Into You Series: The Complete Collection

14. Cameron

CHAPTER 14

CAMERON

“ W hy did you talk to Abby, you idiot?”

I have an entire spread of tacos, Buddy’s head on my lap, and the words I need to hear coming straight from Ian’s mouth.

This is the second time he’s been in my new apartment scolding me about my life, and it’s beginning to feel like I’m just destined to sit in this beanbag chair with my sorrow forever.

I called Ian right after I hung up the phone with my ex-girlfriend. I was stunned to even see her number pop up to begin with. But she had me hook, line, and sinker the second I answered. She sounded sad, and I felt guilty.

“I don’t know.” I groan, letting my head hit the back of my beanbag chair. Buddy raises his head in concern, sees that I haven’t hurt myself, and then lays back on my lap.

I wonder if I’m drawing Ian away from a much better night. He’d probably be reading tons of books, like the smart man that he is, or picking up chicks at bars like the very single man that he is.

However, he hasn’t complained about spending his time here, so I’m not going to be the one to call him out. It might be selfish, but I need his company right now.

“Throw me some chips?” I mumble.

He ignores me.

“What did she say?” he asks.

“I don’t know … she tried justifying everything. She said that she’d gotten bored, we changed into different people … she wanted more, and I couldn’t give it to her …”

“Does she want you back?” Ian asks, crouching down to my level.

I pause for a moment, thinking back to the conversation. It ended up being one hit after another toward me. She’s a master at insulting someone and making it seem like they weren’t actually insults.

“No,” I mutter, avoiding meeting Ian’s gaze. “She doesn’t want me back.”

Apparently, the breakup was all my fault, and she listed every instance in which I didn’t try to make the relationship work. I couldn’t tell if she was right or if I was feeling sorry for myself, but I just accepted it as truth. Regardless, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t calling to apologize for her own actions or the naked man that grabbed my dog. She called to let me know I was an asshole who led her on.

Not every man wants marriage. Not every man wants children. And, to be honest, not every person loves someone deep enough to make those types of commitments.

I’m starting to wonder if I’m capable of that type of love.

“You know what you need?” Ian says, slapping his legs and standing up in one smooth motion. His spider limbs lend to such agile movements. “You need to get laid.”

“What a cliché response, Ian,” I say. “This isn’t some movie where the best friend pushes the guy to go to some club where he acts as a pickup artist to help him overcome his depression.”

“What is this, the early 2000s? No, I’m asking you to get some release out. You need to toss your memory of Abby to the curb and carry on with your life,” he says. “And you know what? It doesn’t matter that she doesn’t want you. Because you don’t want her. Or else you would have married her.”

He isn’t wrong, but I still feel gut punched.

“I don’t know …” I can’t seem to get out of my beanbag chair long enough to even put on something other than unwashed gym shorts and an old band tee from ’03. Bars are out of the question.

I start a new sentence before he interrupts with, “Are you even listening to me, Cam?” He crouches down again and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You need. To get laid.”

I lean back and groan once more.

“How about we go to a skating rink?” he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows.

“A skating rink?” I ask. “Why the hell would we do that?”

“You can put on the roller blades and zoom around. Let the wind hit your face, let your hair down.”

“And?”

“Did you not hear me say Rollerblades?” he says. “Plus, the women at skating rinks on a weekday …”

“Yep, there it is.”

“Cam, regular skaters are there on weekdays. Regular skaters have thighs more muscular than mine and they can just”—his hands move through the air in wild motions—“they wrap around your face. It’s a wonderland of possibilities and adventure.”

“Ookay, Ian. I’m calling it a night. Scratch the Rollerblades idea. The sun is going down, my tacos are getting cold, and I need to get some work done.”

“You know what other tacos are getting cold?”

“Stop,” I warn.

“Just think about it, bud.” He shoots me a wink.

“Yeah, yeah,” I motion to the door. “Now get out, you heathen.”

“You’re welcome for the tacos,” he calls back.

“Thank you!” I yell seconds before he closes the door.

Ian might be a weirdo, but he’s a really good friend.

I bury myself in work for hours. I’m not doing day job work, but instead finding solace in the blueprint sketches of the hotel I’ve been working on for months. It’s calming me down enough to focus on something other than Abby or the sinking depression mixed with boiling anger in my gut. It’s a lot of emotions I’m not equipped to handle.

So, I focus on architecture and zone out.

My phone buzzes.

I look at the name and there she is again: Abby. And to think, I had just begun to enjoy the Monday night she initially ruined.

I decide that I won’t answer the phone, and she can deal with it.

“Hey.”

Wait, how did this phone get to my ear?

“Hi,” she says. A few seconds pass and there’s no conversation between either of us, but I decide not to let this continue. With her silence eventually comes the tears, and I can’t bear to listen to that.

“Why did you call?” I ask. It’s a bit more aggressive than I would like, but what else did she expect? A soft sort of kindness? She said her piece earlier, and I’m not sure what else can be said at this point.

“I just needed to hear your voice,” she says. Her voice quivers and there’s a small sniff. “I’m sorry, Cam. I’m so sorry. You know I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I feel the heat rise in me. Is she kidding right now?

“I know this doesn’t accomplish anything, and I’m not even sure what I wanted to say but talking to you earlier really felt nice.”

It felt nice?

“Tell me something,” she says. “Tell me about your week.”

I shake my head even though she can’t see me. “Come on, Abby, really? We just got off the phone, and the last thing you mentioned was that I spent too much time at work and that I’m ridiculous for not wanting marriage … I mean, what do you want from me?”

She coughs and lets out a quick sob before going back to silence.

“I told him that I called you earlier. He left me.”

My heart sinks.

“Is that the only reason you’re calling me again?”

“You think I’m a horrible person,” she whispers, after a few moments pass.

“As a woman who cheated on me? And is now calling me after your breakup with the same dude? Uh, yeah, kinda.”

I’m getting more irritated with each second that passes.

Didn’t she break up with me ? What insanity is even happening here?

“Fine. I’m sorry for calling you. I’m sorry I exist.” Her voice is determined and I’m feeling the familiar sense of being manipulated and torn in multiple directions. They’re harsh words, and she’s putting them in my mouth, knowing full well that isn’t how I feel.

No, I’m done playing these games.

“I gotta go, Abby,” I say, and before she can respond, I hang up.

I wait a few minutes, pacing my apartment, wondering if she’ll call back. But she doesn’t call back. And suddenly, I know I need a drink.

I tear off my sweatpants, throw on jeans, and head out the door to walk to the nearest bar.