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I have to fight hard to not crack up with him, biting my cheek while I pick up his bag. At least, he’s leaving in a good mood. He was so sullen last night when he came over after having dinner with his parents. It’s probably best that I don't know all of what goes on during those weekly affairs, but I hate them. He’s never himself when he returns.
“Fine. Go,” I deadpan. “I don’t want your wrinkled dick in my bed or shower.”
That earns me another peal of laughter as I kiss him goodnight. He slips his arms around my waist and sighs into my neck. When he draws back, that troubled mask is on his face again.
“Are you sure everything’s okay?” It’s been four days since our run-in with his supervisor in the park, but it’s the only other thing I can think of that might have him twisted up. “Did Heather say something?”
“No. Still not a word of it. It’s all either work or the baby,” he assures me, rubbing his finger over the hem on the neck of my sweatshirt. “See? I knew I overreacted.”
Then what’s making your beautiful face look like it’s in agony, I want to ask. He has enough bullies in his life already, though, so I won’t push him.
“Alright, well, drive safe.”
“It’s like four blocks. I’ll be fine. Sorry, though. I’d rather curl up in bed with you.”
“Well, I’m not singing for you. You blew that, so go,” I insist, opening the door to get him to stop feeling guilty.
“Pete the comedian,” he teases, dusting his lips over mine. “Who knew?”
Watching him make his way down my sidewalk, maybe it’s just my paranoia that notices his hunched shoulders, his slow steps–a general lack of luster. I used to worry about my surroundings all the time. I had started thinking that maybe Cam somehow miraculously cured me of that. Given that I just learned I apparently hum ‘Happy Birthday’ to his dick in the shower, that theory is shot. I think I’ve just transferred all my worries to him. Returning the flicker of a smile he gives me as he gets in his car, I tell myself that’s all the swirling in the pit of my stomach is. Because if I let myself believe that he’s truly in turmoil over something or someone’s hurt him, I might lose my fucking mind, and then what good would I be to him?
CHAPTER 27
Pete
It’s official. I’m going to lose my fucking mind.
ME: Sweet dreams.
The message I sent last night still has no reply, nor do the five I’ve sent since then. It’s four-thirty-eight in the afternoon, but the parking space Cam has been using since we got together is empty. We’ve made an unofficial habit of running into each other in the parking garage on our way to and from work in the morning. I thought maybe he was running late this morning, but now I’m wondering if he didn’t make it in at all. He would have told me if he was sick or called off, though, wouldn’t he?
I know what he said about going by his place, but how am I not supposed to be concerned? He could have gotten in an accident on the way home and has been lying in a hospital since last night. Or worse… a morgue.
I’ve never peeled out of the garage so fast. I make the fifteen-minute drive to his apartment in nine minutes. His car is in his parking place, completely unscathed.
He’s home? Why hasn’t he answered?
I debate for approximately thirty seconds if it’s worth knocking on his door, only to be greeted by the family he doesn’t want to know about me. Like they’d ever check on him, though, so I’m out and rushing up the steps without regret. If one of them answers, I’ll find a damned excuse.
I feel like a stranger, having only been here the morning after his prom night. I’ve never felt slighted about that, no matter what he thinks, but now I’m starting to second guess things. We shouldn’t be in the shadows. He shouldn’t have to hide us. I know he doesn’t want to, and that only makes me worry more now that something’s going on he hasn’t told me about. The way he panicked in the park that day when we saw Heather—I didn’t even know he was capable of being so scared.
The lights are off, and my knocking goes unanswered, just like my messages. If he’s fallen down, injured in there, I will never forgive myself for not breaking down the door. Where in the hell can he be?
By the time I get home and change, I’ve run through every possible scenario I can think of. Maybe one of his family members is sick or dead, but I saw Randy getting off the elevator this morning, so why would only Cam be summoned? Maybe he didn’t need to take his car because he was the one who was sick, and an ambulance picked him up.
It’s nine o’clock by the time I’ve called every hospital in the area and even those that are outside the radius that would serve our zip code. My only other option is to call his family, but that’s where I have to force my overactive brain to stop. How would I even explain why I was calling about someone who should be a stranger to me?
Forcing myself to get into bed, I dial his number one more time. It rings once and goes to voicemail, just like the last time.
“Cam…I don’t know what’s going on, but I hope you’re okay. Please call me back and let me know you’re okay.”
As I hit the end button, I don’t know why I haven’t told him I love him. Hopefully, I’m being fucking ridiculous and there’s a plausible explanation for what seems like him up and disappearing, but still… He should know that I love him. Maybe if he knew, he’d know how unbelievably worried I am right now and put me out of my misery.
Turning onto my side, I remember the night I set his shirt button on my nightstand. Opening the drawer, I retrieve it, having hidden it away out of embarrassment for the obsessive act of claiming it as my own. It’s a sad memento right now, doing little to comfort me, but I press my fingertip to it as though it will somehow summon him.
“You’d better be okay,” I whisper to it in the darkness. “Wherever you are, be okay.”
CHAPTER 28
