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Chapter Thirteen
Aden
Love and friendship can be shockingly difficult to navigate. Particularly in complex situations. And it didn't really get more complicated than Camilla, Cooper, and me. Not only because Cooper was under the laughably inaccurate impression that I loved Camilla like a sister. I loved her all right, but there was nothing familial about it.
I had seen him try to go after guys for looking at her twice like it was his job to protect his little sister from the big bad world. I shuddered to think what he might, at least try, to do if he found out what Camilla and I had been doing—particularly in the bedroom. This was something that actually made me angry when I thought about it. Not only was Camilla a grown woman and able to make her own decisions, but there was also a lot more to our relationship than sex. We really liked hanging out and were teaching each other a lot of cool things.
She gave me a crash course on music genres I'd never heard of, including some metal styles like Japanese Thrash, and I was educating her on independent and alternative cartoons and comics. It was a glorious litany of art, culture, philosophy, and sex that was nothing but beautiful. Not to mention that I loved her so much it almost hurt. To think that anyone would want to sully it for any reason, let alone the petty ones that Cooper seemed to harbor, made me really angry.
This was a large part of the reason why, since the night after the club when Camilla and I decided to give our relationship a try, I had done my best to avoid Cooper. Not because of what he might do to me but out of concern for what I might end up doing to him. I had been a soldier, after all. Something Cooper seemed to have forgotten. At least going by the number of times that he'd tried to step up to me. I always stepped back, of course. Cooper know doubt thinking that I was afraid. The fact was the whole situation was so ridiculous if it went on too long, I might just burst out laughing.
It wasn't that I didn't miss Cooper as a friend. I did, but I valued what I was building with Camilla a whole lot more, and if I had to choose, which it was looking like I was going to, it was going to be Camilla every time.
Things went reasonably well the first couple of weeks. I just stuck to my work while at the office, being even more productive than I had been before and nobody being any the wiser. I was mostly being left alone to bond with Camilla and build our relationship in peace. Something I was delighted for. Any remaining doubts were long ago obliterated. Camilla was the one, and I knew it.
We even, mostly, figured out what tickets to get. I wouldn't go to the opera for just anyone, and I really thought she would enjoy it. I had been wrong about that, but the sex afterward had been amazing, so I called it a win.
As with any winning streak, there had to be a break, and mine was coming sooner than I would have hoped.
Camilla knocked on my apartment door at the usual time, breakfast tray in front of her, it being her turn to do breakfast and mine to make dinner.
“Morning,” she said, giving me a light peck on the lips.
“It certainly is,” I said, opening the door fully for her.
It was her famous cinnamon French Toast again. No matter how many times we had it, it was never any less enjoyable. Likely because she made them slightly differently every time. I wasn't sure if she knew or even if she didn’t, but it was interesting to sense the different elements. I would make silent mental lists of the ingredients in each variation.
When our plates were cleared and the dishes done—me washing and Camilla drying—we hopped into the shower for a quickie before getting dressed for work. Camilla returned to her apartment for this formality.
Each clad in our signature looks we headed down to the parking lot, hand in hand, ready to face another day.
Or so we thought.
We had to get there early so Camilla could make the beginning of her shift. Not that I minded, of course. It just gave us more time together where we didn't have to pretend we weren't a couple and gave me a couple of hours at the beginning of the day to get a start on my work. A major factor contributing to the fact that I was beginning to outpace the other artists, despite my process taking twice as much work as a digital-only guy like Cooper.
If anything, I had more in common style-wise with Carlos, who worked mostly in paper and pencils. He still managed to render clear concept images, in most cases, based on briefs Chris had given him. Though he also let me write briefs on occasion if it was a concept I was creating myself, and Chris was willing to let me run with it. I had built up a lot of trust and goodwill in the last few years that gave me more creative freedom than I would have otherwise had.
“What the fuck is going on?”
I spun in my chair spilling ink on my draft and ruining it. Had it not for Cooper demanding my attention at the cubical door, I would have been a lot more upset. I had spent about ten hours on that draft over the last two days.
“That's what I was just thinking,” I said, rolling up the ruined draft so the ink wouldn't get on the floor.
“I'm serious, man,” Cooper said as I dropped the rolled-up paper into the trash can.
I was about to point out that I was serious, too, but decided it was probably not the best idea to antagonize him any more than he already was.
“What the fuck did I do?” Cooper asked, spreading his hands wide.
“What are you talking about?”
“You've been avoiding me for weeks!”
It was then that I realized that I was hurting Cooper in a different way. It wasn't a punch in the face, but ignorance can hurt as much as an insult.
I sighed. “It's not you. It's all me. I've been seeing someone. Turns out the Larkin approach didn't work out, and I've been trying to do that and keep up with work.”
A big grin spread over Coop's face. “That's great, man! Why didn't you just tell me?”
