Loving all your reviews! Last chapter was sexy and sweet, this chapter is angsty. So please enjoy!
MERCEDES
What the hell am I gonna do? I collapse onto my bed, facedown. I realize I'm in serious trouble. Sam is not the kind of guy I can let myself fall for. I don't think I really thought I'd get this involved with him. Not really. I mean, he's sexy and flirty and fun and flattering, but I never imagined that if we managed to actually have sex it would turn so quickly into… this. Whatever this is.
It was a huge mistake to spend so much time with him at home. With my father. At the one place on earth that's like my sanctuary. Putting him there, in that context, and him being so sweet and fitting in so perfectly, just made me fall into all sorts of traps and clichés. Dammit.
As if my mother has taken over a large portion of my brain, I find myself ticking off all the negatives of Sam and all the positives of Cam, pitting them against each other in a death match. I wish I could shut out her voice in my head, telling me it will never work with Sam, that he's not what I need. I can practically hear her gushing about how perfect Cam is. And she's right. The fact that he wants me gives me hope. The fact that he's taken is quickly being outweighed by the fact that he fights it, by the fact that he's trying to do the right thing by Marissa. Even if she is a cold, nasty snake of a girl. I know I'm not thinking clearly. I'm in Defcon 5 mode, brought on by sheer panic over my feelings for Sam. But no matter how hard I try, I can't pull out of the tailspin . My mother's voice is too strong, her claws too deep. And seeing Gabe over the weekend isn't helping. It's the perfect anti -Sam storm. And it's wreaking havoc.
Before I can even think twice, I'm dialing Cam's number. Maybe I can put his side of things to rest once and for all. One way or the other. Either there's a chance or there's not, but I can't keep holding him up as the other viable option if he isn't. At first, I'm a little relieved when he doesn't answer. But then, when he finally does, I'm more relieved to hear his voice.
"Cam, it's Mercedes. I'm sorry to bother you so late. Were you busy?"
"Uh, no. I'm just getting in. Is everything all right?" Where do I begin? I don't even know what to say now that I've got him.
"Yes, everything's fine." I pause to collect my scattered thoughts. "Actually, no it's not. Is there any way you could come over?"
"Over there? Tonight?" Something in his voice —some note of hesitation—nearly shakes me out of my frenzy. Nearly, but not quite. I ignore it and move on.
"Yes. Tonight. As soon as you can."
"What's the matter, Mercedes? You're starting to scare me. Has something happened? Did my brother do something to you?" I hear an edge to his voice and I'm confused by it. It takes me a full three or four seconds to figure out what he's getting at.
"What? Sam? No. Oh, God, no! It's nothing like that at all." Why would he even ask that? Does he really feel that way about his own flesh and blood? I hear him exhale.
"Okay, good. I'll be there in about twenty minutes."
"Great. Thanks. See you then."
I wait. And, as I wait, I pace. And not -so-patiently, I might add. I'm teetering between two horrible options— being bold with Cam or moving to Siberia. By the time I hear the doorbell, Siberia is looking pretty dang good. I fling open the door, completely unprepared for Cam like this. He must've been working late. He's wearing a black suit that fits him to perfection. His bright red tie is askew and his hair is mussed, making him look even more like Sam. He's like dream Sam. Sam with a little more Cam. Why can't they both be a little more like each other? I answer that thought. Because then you'd want them both. Just like you do now. Only without any reasons to stay away. Shaking my head, I step back to allow him to pass. He walks lazily to the couch and flops down, like he's tired. I perch on the other end of the sofa, facing him.
"Rough day?" He wags his head back and forth.
"Meh, some parts." I swallow hard.
"I'm sorry to call so late."
"It's not a problem. I was still up. Besides, I told you to call if you needed anything."
I stare at him, at the face that seems so familiar to me now. It feels odd for it to be attached to Cam's personality, though. To not feel the intense heat of Sam emanating from behind those sparkling midnight eyes. He raises his eyebrows in question when I don't speak.
"So, what's up?" I might never know what came over me. One second I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing. The next I'm blurting out embarrassing-isms.
"Cam, do you want me?" If I weren't so shocked at what just came out of my mouth, I'd probably think his expression was comical. As it is, I'm dying a little on the inside.
"What?" I scoot closer to him, laying my hand on his arm for emphasis.
"Do you want me?"
"I think we've already established the answer to that. What's this about, Mercedes?"
I'm floundering. I'll admit it. And my go-to plan was never even a forethought, much less a plan. So I wing it. Which, in this case, translates to practically assaulting Cam. Leaning forward, I press my lips to his. I don't know who is the more shocked of us, Cam or me. At first, his lips are frozen beneath mine. If possible, I think my humiliation rises. But then, he jerks back like he's been burned. Cam grabs me by the upper arms, his fingers digging into the tender flesh, and he looks me square in the eye. For a few seconds, I could swearI see hurt and anger. However, that makes no sense. But then, when I blink, it's gone, making me wonder if I'd imagined it altogether. His lips curve into a cruel twist.
"So this is how it is ," he says enigmatically. I try to pull out of his grasp; his fingers are really starting to hurt. But he won't let go. Pulling me into his lap, he roughly cups my face. "Is this what you want?"
Before I can answer, his lips are crushing mine. They're not gentle. They're not passionate. They're not even sexual. They're punishing and angry and…cold. I'm cringing away from him when his tongue forces its way past my lips. His mouth is mashed so tightly to mine, for a second I think I taste blood. Then the flavor is mingled with something salty. It's then I realize I'm crying. Cam pulls away from me, opening his mouth as if to curse me, but he stops in shock. I guess he sees that I'm crying and the Cam I thought I knew takes over. His face softens and, tenderly, he raises one hand and wipes the tears from my left cheek. I feel my chin tremble. I will it to stay still, but the damn thing completely ignores me.
"Did I hurt you?" he whispers, scattering tiny butterfly kisses all over my lips and cheeks. "I'm so sorry, baby."
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I shouldn't have done that. I know you're with Marissa. I don't know what came over me." Cam leans back and looks at me.
"Am I what you want?" I don't know what to say to that. Should I admit that I do? Am I even sure that I still feel that way? Sam drifts through my mind. As if sensing the direction my thoughts have taken, Cam asks,
"What about my brother? I thought… I mean, I know he spent the weekend in Salt Springs." I'd forgotten that Sam had to get directions from Cam. If possible, I'm even more humiliated. No doubt he thinks I'm a huge whore now. Before I can respond, Cam continues.
"Or was I there, too?" He brushes his lips over mine. "Did you think of my lips when he kissed you?" Light as a feather, he runs his hand down the outside of my thigh and back up again, squeezing my hip. "Did you wish it were me touching you? Like I did the night I came to your room?" I gasp in shock. Ohmigod! It was Cam!
I start to lean back and speak, but his lips take mine, quickly coaxing them apart. Sensation drowns out thought as I feel him breathe into my mouth. "Do you still want me? Because if you do, I'm all yours." With that, he deepens the kiss, his tongue licking along mine, his free hand roaming across my waist and stomach. Chills spread over me. His touch is so much like Sam's.
Sam…
I push against Cam's chest. He moves back easily, giving me no resistance. He looks down into my eyes. Neither of us says a word. He nods and his lips curve into a smile of acceptance rather than humor.
"Good night, Mercedes."
He doesn't move right away. He just watches me. Eventually, I nod and slide off his lap, coming to my feet. I walk him to the door and he pulls it open. He turns as if to say something else, but changes his mind. I watch as he disappears into the darkness, not once looking back at me.
It's no wonder I get virtually no sleep. Between finding out that I've slept with Cam, feeling worse and worse about making a complete and utter fool of myself with him last night, and the predicament I now find myself in, I blow off my Monday classes and head to Sam's instead. I'm not sure why I feel the need to go to him; maybe it's a sense that I've somehow betrayed him. I don't know. But I find myself drawn to him for some reason. And I don't question it. I just go. I know he's at least awake, because I saw my car parked at the curb when I looked out the window this morning. My keys were in an envelope in the mailbox.
The first time I came to Dual during the day, Sam was expecting me, so the front door was unlocked. I wondered if that was the case all the time. Evidently not, I think as I pull on both doors to find them both secured. And I didn't get a key with my employment because Sam always opens and closes. I mean, why wouldn't he? He lives behind the bar, for Pete's sake.
I walk around the side of the building. I'm pretty sure there is at least a back door, some way to take out garbage and for Sam to get in and out from wherever he parks that motorcycle of his. One side of the building has no door, so I continue on around. As I suspected, there is a door at the back. It empties out into the alley where there is a huge trash Dumpster against the opposite wall. Unfortunately, the back door is locked, too. I keep walking, around to the other side of the building, hoping for another door. And I hit pay dirt. There's a side door. A big one. It looks like Sam has converted a back corner of the club into an apartment and garage. I can tell by the nature of the wide, roll-up bay-type door. That and the fact that it's open and his bike is parked inside. That's kind of a dead giveaway. I'm a little confused, however, when I see Cam's car parked inside as well. Or at least it's a vehicle that looks like Cam's car. My stomach twists into a nervous knot. I know they're not exactly close, but that doesn't mean they wouldn't discuss me. I mean, they very much have me in common! Even more so after recent events. I feel a little nauseated. I'm debating scampering back to my car when the interior door opens and Sam walks out. He doesn't see me as he turns immediately to lock the door behind him. He's also on the phone, which he tucks against his shoulder as he sets the deadbolt. I can't help but overhear his end of the conversation.
"Marissa, I told you I had meetings all weekend. There was just no way for me to do that. I didn't have-"
He stops dead when he turns and sees me standing at the edge of the door. I'm sure my mouth is hanging open and I probably look every bit as confused as I feel. One question is running on a loop through my mind.
Why is Sam talking to Marissa that way?
Why is Sam talking to Marissa that way?
We stare at each other for the longest minute of my entire life. It is so quiet in the garage, I can actually hear Marissa repeating Cam's name over and over and over again. Finally, without taking his eyes off mine, he addresses her.
"I've gotta go. I'll call you later." And he hangs up. He studies me for so long I begin to think he's not going to say anything to me at all. But then he does.
"Why don't you come in? We need to talk."
My heart is thudding against my ribs. Hard! I was expecting any number of logical explanations. Maybe he was playing a prank. Maybe he was covering something up for Cam. Maybe I just misunderstood something. But the way Sam is watching me makes me think something is very, very wrong. And that I'm not going to like it. I think of leaving. Of just walking right back to my car. These boys have been trouble for me from day one. If I were smart, I'd turn around and never look back. But I know why I can't. Even as the thought runs through my head, the thought of never seeing Sam again cuts through my chest like a knife blade. I feel the pain of it, the devastation of it. The life-changing wound of it. I feel everything but the blood, the blood that should be soaking my clothes.
I nod once and walk slowly, numbly across the polished floor to where he's holding the now -open door for me. I feel like I'm going to an execution. Of my heart and my trust, maybe. And that's pretty much right.
SAM
My pulse is racing. Just the thought of coming clean, of telling any one person all my secrets scares the shit out of me. I'm not sure why I'm going to tell Mercedes. I just know that I am. That I have to. I have to trust her if I ever expect her to trust me. The thing is, I still haven't figured out why that matters so much to me. Why I even care. But I do. A whole hell of a lot. She knows something's up. She looks like she's walking the plank and there are sharks in the water. I guess, in a way, there are. If one could consider me and my family's history sharks.
I don't even really see the mess I left in my house last night. When I got back from Mercedes's I shed my suit and left it crumpled on the floor right before I re-dressed as myself and went out to close up the club. Afterward, I'd fallen onto the bed, face first, and slept like the dead. Until Jake had come pounding at my door this morning, ready to deliver Mercedes's car. This double life thing is for the birds!
And now here I am, getting ready to tell someone, a girl whom I haven't known very long at all, my deepest, darkest, dirtiest, most dangerous secret. And the only thing I'm worried about is whether she'll ever want to see me again. How's that for crazy?
"Do you want something to drink? I just turned the coffeepot off, so it's still hot." She's looking around in a daze, no doubt trying to fit the pieces into the puzzle. But she won't. Never in a thousand years would she ever guess. Unless I tell her.
"Mercedes, have a seat on the couch. I'll bring you some coffee. Then we'll talk."
I think she needs it more than I do, which is saying a lot. I pour us both a mug of coffee and run some hot water in the empty decanter, setting it back on the warmer until I can wash it out later. I've been taking care of myself for a long time. Some housekeeping things just come naturally at this point. I hand her a cup and sit in the chair opposite her. I don't want to crowd her and make what I'm about to say any worse. She'll probably need a little space, a little distance after she hears it. It surprises me when she speaks first. I don't know why it would, though. Her backbone is obviously pretty sturdy. She just doesn't always tap into it. But when she needs to, it's there. Like now.
"I don't like games. I don't like lies. Just tell me what's going on. The truth." Her face is set. She's braced herself. I guess if ever there's a good time to drop a bomb like this, now's probably it.
"All I ask is that you give me a chance to fully explain. Don't go running off without hearing the whole story. Deal?" She doesn't agree immediately, which makes me a little nervous. But when she does, I know she means it.
"Deal."
I wonder for a second whether I should tell her that repeating what she's about to hear would be disastrous, but I decide against it. That's like implying right off the bat that I don't trust her, which I do. It's just that I've never trusted anybody—anybody—with this before. I'm sure it's natural to be a little leery.
"I'm Sam." Mercedes just stares at me for a few seconds. I can only imagine how her mind must be spinning.
"I know that," she says calmly. "But I want to know, why were you acting like Cam?"
"Because I'm Cam, too." Her blank look says I just totally confused her, totally boggled her mind.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I know she will never be able to fully fathom what's going on unless I explain it to her from the beginning. Here goes.
"My father got mixed up with some pretty …unsavory people when he was younger, trying to make some extra money to help support his family. They were very poor. But this was all before he met my mother." I laugh bitterly.
"Turns out once you're connected with people like that, you can never truly escape. I think, on some level, he knew that. But he tried, anyway. And when he did, they decided to impress upon him what a bad idea it was to try to leave. These people make their points in truly… unforgettable ways. This time it was to tamper with Dad's boat."
Mercedes is watching me closely, listening. I have no idea if she believes a word I'm saying, but I'm not stopping now. I'm going to tell her the whole story. Right now. No more secrets.
"We were going on a family vacation. Over Christmas break. Just a short trip, really. My mother and brother had gone down a little early to take some supplies. No one thought they'd be on the boat that soon. There was an explosion. They were both killed. And burned up in the fire."
Her face shows no sign of any kind of reaction for at least two full minutes. I don't say a word as she digests what I've told her so far. I can tell the instant it sinks in. Every bit of color drains from her face.
"Was your brother a twin? Was he really named Cam?"
"Yes."
I hear her exhale. The breath is shaky, as are her hands where she's picking at her fingernails.
"So there was a Cam, but I've never met him," she states calmly. Maybe a little too calmly.
"Correct."
"So all this time, you've been pretending to be your brother."
"Correct."
"Why?"
"The people my father was involved with had set up several things that would cast suspicion on him. They called him with a warning right before they blew up the boat. Told him if he ever tried to rat them out, they'd kill everyone he ever knew or loved. At the time, they didn't realize Mom and Cam were on the boat. We tried to get in touch with my mother but couldn't. By the time we got there, the boat was already in pieces all over the bay. Not only did we both have to deal with the murder of Mom and Cam, but we both knew he'd go to prison, at the very least for something like negligent homicide . And it would only add to the sentence if there were two deaths pinned on him. That's when I decided to be both of us. If Cam had survived, Dad would only be supposedly guilty of one murder. There wasn't much else I could do, but I thought I could pull that much off. And I did. I guess in a way we were lucky that only a few of my mother's remains survived the fire."
"And this was how long ago?"
"Seven years ago. December of my senior year of high school." She looks suspicious . Incredulous, too, but mostly suspicious.
"And no one was the wiser? How is that even possible?" I know my laugh is bitter. She'll enjoy this part.
"You were right about me. I was always the bad boy, the rebel. I dropped out of high school after my junior year. I wanted to run this club that my father had just bought, and I knew I didn't need a diploma for that." She raises her eyebrows.
"This club?" I nod.
"Cam was always the clean-cut, jock, honor student type. He was going places and everybody in the family knew it. Hell, everybody who knew him knew it. They would never have suspected for one second that it was me coming to class in his place. Me making the grades. Me picking up his diploma. Me going off to college. No one expected much of anything from me. Well, nothing but a life of quasi crime, like my father. All I had to do was show up at a party occasionally and show my ass so people wouldn't forget that I was alive, too, and then the focus would go back to Cam. It was easy. People wanted to forget me."
I can't keep all the bitterness I've buried for so long from leaching out into my voice. It's almost like I want her to see it, want her to feel it. Like her knowing will somehow make it less painful. I don't know why that is, what it is about this girl that makes a difference, but instinctively I know it does. She does.
"So all this time, you've been leading two separate lives. Lying to everyone in the world. Including the police." My stomach feels hollow at her words.
"Yes." Of all the pain I've endured, I think what actually hurts the most is the disgust I see on her face.
"Why? How? How could you do that? To the living, but also to the memory of the dead?" I feel tired. So tired. Suddenly, the toll of this life and the deception of it feels like a freight train sitting on my chest.
"I lost everything in that explosion. Everyone I ever loved was taken from me. Everything I called home was gone in the blink of an eye. I thought the least I could do was bring some kind of honor to their memory."
"This is how you honor their memory?" I squeeze the bridge of my nose, wishing I could curtail the increasing throb I feel behind my eyes.
"It's kind of hard to explain. Both my parents wanted nothing more than for Cam and me to make something of ourselves. Anything would've been better than to follow in our father's footsteps. And Cam was brilliant. He had so much ahead of him. So much more than I did. It just didn't seem right that he would be the one to end up dead. I did the best I could to make my parents proud and to give Cam the name and the reputation that he deserved. That he would've had if he were alive."
Mercedes is absolutely silent. That would worry me if not for the look of sympathetic understanding that I can see rising in her eyes, on her expressive face. As tender and good-hearted as she is, maybe she'll be able to understand my reasoning. I just have to make sure to explain it all to her. In depth.
"On top of that, I knew that if I pursued a law degree, there might be a chance I could do something to help my father." She perks up at that. I'm not surprised at all that Mercedes is the type to root for the underdog, to feel the need to find justice, that kind of thing. She's just a good person. Much better than I deserve. Cam would be worthy of her. But not me. And yet I can't seem to make myself stay away from her.
"Do you really think you could change things? Make a difference?" I shrug.
"I don't know, but I'm certainly looking into it. It's one of the biggest reasons I wanted in with a big, powerful law firm, like your uncle's."
"Do they know?" she asks. "About your father, I mean?"
"Yes. That's not something I thought I could keep secret, so I've been honest with a few select people about it. And they know what I'm working toward, that I want to help him win an appeal. I've been able to get some incredible insight by observing some of the partners and being involved there."
Mercedes nods but doesn't say anything for what seems like forever. But when she does, it is very much worth the wait. She's looking down at her fingers, either because she doesn't want me to see that she cares or because she's still not sure she does. But I feel such profound relief, I don't need to see her eyes. Her words say it all.
"Is it dangerous?" I smile.
"No, I don't think so. My father has kept quiet all this time. I hope he's fallen off their radar."
"Kept quiet?" I pause. And then there's this part.
"Uh, yeah. He was, um, pretty desperate to get away and he chose an… inadvisable way to try to regain his freedom."
"And what inadvisable way was that?" I exhale loudly.
"Blackmail." Her mouth drops open in disbelief.
"Your dad tried to blackmail the mob? Has he never seen The Godfather?" I can't help but laugh.
"I don't think that's quite like the reality of things, but yeah, it was pretty stupid. What he did." I feel that old familiar spike of pain radiate through my chest. "He paid dearly for his mistake. We all did."
"What was the blackmail? Or should I not ask things like that?" She's curious, yes, but I can see by her face she's cautiously curious.
"He took a couple of books. Accounting books. Ledgers." Mercedes gasps and covers her mouth with both her hands.
"Holy shit," I hear her say behind them. Her eyes are wide with disbelief . "Ohmigod, it's just like the movies! Did he turn them over to anyone?" I shake my head sharply.
"No! That was part of their threat. If he were to give them to the police, we'd all be dead."
"So, what are you trying to do to help him , then?"
"Well, I've finally gotten Marissa's dad to take over the case , so I can have a look at all the files. Unfortunately, the evidence is pretty damning." She scoots up to the edge of her seat cushion.
"Well, do you have another plan? Isn't there something else you can do, some other avenue you can take?" I clear my throat.
"Actually, I think there might be. But it's dangerous. Probably very dangerous." She narrows her eyes.
"What is it?" I stop and think before I continue. This is the only part that could ever really pose a threat to her, although just knowing about it shouldn't be dangerous. But still…
"I have the books he took." Her brows shoot up and her eyes get round.
"Are you kidding me? You have the books that were so important, so dangerous that someone blew up your father's boat to keep him quiet?" Even though we are alone, I'm still paranoid. I fight the urge to look over my shoulder.
"Yes," I say quietly. "I made him give them to me before he got arrested. I promised him I'd keep them hidden. And safe. Even though they're what got him in trouble in the first place, they're also what's keeping him alive. As long as they know they're out there, we're safe."
"And you think you can use them to… what?"
"I wasn't really going to tell you what you were looking at, but I was going to have you look over the books. I've studied them for countless hours over the last few months and I think there is some evidence there that could put some of the higher-ups away for life. If what I suspect is true, these books would prove tax evasion. That, coupled with several other crimes my father knows them to be guilty of, not the least of which is the murder of my brother and mother, could go toward proving racketeering and they could be prosecuted under the RICO Act."
She's perfectly quiet for so long that I wonder if she even understood what I said. But when she finally says something, I know which part struck her the hardest. It's the part that makes me look like the bastard most people have always thought me to be.
MERCEDES
It's the most bizarre and surreal thing to be looking at the guy I've known as Sam and suddenly see Cam appear. The mussed hair is still all Sam. The casual clothes are still all Sam. Some of the mannerisms are still all Sam. But the speech, the sudden switch into intelligent, successful, soon -to-be attorney mode, is all Cam. And it's staggering. But not nearly as staggering as his inadvertent admission. I speak quietly, trying to remain calm.
"So what you're saying is that you were going to involve me in something that could potentially get me killed without even telling me? Without giving me so much as a heads -up?"
I rise to my feet. I can't help it. Anger is pulsing through me like spray from a fire hose, and I can't remain sitting. If I do, I might explode.
"Without giving me a choice?" At least Sam has the decency to look embarrassed. Ashamed. Contrite.
"I'm sure that's what it looks like, but I promise you, I would never put you in danger. I just wanted you to do the numbers, look at the tax code. Give me your opinion. I was going to tell you they were for another business I was considering buying. I knew I could trust you not to say anything if I was right and there were serious violations. If I'd taken it to a CPA, they might've felt compelled to try to get the name of the business and turn them in. Something crazy like that."
Even though that makes it sound a lot less horrific, I'm still having trouble thinking past my anger. Deep down, though, I know it has more to do with being lied to than anything else. Strangely, the rest all sounds like stuff I could deal with, albeit with some liquor, a sedative, and some time to think, but still, I could manage. But this, this lying… I've always hated liars and being lied to more than anything else. To me, it's always been the only truly unforgivable sin. Can Sam be the first exception? Or has this forever wounded whatever is between us?
"Mercedes, please understand that I would never, never—"
I put up my hand to stop him.
"Stop. Please don't say anything else. I think I've heard enough for one day. Maybe for the rest of my life. I won't know until I've had some time to think."
He looks defeated. Not really worried, like he's afraid I might tell someone, just defeated. Like he took the chance and it backfired. I smother the little pang of guilt for trampling his attempts at coming clean. I can't afford to feel tenderness toward him right now. I need to be practical and rational. Cool. Emotionless. I pretend to look through my purse. I can't meet his eyes. I'll crumble. I know I will.
"Thanks for getting my car fixed and bringing it by. I'll pay you back."
I start edging toward the door. Running will only make me look like a coward, even though that's what I'd really like to do— run. Far and fast. Sam says nothing. I don't look up until I'm facing the door and he's to my left. I pause, thinking I should probably say something else but not having the first idea what that is. I open the door and walk out. I don't look back, but I can feel Sam's eyes follow me until I disappear around the corner.
I've never been the type to skip school a lot. A class or even a day here and there maybe, but nothing substantial. Until now. Tuesday morning doesn't bring the peace I thought it would. In fact, between getting very little sleep— again— and the magnitude of my troubling thoughts, I feel almost physically ill. My stomach turns over when I see the flowers that Cam left me.
"Sam,"
I say out loud, correcting myself for the hundredth time. As I did most of yesterday and far into the night, I relive the humiliation of what happened with Sam when I thought he was Cam. The things I said to him, the way I acted, the things we did. Or nearly did. The way I tortured myself over who had crept into my bedroom that night. I rock between anger and mortification then back to anger.
How could he do this to me? How could he do this to everyone?
I go to the kitchen to make coffee. As I pass my phone, I see the screen light up. I had put it on vibrate and left it out here last night because I didn't want to be tempted to answer it. The name displayed is "Sam." I wonder if he'll ever use Cam's phone again when he calls me?
Bitterness courses through me. It's so thick I can almost taste it. Ignoring the call just like I have the half dozen others from him, I continue on to the kitchen. As I sip my coffee in the living room, I try to think of other things, but they all lead back to the most important issue in my life.
Sam.
How did he become such a central theme? When did I get so deeply involved? How had it happened without my knowledge? The answer? It didn't. I knew I would fall for him. I lied to myself just enough to soften the blow at the time, but I knew it would end like this. It's the story of my life.
Another swell of anger.
And bitterness.
Then longing.
And loneliness.
Then anger again. At Sam for letting me get so close. For drawing me in, like a spider into his web. His web of lies! At least there are no tears. I'm thankful for that. Tears are exhausting. Anger is like rocket fuel. Maybe I don't cry because the ball is in my court. Because I know all I have to do is pick up the phone, return one of the many messages he's left me, and I can be with him again. At least for a little while. In a different web of lies. In a relationship with no future.