More Than Forever

by Jay McLean

  A tear falls. I feel the warmth of it slowly trickle down my cheek, onto my chin, and finally land on the sketch.

  "What do you think?" His voice is so low, I barely hear him.

  I watch as the tear soaks into the paper, the wet stain getting wider and wider.

  He sighs, pulling me from my trance. "I have to go," he says, leaning in toward me.

  My eyes squeeze shut.

  His lips touch mine for what feels like eternity.

  And I do nothing.

  "Kiss me," he says shakily against my lips. "Please."

  "I can't, Cameron."

  "Why?"

  "Because I love you so much, and it would feel so good, but it would hurt so, so bad."

  ***

  It's close to ten at night by the time we talk. He calls and tells me Minge is at an all night cram session and asks if I want to come over. I tell him I'm tired and just want to sleep. He doesn't argue. He doesn't even sound disappointed.

  "I'm sorry," Rose says. She sits on her bed and fakes a smile.

  "For what?"

  "For what's happening between you and Cameron. I know it seems like it, but I'm not really that heavy a sleeper. I hear everything, Luce."

  My gaze drops to the floor. I don't respond. I don't know how to.

  "He'll make it right."

  I eye her now, wondering how she's so sure and I'm not. "What makes you say that?"

  "Because he's Cameron. And you’re Lucy. You're team Luca. You guys are forever. If you two can't make it work, then we're all screwed."

  ***

  For the first time in a long time, I'm smiling. Finals, at least for me, are over. I throw my arms in the air, celebrating. "Freeeeeedom," I mock shout.

  "Okay settle down," Micky says. "Some of us aren't done yet." She pulls on my hand until I'm sitting on the floor with her, between two shelves of books. We're in the library where a lot of students are, studying their asses off. "Now be the bestest friend in the whole wide world and help me," she pleads, her eyes wide.

  "Okay," I laugh. "Let's see what you got."

  After three hours, she finally closes her books. "I'm done," she moans. "My brain can't take anymore."

  "I don't know why you're so worried, you got this."

  She starts to pack up and I do the same.

  "So you and Cam are hanging around for the weekend for his work and then what? You go home for a couple weeks?"

  At the mention of his name, any semblance of happiness fades. That was the plan. He couldn't get off work at the firm for the weekend so we were both going to hang around. It was only one weekend at the firm, and then he was free from there until next school year. He still needed to work at the store, but he was able to get his shifts covered for two weeks so we could go home and visit with our families, and then we'd have to come back. Jake and Micky were going back to Jake's for the rest of the summer and said we could stay there. The plan was perfect. Until it wasn't.

  I do my best to fake a smile and nod, knowing that she'd want to talk about it if she knew something was up. I didn't want her to worry, and I didn't want to talk about it. She rushes to leave so she can catch Jake before he has an exam. I hang around and read for a bit, knowing that Rose won't be done for another hour. I don't want to talk about what's been going on with Cam, but I don't want to be alone either.

  When I know it's time, I start to make my way to the exit.

  -CAMERON-

  Roxy called and asked if I needed help with tomorrow's final. I told her I'd need a second brain because my current one was useless. She laughed at that, and said to meet her in the library. I called Lucy before I left. I wanted her to know what I was doing. If she flat out said not to, I wouldn't have, but she didn't answer. And I sure as shit needed the help.

  "Sometimes I watch you," Roxy whispers from next to me.

  "That's not creepy."

  She chuckles, the huskiness in her voice coming out full force. "No. I mean when you're sketching, or planning. It's like you're bored. Like you wish your fingers would do something more exciting than draw straight lines. Do you draw? For fun, I mean?"

  I shrug, not knowing what else to do.

  "I want to be an artist, Cam," she starts. "I wish that there were some form of job security in being an artist, but there isn't. So I design. I don't love it, but I do it. Why do you do it?"

  I turn to her now, but she's already looking at me. "Lucy's the only one that's seen my work. She thinks I should show the world. She tries to get me to enter competitions, even if it's anonymously. She thinks I'm good, but I don't know if she's just saying it for the sake of saying it. I don't even know if she knows what good is."

  "Show me."

  "I don't have anything."

  "Bullshit," she clips. "If you're anything like me, you do it whenever something inspires you. Don't be afraid." She draws a cross over her heart with her finger. "I'll be honest. If it's shit, I'll tell you. How else are you going to know?"

  I push down my nerves. My palms are already sweaty from the thought of actually showing someone else.

  "Come on," she encourages.

  I reach down into my backpack and pull out a sheet of paper. I unfold it and place it face down on the table. "Show me," she says, bouncing in her seat.

  I suck in a huge breath and forcefully blow it out.

  And then I flip it.

  She gasps.

  I hold my breath.

  And then...

  "Cameron?"

  Lucy.

  My eyes lift.

  My world ends.

  -LUCY-

  Sometimes I wonder what it was like for Mom—to know that every day things went from bad to worse—and she couldn't do anything about it. And then I wonder what it felt like for her when the fight was over and she took her last breath.

  For years I wondered.

  But right now, I think I know.

  My eyes are fixed on the sketch as my tears cause it to blur with each passing second. It's Cameron's work. I know it is—because I live and breathe his art. When he's not around, I stare at the pages—for hours sometimes. Sketch after sketch, pictures of me, and of our life together.

  But the one I'm looking at—it's not me.

  It's her.

  He's on his feet moving toward me, but I can't move. I can't tear my eyes away from his drawing of her.

  "Baby," he says, panic clear in his voice.

  My eyes shut tight. More tears than I thought I could hold stream down my face.

  I flinch when he touches me.

  "Fuck Lucy, it's not—"

  I turn away before he can finish. I run outside, where I finally let myself breathe.

  "Lucy," he shouts after me, pulling on my arm so I'm facing him. "It's not—"

  "Stop it!" I shout through my sob. "Just stop, Cameron! I don't want to hear it."

  He pulls at his hair and curses the sky. Then he looks down at me through his lashes. "I love you, Lucy," he sighs.

  That's it.

  That's all he says.

  My fists ball. My heart pounds hard against my chest. I want to yell. I want to scream. But I don't do either. Instead, I clench my jaw and I whisper, "I don't believe you."

  He steps forward, reaching for me again. But I pull back, disgusted by his touch.

  I try. I try so fucking hard to keep it in. To hold it together. But I can't. I can't fucking do it anymore. "When did you draw her?"

  He shakes his head and says my name again. But it's not a fucking answer. And it's not enough.

  "When!"

  He rubs his eyes along his forearm. He's crying. Good. He fucking deserves to. "When she was in my dorm once."

  I feel the bile rise in my throat. I want to puke. I want so badly to feel something else. Something not this. My hand presses against my stomach—hoping to ease the ache. "Were you alone?" I let out another sob as I imagine them. Working together. Alone. So alone that he had time to draw her.

  He drops his head, but his eye
s—they stay on mine. And then he nods, just once, but it's more than enough.

  And even though I already knew the answer, it doesn't stop the pain, or the anger.

  "Lucy, it doesn't mean anything."

  And then I lose it.

  I shove his chest so hard it makes him fall back a step. "It doesn't mean anything?" I shout. "Cameron. You said I was your art. You said I was your heart. And now you're saying that it doesn't mean anything?"

  His hand reaches for me again but I push it away. I hate that he can make me feel like this. I hate that he can make me hate him.

  I drop my shoulders and try to level my breathing. I try to speak, but my voice is strained. "That was mine, Cam. Your art was mine. It was something you shared with me. Only me." My body shakes with each sob. "You gave her a piece of me. A piece of us. You shared something that was so special to me, and you gave it to someone else. You gave her your heart, Cam."

  He just stands there watching me, not able to say a word. Because he knows—he can't say anything to make it better.

  To make it stop.

  To make it right.

  I turn around, walk to my car, and rush to get in, just so I can cry in peace. So I can let my heart shatter.

  He follows, getting in the passenger's seat. "Lucy, please."

  "Get out!"

  "Baby."

  "Cam! STOP!"

  He flinches at the harshness of my words, but I don't care.

  "You need to stop. All of it. Just stop! Please. You can't keep hurting me like this." I'm pleading with him, begging him to leave me the fuck alone. "I can't take anymore of it!" I drop my head on the steering wheel and I cry. And cry. And cry. "It hurts so much," I say to no one.

  I hear him sniff, see him wiping his eyes, but I can't force myself to care.

  He created this.

  He made this happen.

  "It hurts so fucking much," I tell him now. "You hurt me." I sit up so I can face him. "Just get out, please, Cameron."

  He throws his head back against the seat. And that's how we stay. Me watching him. Him crying. Me sobbing. Feeling everything around us slowly fade away.

  I'm fading.

  To blackness.

  Just like Mom did.

  Then he opens the door and steps out of the car—not a single word spoken.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  -LUCY-

  I spent all night crying so hard that I threw up. Numerous times. I told Rose I got drunk to celebrate end of finals—she didn't believe me, but she didn't call me out. She held my hair while I did everything I could to not knock on Cameron's door and demand an explanation. She helped me into bed, and held me while I cried—until I was so fucking exhausted from all of it that my cries finally lost their fight to control me.

  *

  When Minge opens the door to their room the next morning with a smile on his face, I don't question it.

  When he sees that it's me and his face falls, and he partially closes the door, alarm bells start ringing.

  When I ask him what's up and to open the door, and all he does is shake his head, I know something's wrong.

  I flatten my palm against the door and shove it forward. He doesn't stop me.

  When I see Roxy sitting on Cameron's bed, I die a little.

  The bathroom door opens and he steps out, wearing nothing but sweatpants and a towel around his neck. He sees me first, and whatever look I have on my face—he matches. And then his eyes move to the girl on his bed. The one I can't bring myself to look at.

  "Fuck," he spits, hurriedly taking the steps to get to me.

  I step back, with my hands up so he knows I don't want him near me.

  I swallow down the puke that's threatening to make its way out. My hands ball, but there's something in my right hand stopping me from forming a fist. And then reality sets in, and I remember why I'm here. I throw the phone past his head and watch it smash against a wall, shattering to pieces.

  Just like my fucking heart.

  He doesn't flinch.

  He doesn't take his eyes off me.

  "Your phone must have fallen out of your pocket when you were in my car. Your mom called—wanted to know about dinner tonight. I said yes, because I didn't have the heart to tell her."

  He steps forward, out of his room, and closes the door behind him. "Tell her what?"

  I shake my head, trying to settle my heart. Trying to calm myself down. Trying to stop myself from punching him in the fucking face.

  "Tell her what, Luce?"

  "That her son's an asshole."

  If possible, his frown deepens.

  And I do my best to act like I don't care—when inside, all I want to do is forgive him. Hold him. Love him.

  -CAMERON-

  "You're pissed at me?" Roxy says, linking arms with mine as we walk out of the final exam.

  I yank my arm away from her grip. "I'm not pissed at you. I'm pissed at the entire fucking world, but you're not making shit easier for me. I mean, I'm grateful for your help, but you showing up in my room uninvited—"

  "Hey, it's not the first time. Last time I showed up to help you study you didn't seem to have an issue."

  I sigh, defeated. Because she's right. Everyone's right, and I'm fucking wrong.

  "Anyway," she perks up. "I made a few phone calls about your car—turns out my cousin jacked your wheels, he apologizes." She lets out a cynical laugh. "He spent today putting them back on, but we need to catch the bus back to my house."

  With all the shit going on with Lucy and finals, my car was the last thing on my mind.

  I shove my hand in my pocket searching for my phone to text Lucy, but I don't have one because she decided it was a fucking good idea to smash it against a wall. When she did it, I didn't care. Now—I'm a little pissed.

  "Let's go," I tell Roxy. "But I need to go straight there and back, I don't have time to fuck around."

  *

  "I was gonna hotwire it and take it for a spin," Roxy's cousin, Joe, says. "But Rox said she'd grab my balls and put 'em in a vice. Ain't nobody want that shit."

  I laugh.

  He continues. "She's got that Latina fire, you know?"

  My eyes snap to Roxy. "You're Latina?"

  She scoffs.

  He snorts. "What? The big titties and fat ass didn't give it away."

  She smacks him on the back of the head. He chuckles, but then his eyes narrow. "How long you two been bumpin' uglies?"

  I choke.

  She speaks for me. "We're not. Cam has a girl."

  "Huh," he says in response, then turns to Rox. "Yo, last final today right?"

  She nods.

  "Good. I got you a case of beers—put it in your studio. Let's drink."

  "Sounds like a plan," she says through her own chuckle.

  Joe eyes me for a moment. "What about you, rich kid? Up for a beer?"

  It's not really a question, because his hand has curled around my neck and he's already leading me through the house.

  "I'm not rich," I tell him, feeling the buzz of the beer in my head. It was supposed to be one, but I'm on my third, or fourth. I don't know. The only thing I know is that it's the first time in a long time that I've relaxed and been able to be myself.

  "Yeah?" He eyes me up and down. "But you drive a Delorean? Those things ain't cheap."

  "My mom's boyfriend got it for me. He's rich. Not us. We're... common folk."

  "Common folk meaning poor," Roxy chimes in.

  I stand up and stumble to pull another beer from the case, not even caring that it's warm. I raise one to Joe in offering. He shakes his head. They both laugh. I don't know why. Maybe I'm slow on the uptake because of the beers, or maybe I'm just missing something. "No, bro," Joe says. "A stint in rehab and AA means I stick to the soda." He lifts his can to show me. I hadn't even realized he wasn't drinking. I let his words settle, and then howl with laughter.

  "What?" he asks, smiling as he does. "What's funny?"

  I flop back on the
couch and wait for my laughter to die down before I speak. "Just that you go to AA, but you think it's okay to jack wheels and steal shit."

  "Hey!" he says, pointing a finger at me. "I'm like a Robin Hood of the hood. Steal from the rich—give to the poor. Besides..." He shrugs. "Jacking wheels never hurt family." He and Rox share a look, but I don't delve deeper.

  "What about your girl?" Joe asks out of nowhere.

  "Lucy?"

  He shrugs. "If that's her name."

  "What about her?"

  "She common folk, too?"

  I snort with laughter. "No, dude. Her family's loaded."

  "Huh," he says. "Is she cute?"

  Instantly, I smile. I don't realize that I do, but I do. And it feels like a first. "Yeah, man. She's cute. Beautiful. Sexy as hell, really."

  "Oh, shit. You're like... in love with her?"

  "Of course," I tell him, not skipping a beat. "I've loved her since we were fifteen and I'll love her forever." I search for my phone again, before remembering I don't have one, so I pull out my wallet instead. I open it and show him the picture of us I keep in there.

  He lets out a low whistle. "Shit, man, you weren't kidding." He pats my back, as if congratulating me. He should be proud. I am proud. I did fucking good with Lucy.

  His eyebrows bunch, as if deep in thought. "I screw rich girls sometimes. Just for fun, you know? But I'd never date one. It's one thing for sex, but to be in a relationship..." His face turns to a grimace. "That's gotta be tough. I mean, for me—I'd always feel like the relationship was on a timer... until she found something better. I'd feel like I was always trying, always chasing, even though I already had the girl."

  His words hit me like a ton of fucking bricks.

  I don't respond, because I don't know how to. Instead, I stand up and grab another beer. And then another. And another.

  They continue to talk shit about their lives, their families—never once noticing me drowning in a sea of my own insecurities.

  "Yo, Cam," Joe says after I don't know how long.

  I lift my heavy head and try to push back the effects of booze when I fake a smile at him. "Yo."

  "Where's your girl tonight? Shouldn't you two be celebrating?"

  My eyes widen at his question. "Shit." And then I laugh, because I have no other fucking choice. "I gotta go."