies to pretty girls and had a pet tortoise named Raphael. That was good. That was doable. I could handle that because what Brittany and Jacob were suggesting made me itchy and antsy.
Maybe Cam and I would become friends. I was okay with that because it was nice to have more friends like before.
But as I climbed into bed and laid awake, staring at the ceiling, for a moment, a really brief moment, I wondered what it would be like if Cam had been interested in me like that. To have something like that to look forward to. To be giddy and excited whenever he looked at me or when our hands accidentally touched. I wondered what it would be like to be interested in him like that or any guy for that matter. To look forward to dates, to first kisses and all the things that came after that. I bet it would be nice. It would be like before.
Before Blaine Fitzgerald had taken all of that away.
#
Storm clouds were rolling in Thursday morning and it looked like it would be a rainy, cruddy day on campus. Luckily I only had two classes to sloth through, so before I headed out, I grabbed a hoodie and slipped it over my shirt. I thought about changing out of my shorts and flip flops, but decided I was feeling way too lazy to go to that much trouble.
Texting Jacob to see if he wanted me to pick up any coffee before I hit art class, I slipped out of my apartment and made it to the stairwell before Cam’s apartment door flew open and a guy came out, pulling a shirt down over his head. His shaggy, shoulder length blond head poked through, and I recognized him as the guy with Cam’s tortoise—the roommate.
