“I do trust you.” The tears reached my eyes, blurring him.
Cam watched me for a second and then stood, grabbing his jeans off the floor. He tugged them on, zipping them up but not buttoning them. He faced me, expression tense. “I don’t know what else to do with you, Avery. I’ve told you shit that I’m not proud of. Stuff that hardly anyone in this world knows and yet you keep shit from me. You keep everything from me. You don’t trust me.”
“No—I do.” I started forward but stopped when I saw the look on his face. “I trust you with my life.”
“But not with the truth? That’s such bullshit, Avery. You don’t trust me.” He stalked past me, heading out to the living room.
I followed him, my hands shaking. “Cam—”
“Stop it.” He grabbed his sweater off the floor and faced me. “I don’t know what else to do and I know I don’t know everything in the world, but I do know that relationships don’t work this way.”
Fear punched me in the chest. “What are you saying?”
“What do you think I’m saying, Avery? There are some obvious issues with you and no, don’t fucking look at me like I kicked your puppy. Do you think I’d break up with you because of whatever the hell went on with you? Just like you thought I’d think differently of you when I saw the scar on your wrist? I know you think that and that’s bullshit.” Sorrow and raw anger flooded his voice. “How can there be any future for us if you can’t be honest with me? If you can’t really trust that how I feel about you is strong enough, then we have nothing. This is the shit that ends relationships. Not the past, Avery, but the present.”
My breath caught. “Cam, please—”
“No more, Avery. I told you before. All I asked from you was to trust me and not shut me out.” He turned to the door. “And you don’t trust me and you shut me out again.”
And then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him. I made it to the couch before my legs gave out. Sitting down, I pressed my knees to my chest. There was a cracking in my chest, my heart, and the pain was so very real.
My mouth opened, but I didn’t make a sound.
I never made a sound.
Chapter 30
I stayed in bed and slept most of Thursday and Friday. A thick and suffocating feeling laid over me like a too-heavy blanket. I’d screwed up. Royally. That was the self-pitying mantra that I repeated over and over. It was the truth and it was all I could think about.
Not how I planned on kicking off my spring recess.
Burying my head into the pillow, I stayed away from my phone, because if I checked it and Cam hadn’t called then I’d feel worse. Pointless thing was I knew he wouldn’t call.
And there was no doubt in my mind that I was in love with him. There was a difference between loving someone and being in love and I had let it slip through my fingers.
Cam had enough.
He’d trusted me, and in a way, I’d thrown that trust back in his face. If he’d known everything, things could’ve gone down differently between us Wednesday night. But I had remained silent, like I had all these years.
At some point during Saturday, the deep cutting sorrow gave way to something else. I threw off the blanket and stood in the middle of the room, breathing in raggedly. Spinning around, I picked up a bottle of lotion and threw it across the room. The bottle hit the closet door and then thudded off the floor.
Not satisfied, I grabbed another bottle and threw it harder. That one hit the wall, cracking the plaster. There went my security deposit.
I didn’t care.
Anger rose around me like a hot steam. I whirled, pulling the comforter and sheets off the bed.
Then I attacked my closet.
I hated the boring sweaters, the turtlenecks, the cardigans, and the ill-fitting shirts. I hated everything, but most of all, I hated myself for doing this. Crying out, I yanked them down. Hangers rocked and fell to the floor. Tears blurred my eyes as I turned, seeking something else to destroy, but there really wasn’t anything. No pictures to throw. No paintings to rip from the walls. There was nothing. I was so pissed—pissed at myself.
Moving to the hallway, I leaned against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut. Breathing heavily, I kicked my head back and bit back a scream.
The silence was killing me.
And that’s all there ever was. Silence. It was all I knew. Keep quiet. Pretend nothing had happened, that nothing was wrong. And look how well that was turning out.
I slid down the wall and opened my eyes. They were as dry as I felt on the inside, brittle.
Who did I have to blame for that? Blaine? His parents? Mine? Did it matter? Never once did I stand up to my parents and tell them what I thought. I just shut up and took it—took it until I could run away.
Problem was, running away wasn’t working anymore. It never worked in the first place and how long did it take me to figure that out? Five years, almost six? And how many miles? Thousands?