More Than Forever
Page 57
His eyebrows bunch, as if deep in thought. "I screw rich girls sometimes. Just for fun, you know? But I'd never date one. It's one thing for sex, but to be in a relationship..." His face turns to a grimace. "That's gotta be tough. I mean, for me—I'd always feel like the relationship was on a timer... until she found something better. I'd feel like I was always trying, always chasing, even though I already had the girl."
His words hit me like a ton of fucking bricks.
I don't respond, because I don't know how to. Instead, I stand up and grab another beer. And then another. And another.
They continue to talk shit about their lives, their families—never once noticing me drowning in a sea of my own insecurities.
"Yo, Cam," Joe says after I don't know how long.
I lift my heavy head and try to push back the effects of booze when I fake a smile at him. "Yo."
"Where's your girl tonight? Shouldn't you two be celebrating?"
My eyes widen at his question. "Shit." And then I laugh, because I have no other fucking choice. "I gotta go."
-LUCY-
His car pulls up outside the restaurant, music blaring and brakes squealing. I eye Heather and Mark for a quick moment, but they're too busy watching the scene play out.
The passenger's door rises; Roxy steps out first, and then Cameron from beneath her.
I look away—too heartbroken to see anymore.
"What the hell?" Heather mumbles. She says my name, but I pretend to not hear her. I stare down at the table, trying to hide my sadness and disappointment that I'm sure is evident.
"Hey," he says, taking his seat next to me.
"Is that your car someone else is driving?" Mark asks.
"Yeah," Cam laughs, "It's all good. The dude’s in AA—he's straight as an arrow." He puts his hand on my leg under the table. "Hey babe." He kisses my temple quickly, and then moves away. "Mother."
I don't know what her reaction is because I'm too afraid to look up.
"So," Cam says loudly. "What's everyone ordering?"
Heather sighs. "We've already eaten."
Cam's fingers on my leg dig in. "What do you mean?"
I push his hand off me and finally lift my gaze. Ignoring the stench of beer reeking from him, I face him. My voice comes out a whisper. "You're three hours late, Cameron."
His face drops and he looks around the table. "Huh," he says. "Would have been cool to have a phone so I could actually tell the time." He glances between Mark and Heather. "Did Lucy tell you she threw it at my head and smashed it on a wall? He laughs a bitter laugh. "Bet Princess didn't tell you that."
And now I'm crying. I frantically wipe my tears and stand up. "I'm gonna go," I squeak out. I shut my eyes and try to regain my composure. "Heather, Mark, it was nice seeing you again. I'll be sure to come by and visit over the summer."
I don't wait for a response. I rush to gather my stuff so no one sees me break down.
His hand curls around my arm, spinning me to face him. He's on his feet now, towering over me. "So what?" he snaps. "Things aren't going your way so you just walk?"
I glance around the restaurant, knowing people are watching.
"What about me, Luce? When the hell do I get to walk away from it? Never! That's when. You think I want to be here... playing happy boyfriend? All the fucking time, that's what I am." His voice gets louder with every word.
I flinch, like his words physically hurt me. Because they do. They hurt so damn much.
"I'm so fucking sick of this pressure. All the time—this goddamn pressure."
I want to speak. I want to tell him to shut up. But I can't breathe.
Finally, he releases my arm. "'You could be an architect, Cam.'" he mocks. And then he laughs once. "Your dad tells me that I could be an architect and all of a sudden I'm changing my fucking classes and reworking my entire life plan. You wanted to go to UNC, so that's where I go. You never asked me what I wanted, Lucy. Not once."
Silent tears fall and I wipe them. But I don't look away. I want to see his face, so I can remember it clearly—the moment he destroyed me. Destroyed us.
"Your dad 'encourages' me by making me a draft table and light box and I'm supposed to appreciate it, when really, what he's saying is 'Hey, poor little dumbshit, you're not good enough for my daughter, make something of yourself!'"
"Cameron!" Heather snaps.
I stay the same, crying, feeling every part of me falling apart.
"He's drunk." Mark tries to calm Heather down. But whether he's drunk or not, it makes no difference.
"I'm sinking under this pressure, Lucy! From you, from my parents, from your dad. You all expect me to be something and I don't even know if I want to be that! The classes, the studying, the scholarship, the work... I never wanted this. I never asked for it! You did! You wanted me to be this!" His words come out clipped, harsh.
"Oh and the scholarship!" he laughs again—that same bitter laugh. "You don't think I know your dad's floating me? No architect firm wanted to support me. It's his money! I'm not fucking stupid, Lucy." He's in my face now, pointing his finger down at me. His brows are furrowed and his nostrils flare. He's so mad, but he's so wrong. "How the fuck do you think that's supposed to make me feel? I can't fail. I can't drop the ball. I'll disappoint everyone. And all you guys do is push push push. I'm on the fucking edge here, Lucy! How much more can you push?"
I suck in a breath, my voice so quiet compared to his shouts. "I didn't know that I was pushing you, I just thought I was encourag—"
His eyes roll, cutting me off. "Of course not, Luce!" he yells again, louder than ever.
People gasp.
I flinch.
"You don't get it! You don't understand! Because everything's been handed to you. You've been raised with a silver spoon in your mouth and you've never had to worry about a goddamn thing in your entire fucking life!"
And there it is.
The moment of destruction.
My body shakes. Not from the sob. Or the adrenalin. But from the hurt.
My eyes shut.
I breathe in. Out.
Once.
Twice.
It feels like eternity.
My hands flex, ball.
Flex.
Ball.
"Lucy, honey," Heathers coos. And I don't need to see her to know she's crying.
Breathe.
Shut. It. Out.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Once.
Twice.
My eyes snap open, fixed on Cam.
All blood has drained from his face.
His shoulders sag.
His eyes are sympathetic.
"Lucy?" Mark sighs.
I turn to him and fake the perfected smile I mastered when I was fifteen.
"I'm fine," I tell him.
A single fine. A single lie.
"I'll see you later."
And then I walk away.
Away from my forever.
-CAMERON-
Her eyes snap open, and when they do, I die.
What the fuck did I just do?
It's been years. Five, to be exact—since I saw that look in her eyes.
His words hit me like a ton of fucking bricks.
I don't respond, because I don't know how to. Instead, I stand up and grab another beer. And then another. And another.
They continue to talk shit about their lives, their families—never once noticing me drowning in a sea of my own insecurities.
"Yo, Cam," Joe says after I don't know how long.
I lift my heavy head and try to push back the effects of booze when I fake a smile at him. "Yo."
"Where's your girl tonight? Shouldn't you two be celebrating?"
My eyes widen at his question. "Shit." And then I laugh, because I have no other fucking choice. "I gotta go."
-LUCY-
His car pulls up outside the restaurant, music blaring and brakes squealing. I eye Heather and Mark for a quick moment, but they're too busy watching the scene play out.
The passenger's door rises; Roxy steps out first, and then Cameron from beneath her.
I look away—too heartbroken to see anymore.
"What the hell?" Heather mumbles. She says my name, but I pretend to not hear her. I stare down at the table, trying to hide my sadness and disappointment that I'm sure is evident.
"Hey," he says, taking his seat next to me.
"Is that your car someone else is driving?" Mark asks.
"Yeah," Cam laughs, "It's all good. The dude’s in AA—he's straight as an arrow." He puts his hand on my leg under the table. "Hey babe." He kisses my temple quickly, and then moves away. "Mother."
I don't know what her reaction is because I'm too afraid to look up.
"So," Cam says loudly. "What's everyone ordering?"
Heather sighs. "We've already eaten."
Cam's fingers on my leg dig in. "What do you mean?"
I push his hand off me and finally lift my gaze. Ignoring the stench of beer reeking from him, I face him. My voice comes out a whisper. "You're three hours late, Cameron."
His face drops and he looks around the table. "Huh," he says. "Would have been cool to have a phone so I could actually tell the time." He glances between Mark and Heather. "Did Lucy tell you she threw it at my head and smashed it on a wall? He laughs a bitter laugh. "Bet Princess didn't tell you that."
And now I'm crying. I frantically wipe my tears and stand up. "I'm gonna go," I squeak out. I shut my eyes and try to regain my composure. "Heather, Mark, it was nice seeing you again. I'll be sure to come by and visit over the summer."
I don't wait for a response. I rush to gather my stuff so no one sees me break down.
His hand curls around my arm, spinning me to face him. He's on his feet now, towering over me. "So what?" he snaps. "Things aren't going your way so you just walk?"
I glance around the restaurant, knowing people are watching.
"What about me, Luce? When the hell do I get to walk away from it? Never! That's when. You think I want to be here... playing happy boyfriend? All the fucking time, that's what I am." His voice gets louder with every word.
I flinch, like his words physically hurt me. Because they do. They hurt so damn much.
"I'm so fucking sick of this pressure. All the time—this goddamn pressure."
I want to speak. I want to tell him to shut up. But I can't breathe.
Finally, he releases my arm. "'You could be an architect, Cam.'" he mocks. And then he laughs once. "Your dad tells me that I could be an architect and all of a sudden I'm changing my fucking classes and reworking my entire life plan. You wanted to go to UNC, so that's where I go. You never asked me what I wanted, Lucy. Not once."
Silent tears fall and I wipe them. But I don't look away. I want to see his face, so I can remember it clearly—the moment he destroyed me. Destroyed us.
"Your dad 'encourages' me by making me a draft table and light box and I'm supposed to appreciate it, when really, what he's saying is 'Hey, poor little dumbshit, you're not good enough for my daughter, make something of yourself!'"
"Cameron!" Heather snaps.
I stay the same, crying, feeling every part of me falling apart.
"He's drunk." Mark tries to calm Heather down. But whether he's drunk or not, it makes no difference.
"I'm sinking under this pressure, Lucy! From you, from my parents, from your dad. You all expect me to be something and I don't even know if I want to be that! The classes, the studying, the scholarship, the work... I never wanted this. I never asked for it! You did! You wanted me to be this!" His words come out clipped, harsh.
"Oh and the scholarship!" he laughs again—that same bitter laugh. "You don't think I know your dad's floating me? No architect firm wanted to support me. It's his money! I'm not fucking stupid, Lucy." He's in my face now, pointing his finger down at me. His brows are furrowed and his nostrils flare. He's so mad, but he's so wrong. "How the fuck do you think that's supposed to make me feel? I can't fail. I can't drop the ball. I'll disappoint everyone. And all you guys do is push push push. I'm on the fucking edge here, Lucy! How much more can you push?"
I suck in a breath, my voice so quiet compared to his shouts. "I didn't know that I was pushing you, I just thought I was encourag—"
His eyes roll, cutting me off. "Of course not, Luce!" he yells again, louder than ever.
People gasp.
I flinch.
"You don't get it! You don't understand! Because everything's been handed to you. You've been raised with a silver spoon in your mouth and you've never had to worry about a goddamn thing in your entire fucking life!"
And there it is.
The moment of destruction.
My body shakes. Not from the sob. Or the adrenalin. But from the hurt.
My eyes shut.
I breathe in. Out.
Once.
Twice.
It feels like eternity.
My hands flex, ball.
Flex.
Ball.
"Lucy, honey," Heathers coos. And I don't need to see her to know she's crying.
Breathe.
Shut. It. Out.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Once.
Twice.
My eyes snap open, fixed on Cam.
All blood has drained from his face.
His shoulders sag.
His eyes are sympathetic.
"Lucy?" Mark sighs.
I turn to him and fake the perfected smile I mastered when I was fifteen.
"I'm fine," I tell him.
A single fine. A single lie.
"I'll see you later."
And then I walk away.
Away from my forever.
-CAMERON-
Her eyes snap open, and when they do, I die.
What the fuck did I just do?
It's been years. Five, to be exact—since I saw that look in her eyes.
