"How did you know where to find me?"
The plane had taken off about fifteen minutes ago and we were officially on our way back to Winnipeg. The sky outside my window was pitch black, as if my mood was responsible for giving it its pigment.
Angela, who was sitting in the seat next to me, shrugged.
"Because I know you, Camille," she said, shooting me a look. "And I knew you'd want to confront Taylor to ask him if it was true."
I winced.
"Angela, it wasn't that I didn't believe you..."
"I know," she smiled sadly. "You just didn't want to believe me."
That was an understatement.
"Yeah," I murmured, glancing down at my hands, which were folded on my lap.
"Before we left I had asked Lawson for the address to Taylor's apartment. Wanna know something crazy? I actually left the convention centre at the same time you did. In fact, I took an Uber and ended up getting there first. I was just sitting there in the lobby with a newspaper in front of my face and I saw you walk in."
Despite the way I was feeling—really shitty, in case you didn't know—the image made me smile. It was such an Angela thing, to add a dramatic flair to everything.
"I can totally see you like that."
"But thank god you didn't. Seriously, though, what were you thinking walking?"
I shrugged but the small movement ached. Great. After my stomach decided to expel itself in Taylor's sink, the nausea subsided, only to be replaced with a budding headache and sore muscles. The sorest of all were in my lower back. I'd bet money that by the time I arrived home, I'd have a red stain on my underwear.
"I thought it would be good to help clear my head."
"Camille, it was freezing out!"
She was right. About two minutes into the walk I was regretting my transportation method.
"Alright folks," Dr. Greystein said, twisting her body around so that she could face her students. "I was really impressed with the way you all carried yourselves today. I hope you all enjoyed the convention. Even though I'm sure you guys are all exhausted—I know I am—there's one more activity I have for you guys. I'm going to hand around a copy of a short survey, asking for your feedback about the day. It'll be anonymous, of course, so please answer honestly."
Angela looked at me.
"Want me to fill in yours for you?"
That would be wonderful, actually. I barely paid attention all day, so I wasn't sure how helpful my responses would be. Honestly, though, I just didn't have any energy, desire, or brain power to dedicate to the task.
"Yeah, thanks."
Ang nodded as she began to answer both surveys at the same time, filling in the same question on each sheet before moving on to the next.
"I'm going to say you hated everything," she whispered.
Again, I smiled. The amount of times Angela had been able to make me smile while in this horrendous mood had to be some form of world record.
Angela was the best.
And I didn't deserve a friend like her.
"All done," she announced, stretching her arms out in front of her.
"Thanks. Angela, seriously, I feel so horrible of how I've treated you, you have no idea."
"No, I think I have some idea," she said, looking at me with soft eyes. "I know how hard you are on yourself, Camille. I know you're beating yourself up right now."
Yeah, because I should be.
"Yeah. I want you to know that I was never mad at you. You were just telling me things I didn't want to hear and then once I realized how much of a bitch I had been, I was so ashamed that I couldn't even face you."
Angela shifted so that more of her body was directed towards mine.
"Whoa, you're making it seem like you tried to murder me. You may have just said some things you regretted—and I did too, by the way—but you were heartbroken. Honestly, you could call me a bitch a thousand times if it'd make you feel better when you're hurting."
"My god, I really did call you a bitch."
She laughed. "You did."
"Ang, I'm so sorry."
"You said that already," she joked.
I just nodded in response. My throat was constricting, and my lips felt glued together. I was emotional. The only thing I could do was try to make my eyes as big as possible so that the tears didn't fall.
"Camille, please don't cry. Now you're breaking my heart. Are you crying about... him?"
I shook my head.
I'd deal with The Taylor Situation later. Now was about Angela.
"I'm okay, seriously. I think this was the first time in our entire friendship that we've actually been mad at each other."
"Yeah, you're right." My voice sounded thick, but my words were still understandable. "Because I'm too afraid of confrontation."
"Could've fooled me!"
That one didn't work. I tried to smile but the crushing weight of the guilt pulled my lips down into a frown. Angela looked at me with a sympathetic expression.
"Camille, can you promise me one thing?"
I nodded.
"Don't pull away from me. Don't punish yourself by avoiding me because you think it's what you deserve. These things happen, but our friendship is stronger this. Okay?"
"Yeah, okay."
"Good. That's my girl."
She hooked her arm into mine and we spent the rest of the flight connected at the elbows.
We didn't get home until after midnight local time. I knew that by the time we got organized and got our bags after the plane landed, it would be a few hours past my parents' bedtime. So, even though I was almost certain that they'd be waiting up for me, they'd be way too tired to drive safely. Considering that the school was also willing to pay for taxi rides from the airport to wherever we had to go, it didn't make sense to risk it.
Angela had been asleep on her feet for the past two hours. I envied that. I was tired, sure, and my muscles were aching, but I also felt strangely alert.
Actually, focused would probably be the better word. I couldn't stop thinking about The Taylor Situation and what had gone down at his condo. It was weird, though, because I simultaneously was always thinking about it, but then also had seconds of time when I'd just forget about it. And then, of course, I'd remember it all and my heart would break for the millionth time.
Angela had fallen asleep on my shoulder during the taxi ride, which was quite an accomplishment, considering the drive from the airport to the dorms was not even twenty minutes.
"Ang, wake up. It's time to get out," I whispered, giving her a little nudge.
Her eyes opened sleepily and I worried if she would be able to make it in okay. I offered to help her to her dorm, but she denied. She was looking a lot more awake by the second, so I didn't push.
"Take care, Ang."
"You too," she said, slamming the door of the car. "I filled in your survey, okay?"
Alrighty then.
So, she wasn't as coherent as she looked.
I told the taxi driver to wait until she got in safely before driving away.
When he dropped me off at my house, I felt the exhaustion hit my body and mind all at once as I grabbed my suitcase out of the trunk. I dragged it up our stairs, more than likely scuffing the material.
Not that I really cared.
I was sounding really cynical and selfish, wasn't I?
But guess what?
I didn't care.
I let myself in with my key and could see the faint glow of the TV in the living room as soon as I stepped into the entrance.
I peeked my head into the living room and saw the two of them on the couch together, asleep. My dad was sitting upright with his neck hanging back over the couch. Yeah, there was no way that that could be comfortable. The things my parents did for me.
"Mom, Dad. I got home safely. You guys can go to bed now, thanks for waiting."
My dad's eyes snapped open and he mumbled something incoherent before he zombie-walked down the hallway to his room. My mom got up more slowly and yawned. Her short hair was standing up in a thousand different directions and she looked so small and cute.
"You okay, sweetie?"
I wanted to burst into tears and scream that I wasn't, that I needed her to sleep in my bed with me so that we could talk. But she looked so tired that I couldn't do that to her.
"I'm really tired, but okay. Go to bed, I'll see you tomorrow."
She kissed my cheek and I watched her walk away before I made my way to my own room.
Fuck this.
The only thing I did before I plopped into bed was wash my hands. But as I lay there in my blazer and skinny pants, I realized just how freaking uncomfortable the outfit was, so I changed into my pajamas.
Teeth brushing and face washing, be damned.
I loved to sleep so I was always thankful whenever I could crawl into bed but I was especially thankful for it tonight. My mind—and my heart—needed a break. Just a few hours of eyes closed, mind quiet, and peace before it all came crashing back in the morning.
As I lay there, though, I couldn't keep my eyes closed for more than five seconds at a time. I'd close them, and then pop! they'd open right away again.
Jesus.
Even my body, which felt like it was made of stone, couldn't get comfortable. I tossed and turned with my eyes open, struggling to get comfortable. This was why my period ruined so many sheets, because I could never get comfortable in a normal position. I had one leg here and one leg there and my night pad always moved.
Anyway, I digress.
I wasn't even in my bed for thirty minutes when I realized that it was going to be a hard night.
I was right.
I didn't sleep. At. All.
No exaggeration.
My head kept turning to look at the clock on the nightstand and I saw every hour on the screen.
So, we were going to do this now, eh? We're going to deal with The Taylor Situation now?
Fine.
God, that boy broke my heart.
That was a good place to start, wasn't it? Obvious, but very true.
The next thing I thought about was how much Taylor had lied. Or more accurately, failed to tell me.
I still couldn't comprehend—and spoiler alert: I never would—why he thought putting his pleasure above my feelings was a good thing to do.
I wasn't that special. My body wasn't that special. If he wanted to have sex, he could have it with any woman who was willing. And it looked like he knew that.
But why he insisted he had to do it with me, I'll never know.
And he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew (did I mention that he knew?) that he was in the wrong. He had even admitted himself that there was a war going on inside him. I'm not sure what I thought he meant when he said that—maybe he didn't know if I wanted it, or if it'd ruin the friendship—but I do know that the reality never crossed my mind.
Taylor said that he regretted sleeping with me. That's probably something that no one wants to hear, but it especially hurt in that moment. Like I wasn't even worth it.
Now, though, I think I regretted it as well. I wanted my first time to be special, to be with someone who loved me, and that I loved. Not all those criteria were met. I know that now.
Because Taylor doesn't love me.
He doesn't love me.
He doesn't love me.
I heard that loud and clear.
And who the fuck did he think he was making me fall in love with him when he hardly felt anything for me? And bull-fucking-shit that he didn't know what he did to make me think that we had something.
You're my best friend.
I'll always be on your team.
You're beautiful, you know that?
Massaging my neck. Buying my brother's hat. Making sure his mom knew I was a picky eater.
Was he just a good guy, though? Maybe he really was just trying to be nice to me and I had such little experience with guys that I misinterpreted every kind word and gesture as a sign of love.
Maybe.
Clearly, I knew dip.
I wasn't completely delusional, however. I knew that I wasn't his girlfriend and I was pretty sure we weren't even dating. And I was okay with those things.
Somewhere along the way, I had stupidly convinced myself that we were friends who turned into lovers. I thought we had become each other's persons.
I was a huge idiot.
Like I was actually a loser.
Angela was right. It wasn't like me to sleep with someone without knowing how they felt about me. It just came back to bite me in the ass. When I look back at that weekend and the time I spent with his teammates, I feel so ashamed. They probably knew exactly what was going on and I was having the time of my life.
Loser.
But when all the layers of hurt were pulled apart, one stood out as being the toughest. The most hurtful.
Why didn't Taylor love me? Why couldn't he love me?
What was so wrong with me that someone could be my friend and want to sleep with me but not love me?
Was I unlovable?
I wasn't beautiful, but I thought that didn't matter where love was concerned.
Did Taylor try to stop himself from feeling something strong for me? Did he not want to be something serious with the shy, mousy girl from Winnipeg?
Maybe I was a temporary fix in his hockey world and he had become all of mine.
It was stupid of me to even think someone like Taylor would love someone like me. I was actually lucky that we became friends and that he was attracted to me for at least one night. Because I was the type of person who shouldn't be greedy.
That was the lowest my thinking had become.
By the time those awful thoughts filled my head, it was six in the morning. My parents would be awake soon and I hadn't slept a wink. Thankfully, though, I could feel the sleep coming. I picked up my phone and sent a text to my mom.
Me: I'm not feeling well and I didn't sleep at all. Please let me sleep in.
As soon as I hit 'send,' I fell asleep.
And I stayed asleep for the entire day.
If I lived alone, I would've been a complete mess. I would barely eat, I'd sleep too much, and it's questionable if I would show up to my classes. (I probably would, though. School was too important to me.)
Thankfully, I didn't. Sharing the space with my parents made me accountable. I was determined to keep my unhappy state from them because I didn't want them to worry. Usually I wouldn't hesitate with telling my mom something, but I wanted to keep this under wraps. I was afraid she'd be disappointed in me. After all, it was unlike me to have such poor judgement.
So, I showered, showed-up, and did my best. It had only been a few days since I got back from Toronto, but it felt like weeks, so I thought my effort was commendable.
It was a busy time in the semester, and I had my thesis to finish up, which kept me busy and locked in my room. I was thankful for my schoolwork. It gave me a distraction, but it also gave me something that I could work on and be proud of.
Annoyingly, my phone kept beeping with text messages and phone calls from Taylor. It seemed like every day he called me once and sent a few text messages. I didn't respond to any. All messages went deleted without being read. I'd usually have my phone off while I was studying, but I was keeping my phone on loud and watching it like a hawk because graduate school results were due out any moment.
I was only waiting for responses from Vancouver and the other city. (I couldn't bear to think 'Toronto.' I was beginning to hate that place.) The Vancouver ones were coming out this week whereas the city-that-shall-not-be-named was not for another week.
Thinking about getting the results made me giddy. It was scary and exciting. Most good things usually are.
As I was writing up the Method section of my thesis, my phone dinged with the tone I set for emails. Like I was racing against the clock, I checked it.
Grr.
It was just a promotional email from Sephora. So not what I wanted to see right now.
A few minutes later, it dinged again.
I picked my phone up less enthusiastically this time. It was probably just another stu—
Oh my god.
It was from University of Vancouver.
Eep! Eep! Eep!
Before I opened the email, I took a deep breath. I wanted this so badly. I had worked so hard and I had never needed some good news more before in my life.
I opened it.
And...
Oh my.
I didn't get in.
I did not get in.
I read that line over again. And again. It didn't change.
Holy crap. I was rejected. My body felt shaky in disbelief. I knew the program was competitive, but I had thought I at least had a shot.
Camille's stupidity strikes again.
I felt like a deflated balloon. But instead of one that lets the air out gently and gradually, it felt like I was just popped. Within an instant, I was destroyed.
This seemed unfair. Come on, how much can one person take? Yeah, I was being a brat. There were so many people who had it worse than me in the world, but I couldn't think of one in that moment. Besides, was it such a crime to think of myself and my problems for once?
I had absolutely zero motivation to do any more homework. It was getting late anyways. Even if was still early in the day, though, I still would have given up.
I needed my parents right now.
Too bad just half-hour ago they had come to my room to say goodnight. Each of them kissed me on the cheek and told me that they were proud of me.
I walked across the hall to their bedroom and pushed their door open. The moonlight from the window cast a grey light on my mom's sleeping face.
Was I really just about to wake my mother? I really was a bad person.
But I needed her.
"Mommy?" I cried.
Her eyes opened almost immediately. It must be some maternal instinct, to hear your children when they call you, even if you're asleep. And even if they're twenty-one.
"Yeah?"
I heard the rustling of her sheets as she sat up.
"Can you come sleep with me right now? I need you."
Without waking my dad up, she got herself off her bed, walked over to me, and placed her hands on my face.
"What's wrong, sweetie?"
We were already in my dark room when I answered her and moved my study materials off my bed.
"I didn't get into University of Vancouver."
"Oh, no. How do you know?"
"They just sent me an email."
With both of us under my covers, I began to cry. Hard.
"Sorry for waking you up, by the way."
"You call me whenever you need me. I didn't know you wanted to go to that school so badly."
I shrugged.
It was a very good program, but I also heard a few bad things about it. Still, being rejected sucked.
Without even meaning to have this conversation now, I said this: "It's not just that that's bothering me."
I felt my mom's body freeze beside mine.
"What's going on?"
She tried to keep her tone light, but I could hear the fear in it. I hated myself in that moment.
"You know you can tell me anything."
So I did. I told her.
Everything.
That my feelings for Taylor had evolved from friendship to love. That I knew I had a crush on him a while ago but didn't realize it was love until I visited him in Pasadena. Surprisingly, my mom knew that I was feeling that way, at least to some extent. She said she could tell with the way I looked at him when he was over for dinner.
"And what? He doesn't feel the same way?" she asked gently.
"He doesn't." I paused and grabbed a tissue from the side table and blew my nose.
"I'm so sorry."
She continued to say that heartbreak hurts and that it's hard to know what the other person is feeling and then I interrupted her.
"Mommy," I said, my voice breaking.
"Yeah?"
She said that word like the sound of my voice terrified her.
"I slept with him."
I was glad it was dark so I couldn't see her face but her gasp said enough.
"I'm so sorry. I went against everything that you and Daddy taught me. I gave a boy what he wanted without knowing if he loved me. Are you mad at me?"
"Sweetie, no. How could I be mad at you? I'm so sad for you. You're breaking my heart."
My god, she was crying. I cried even harder and I let her hold me and gently rock me.
"Why wasn't I enough? What's wrong with me?"
Now her gentle rocks became hard shakes.
"Stop! There is nothing wrong with you, okay? And you weren't enough because you were more than enough!"
I nodded and the door to my bedroom opened.
"What's going on in here?" my dad asked sleepily.
"Camille's just a little sad," my mom said, giving me knee a tight squeeze. "She didn't get into a school she wanted to."
"Oh, puppy, I'm so sorry," he said as he took a few steps toward us. "Here, move over."
My dad flicked on my bedside lamp and passed my mom and I more tissues. We stayed up for an hour, the three of us sitting on my bed and telling each other stupid jokes until we were all laughing and no one was crying.
And my heart began to mend.