I feel too guilty to stay in the house, so I go on a walk. It's snowing a little, just dusting, nothing too bad. I'm a few blocks away when I realize I forgot my phone. I also forgot a coat, and a scarf, so I bury my chin down against my sweatshirt and blink up into the cold.
From across the street, I pass a group of grade school kids walking home together. Their laughter carries across the road, and they're wearing colorful toques and backpacks. It's late afternoon, so school must have been let out recently. One kid shoves the other teasingly, another gathers the dusty snow and tries to throw a snowball. One walks backwards, facing the group, talking loudly. They are radiating with happiness.
I wonder where Cameron is. A small part of me is scared that he's driven away and will never come back - another part is scared that his car will spin on black ice and be slammed into by a truck, like what happened to my parents. It puts things into perspective, in a way. It's okay if Cameron hates me, as long as he's alive. It's okay if he never speaks to me, as long as he's safe.
I walk until the cold has settled into my bones and I'm numb all over. I realize, looking around the familiar streets, that I've made a loop and am near the neighborhood ice rink. I kick snow off my boots and go inside.
It's been awhile since I've been here, but the smell is so striking. Sweaty hockey jerseys, the leather of ice skates, the sheeny scent of freshly zambonied ice. There's a figure skating lesson happening on the ice - a handful of little girls and boys, all of them under six years old, toddling around the ice with an instructor beside them. Miniature orange cones are placed around the rink.
I watch from the wall, leaning beside the trophy cases, waiting for warmth to seep back into my body. I feel it first in my fingers. I should've grabbed a coat. Is Cameron okay?
"Is that really Sam Hughes?"
I step away from the wall and smile. "George!"
George smiles gruffly and reaches out to grab my shoulder. "My god, look at you! You look so much older! I haven't seen you in so long!"
"It's been forever since I've been here," I admit.
I haven't thought about George in awhile, the kind elderly man who owns the rink. He's sweet to everyone, but I know he views Cameron like a son, even if neither will admit it. George pats the pockets of his St. Anne Lions windbreaker and tilts his head, scanning my face.
"So - Sam! I hear you're at Harvard!" George nods his head approvingly. "Very impressive stuff, young man. Not that I'm surprised. Cameron tells me all about you, how smart you are."
"Cameron talks about me?"
"Oh, from time to time! Whenever he's back in town, he tries to pay me a visit."
"Oh," I say. I pull my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands. "And how are you, George?"
"I'm doing just fine, just fine. Excited for Christmas, that's for sure. My daughter and her three kids are coming in to visit from Quebec."
"That's so exciting!"
"Yeah, it should be fun." George looks around the rink. "So what brings you here? Want to join in on the skating lesson?"
"I was just walking by and thought I'd pop in."
"Well, you know you're welcome here anytime. The lesson is finished in about ten minutes, and then I have to close things up for the day, gotta to run by the bank before they close. But you're welcome to stay here, if you'd like, s'long as you don't go on the ice."
I smile, and George winks at me good-naturedly. "Thank you, George," I say.
"Of course. Glad I ran into you. If I don't see you again before the holidays, Merry Christmas!"
"You too."
I sit down on the bleachers and press my knuckles to my mouth. I watch the little kids until the lesson is over, and they slowly trickle out the front door with their parents, one by one. Then I close my eyes. I really am tired. Usually when I try to sleep, nightmares wake me up. Not that it matters. I'll have nightmares every night, as long as Cameron is safe.
Time slips away from me. I think I even doze off, for a few minutes. God, I don't want to go back to the Becketts' house. I don't want to go to my house, either. I don't want to go to Harvard for second semester. And then there's nowhere left to go.
I think about Marly, and when she kissed me. No, that's not fair. When I kissed her. I think about Dr. Howard. If I can't take chemistry in the spring, what am I supposed to do? I think about Willem and Max. I think about Tom. I'm so tired of thinking.
I hear the door swing loudly, and I open my eyes. "George?" I call out. But it's Cameron standing by the entrance, his hands in his pockets, white snow in his dark hair.
He looks surprised. "Sam? What are you doing here?"
I don't know what to say, because I don't know what I'm doing here. "I stopped in to warm up."
Cameron wavers on his feet, like he's thinking about turning around and going back outside, but then he walks towards me. He sits on the bleachers. He looks me up and down.
"You walked here?"
"Yeah, went on a walk."
"Wearing that?"
"Yeah."
"It's cold out. You don't have a coat."
I don't answer, and we sit in silence. Cameron sighs, defeated, and rubs his face tiredly. I notice his knuckles are red and cracked, like he punched something, or cracked them nonstop. "I don't know what you want me to do, Sam," he finally says.
"I know."
"Why'd you do it?" I hear the pain in his voice and can't bring myself to look him in the eyes. "Why'd you do it? Do you not want to be together anymore? If that's it, just tell me -"
"No. No. That's not it."
"Is it something I did? Is it something I didn't do?"
"No."
"Is it -" he chews the inside of his lip. "Do you - do you miss being with a girl?"
I curl my hand underneath my chin and stare at my boots as they start to blur. "No," I whisper. "Not at all."
"I just don't understand."
"I don't understand either," I say. "I really don't know. It didn't mean anything. And maybe I am bixesual. And I know that's not an excuse. Maybe I was just confused. Or lonely."
Cameron stays silent.
"And none of those are excuses. I don't have an excuse. I was just sad, and stupid. I'm always sad. And I just - I feel like you don't really know me. You know me, but you don't. There are lots of different sides to me, you know. I am a bad person."
I wait for Cameron to say something, but he doesn't, and I feel the need to keep talking.
"And I'm not even a smart person. Harvard is - I mean, I failed. At everything. My most important classes. And you have this wonderful image of me in your head but it's just not true. I wish it was. God, I wish so badly it was. But I'm not a good person. I'm not a good person. And you know that now." I pause and take a breath, and squeeze my eyes shut. "And I don't want to break up at all - I want to spend all my time with you. You're the - you're the best person I've ever met. But I understand why you want to break up. And at least now we know. I want to thank you for taking care of Tom, even though you didn't have to. And for being yourself. And I just wanted to apologize. Sincerely, truly apologize. I am so sorry. For everything. Everything."
We sit in silence. I hear Cameron's breathing, and after awhile I look up at him. He's not crying, but he looks upset.
"I don't want to break up," he says, and his voice is steady. "Don't think that. I'm just mad."
Cameron can be mad at me, as long as he's safe.
"And those things you said, that's not true," he continues. "You are a good person. And you are smart. I don't like it when you say that, cause I'm scared you believe it." He runs his fingers through his hair and squints out towards the ice. "I'm mad, Sam. I'm mad at you. I think I'll be mad for a little bit."
"Okay."
"But I kinda really love you. I'm mad at you, but I love you. Okay?"
I pull my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands as something inside me breaks, a wall of relief, a wave of crushing love. "I love you too," I say, but it's hard to get the words out, and they sound strangled and whispered.
Cameron exhales deeply and squints towards the trophy case. "I don't like that you kissed someone else," he says slowly. "I really don't. But if you say it didn't mean anything, then I - I trust you. And I know the past year has been hard. And I don't mind about your sexuality, okay? And it's okay if you don't know. Just be honest with me. Got it?"
"Yes."
"And I want you to see someone. For depression."
I don't know what to say. Depression? And then I say - "Okay."
A few minutes go by, and neither of us say anything.
"I'm going to drive you home now," says Cameron. "Because it's cold. And you don't have a coat. And then I'm going to shower and have dinner with my mom and my sisters, and you're going to have dinner with Tom, and I'm going to sleep on everything we said but I want you know that I meant it. And then tomorrow we're going Christmas shopping, because I need help buying gifts for everyone. And I'll see you tomorrow morning at ten."
Before I can reply, he stands up definitively, and I follow him. I sink into the passenger seat. A song is playing on the radio - something slow, and kind of sad - Cameron and I listened to it last November. He turns it up, and then he drives me home, and at a red light he reaches over and squeezes my hand.
A/N askdjhakjsdhak
i also have only a few weeks left before my final exams so i'll definitely be a lot busier which means less frequent updates :( i'm gonna try for one a week though! and then summer will be here soon thank god