Just For You

by Leen Elle

  Accusations, though. That was a war tactic of Sylvia's. Cameron lifted the frosty bottle to his lips and took a swig of chilled beer. He realized that the uneasy feeling settling in his stomach was his resentment toward his mother for thinking that he would break the promises he made. Especially the promises he'd made to Alex. Cameron wouldn't even dream of hurting his brother, or choosing anyone else over him. His nostrils flared as he took another drink, shoving a hand in his pocket.

  Sure, he wasn't always around. In the past he had been known to make excuses in order to get out of attending different functions, forcing his family to get inventive with their own lies as to why Cameron wasn't there. They would talk about him lovingly, creating for him a life much more exciting than the one he lived. Before long they realized that they were doing his dirty work, and put an end to it. They stopped mentioning him altogether.

  All of Cameron's own excuses ceased once the invitations stopped coming.

  That was different, though, he scowled. Before he never really wanted to be involved. Sometimes his family was too embarrassing for him to deal with; he thought it better to be distanced so that he could keep an identity that was all his own, one which was not tied definitively to his family's- if someone thought his mother was crazy, at least they wouldn't think to themselves, "like mother, like son." It was his own twisted form of self-protection. He never got too close or too involved because it was easier to cut and run. Cameron did the same thing in relationships, never letting his family get involved in his personal life, or his personal life with his family; he never completely committed emotionally to anything or anyone because if he did it would mean there would be more trees for him to chop down when he was ready to leave the forest.

  It was a problem he'd had even as a child. His father psychoanalyzed him one or two times too many. His father tried to fix him. The only difference was, Cameron learned to be perfectly content with what his father saw as a flaw.

  But now, after that weekend with them, Cameron was torn. Imogen made him realize that he could have things a lot worse; he knew this was true, because if he hadn't had that epiphany there was no way he would have assured them he'd become more involved. Now that he made that promise, Cameron intended to stick to his word. It bothered him that his mother had such little faith in him.

  Then again, his mind jeered, maybe she had a right to be apprehensive. Cameron wasn't exactly known for his availability.

  He frowned, setting the half-consumed beer bottle on the table. The glass of the bottle on the ceramic counter tile made a hard noise when he set it down. Cameron leaned over the counter with a sigh, resting his weight on his elbows and letting his head fall into his open palms. He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands and told himself that he'd keep his word. It would be a chance to prove everyone wrong, and there was nothing better about proving someone wrong than the look on their face when he did something they expected him not to do.

  Like the karaoke bar…

  He shot up, his back going straight and rigid. He stopped and pushed the thought back to the blackest recesses of his mind.

  Still, the memory of Imogen's face was clear in his mind. It blinded him. It had been weeks since she'd come to his apartment, since he greeted her like some love-sick puppy dog before getting his heart stomped on. He shivered at the recollection of the feeling. He was disgusted for how sappy he acted toward her that afternoon. It was pathetic.

  And she left that damned journal on his counter. In the static silence of his apartment his grumbling echoed off the walls.

  He wished she would have just taken it, gotten it out of his sight. The last thing he needed around here was a memento of her presence. He made his way to the study. When he found the journal still lying on the counter that night, he couldn't help but grab the thing and throw it against the bookshelf. It was lying on the ground now, just as he left it: covers spread, pages bent where they lay on the floor. It was looming there like a nightmare incarnate.

  Cameron debated with himself. His fingers itched to pick the book up and throw it out the window, where he would never have to set eyes on it again.

  The better half of him, though, stood rooted in place. Really, he didn't have the heart. His jaw ticked when he set his teeth together, deciding to merely shut the study door and avoid it as much as possible until he could think of something better to do with the book.

  As he stomped down the hallway he ignored the voice that, against his better judgment, wished Imogen would knock on the door that very moment; he doubly ignored the voice that teased him with the reminder that he liked having the memory of Imogen in his house.

  Chapter Twelve

  I Could Not Cry, I Don't Know Why

  It started out like a normal day. According to Cameron, it was nothing out of the ordinary, slightly boring, but otherwise none too taxing. He went through work with a fog over his mind. During his lunch break he sat and tried to remember exactly what it was that he had been doing all morning but he seemed to have no recollection of it. His body was running on auto-pilot, moving and speaking and, in general, functioning on its own.

  Being numb to anything and everything was his only defense mechanism. It worked for him in the past, it would work for him now.

  One month had passed. That was all he'd allow himself to think about.

  He was sitting on his back patio, watching the neighbors- a family of five trying to make enough space out of a two bedroom apartment- as they went about their own business. Mr. Delaney was cooking hamburgers on the grill and Cameron could smell them from where he sat, a refreshing breeze blowing in his hair. It was the exact moment his stomach rumbled that the phone rang.

  This time he wasn't particularly annoyed by the shrill ringing since he was about to get up and go into the kitchen anyway. As he came around the counter he picked it up from the charger and glanced at the caller ID.

  His mother. Who else would it be?

  Biting his lip and opening the fridge door at the same time, he pressed Talk.

  "Hello?"

  "Cameron? Cameron?"

  The voice of his brother Bobby speaking, instead of his mother, threw him off guard. The panic in his voice sent a cold chill down Cameron's entire body.

  "Bobby, I'm here. What the fuck is going on?" Cameron shifted his weight to his left leg, one arm draped over the top of the refrigerator door he hadn't bothered to shut. The cool air blew onto his legs. Everything else save for the sound of Bobby's panting on the other end was forgotten.

  The seconds ticked away audibly as Bobby tried to find the right words.

  "Bobby, spit it out, damn it," Cameron growled, slamming the door. The refrigerator swayed ever so slightly.

  "Get down here as fast as you can. It's Alex, he got into a wreck."

  Cameron slammed his hand down onto the counter. He felt his knees go weak. His vision blurred, sweat broke out on his forehead, and there was a hot, white light. His throat was tight and he had to swallow three times before he could get a sound out. "What? What? Bobby, Alex… Is he okay?"

  "He's alive, but it's bad, Cameron. He was coming home from school when a car ran a red light and hit him. Just get here, okay? We'll explain everything. St. Mary's, you know where it's at."

  The line went dead and Cameron found himself gasping for air. His head was reeling; he couldn't tell left from right or up from down. The world felt like it was spinning much too fast and he wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer. His grip was slipping, slipping…

  Tears were in his eyes as he threw the phone at the ground, where it shattered. He didn't give a damn. Cameron mumbled to himself, trying to keep back the sobs as he searched for his wallet. Only through enormous effort was he able to call Todd, who offered without the slightest hesitation to drive him to the hospital.

  It was nearing 8:30 when they arrived.

  * * * *

  Imogen sat in one of two small, uncomfortable chairs in the hospital bedroom, chewing on the nail of her thumb.
Alex was in the bed, sleeping now, as peacefully as he could be. Mr. and Mrs. Moody were at either of his sides, holding his hands and praying silently. From where she sat she could see the bags under their eyes, the lines of stress and worry which etched themselves onto their foreheads many hours before.

  Bobby and Sarah were in the cafeteria, filling up on coffee. The girls were dropped off at Sarah's parent's house.

  For now Alex was doing fine. His heartbeat was steady. He was breathing. He wasn't in much pain. His family surrounded him. There was only one other person everyone was waiting on, and Imogen didn't know how Cameron would react when he saw her there, or if he would even care at all. He hadn't come for her, she reminded herself. He was coming for Alex, and Alex was all that mattered. When Sylvia called her and asked her to come to the hospital, she hesitated for a split second. But then there were no other second thoughts; Imogen had to be there for Alex. She had to make sure he was okay. All the all the animosity between she and Cameron could be put aside for a few hours.

  Everything was quiet. Then, when the doors burst open, there was only one reason for all the commotion. It was him.

  * * * *

  When Cameron came in he didn't even see her. He made a beeline straight for the bed, and Todd followed closely on his heels, hands out toward Cameron like he would catch him should he fall.

  Cameron's breath caught in his throat when he saw him. Alex looked so small, lying there in that bed with tubes stuck all over his body, in his nose, his mouth, the veins in his wrists. Black and blue bruises peppered every inch of skin Cameron could see. Alex's chest rose and fell slowly and his eyelids fluttered every now and then as he slept. Cameron had to bite down hard to hold back a sob.

  He sniffled and looked at Sylvia, who was sitting next to the bedside with Alex's hand in her own, her eyes focused on her youngest son's face.

  "Who did it?" Cameron asked. George, his back to Cameron, turned and Sylvia looked up when he spoke. "What sorry son-of-a-bitch did this to him? I'll kill him." It took all he had not to raise his voice, but he checked it, for Alex. It was too difficult to stay calm here. The placid look on everyone's faces and their apathetic attitudes toward this entire incident was enough to send Cameron into a fury.

  "Ssh," Sylvia warned. "Now is not the time. Please---"

  "Now is not the time?" Cameron moved toward his mother, his hands in tight fists at his sides. George stood up and placed his hands on Cameron's shoulders, the hard sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor ringing in the small, crowded space.

  "You need to calm down," George said. His voice was low and threatening. His eyes darkened and his jaw set as he dared Cameron to disobey him. "You think your mother and I aren't distraught about this? You think we don't want to find that man and tear his head from his neck, too? You are not the only one here who cares about Alex."

  Cameron sneered in his father's face. "Yeah, well none of you seem to give too big a shit."

  George's grip on Cameron's shoulders tightened. He moved so that they were just millimeters apart, their noses almost touching. "There is a time and a place, Cameron. Right now is neither the time, nor the place. You need to sit down, and you need to calm down. You need to keep it together for Alex when he wakes up. That's it, Cameron. That is your duty."

  Cameron breathed heavily through his nostrils and with extreme difficulty he was able to tear his eyes away from his father's. The fight for dominance was over and the power dynamic was now established. Cameron was the loser, and he was going to have to concede to the wishes of his parents, whether he liked it or not.

  He didn't like it one bit but he knew he needed to do what was right for Alex, and what was right for Alex did not include bickering and arguments.

  "Where's Bobby?" Cameron asked, his voice raspy and seething. He looked around the room and that was when he spotted her.

  Imogen was standing now; she'd stood up quickly as soon as Cameron and Todd entered the room. She was staring back at him, her hands folded in front of her and her eyes wide. She wasn't breathing.

  "What's she doing here?" Cameron asked no one in particular. He never took his eyes from her and she felt her knees go weak. He was trying to kill her with his thoughts, she knew.

  "I called her," Sylvia said.

  Cameron turned to her. "You… you called her?" He made a face of disgust and his voice was blatantly mocking as he repeated her words.

  "Yes," Sylvia shot back, tilting her chin up. "I called her."

  "Why? This is a family matter. You want to call up all your friends and ask them to be here? Hell, let's call all the newspapers and invite every single reporter in this town into this room right now. Come on, what are you waiting for?" He made a gesture with his arms and Todd had to stand back to avoid being inadvertently smacked in the face. "I can go down to the waiting room and announce the news, if you'd like, tell everyone my brother's been knocked out cold---"

  "Stop it," George snapped. The authority in his voice checked Cameron's rage.

  Sylvia made a face at him and shook her head. "You are acting like a child. I wanted her to be here, that's the end of it."

  Imogen blinked. The room was spinning and shrinking around her; there was the distinct feeling that she did not belong here, Cameron was right. Finally she remembered how to swallow, and once her throat was no longer dry, she said, "It's getting late. I have to leave."

  No one in the room moved. All their eyes were on Imogen, waiting for an explanation.

  Imogen nodded. "I should leave. I'm sorry, it's just that I have wo---"

  "Go," Sylvia said. For the first time that night she untangled her hand from Alex's. "We understand. Go."

  Imogen smiled, though it was forced. "Please, tell Alex that I love him when he wakes up? I'll come and visit, I promise."

  Sylvia stood now, and made her way to Imogen. Imogen could feel the weight of Cameron's stare on her, piercing her, tearing her apart. He watched with repulsion as Sylvia and Imogen hugged. Imogen kept her gaze from him, knowing that if she met his eyes she would fall apart and a war of prolific proportions would rage in no time.

  "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Moody," she managed to say. Suddenly a flood of tears were making their way up and she was powerless to stop them. She felt Sylvia's body fall into her own, felt Sylvia's chest heave in response.

  "Don't," Sylvia pleaded, running her hand along the back of Imogen's head. "Don't do that." She pulled from her, her voice thick when she spoke. "I will call you when he wakes up."

  Imogen nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes with the sleeve on her jacket. Sylvia did the same.

  "Goodbye, Sylvia. George. Todd." She hesitated when it was Cameron's turn. Conjuring up every last bit of courage she had in her, Imogen met his gaze, still fiery, and nodded to him. "Cameron."

  It was necessary for her to pass quite close to Cameron if she was going to make it out of the room. He cringed when he felt the air blow against his face when she went by him. His eyes followed her, even when he was required to turn his head, to watch her leave.

  For a few split moments, the room was filled with silence.

  "Where's Bobby?" Cameron asked again.

  "The cafeteria," Sylvia answered.

  Cameron nodded and left the room. But it wasn't Bobby he was in search of.

  * * * *

  She was walking swiftly to the bus stop, her arms swinging back and forth with her long strides.

  "Hey!"

  She slowed to a stop and took a moment's pause before turning around to Cameron, who was standing at the bottom of the hospital entrance. She didn't say anything, just sighed and waited for the flood.

  Cameron swallowed and closed the distance between them a little, until they were roughly five feet apart instead of twenty.

  She was still as pretty as he remembered, and he hated that. Her eyes were slightly red and puffy, from the crying, and her mouth red and swollen from where she'd chewed on her lips. Her sweater was stretched out at the arms because
she'd pulled the ends down to cover her hands. There were makeup smears on the wrists there. She stood with her arms folded protectively over her chest.

  They stared each other down but they both knew Cameron was going to speak first. He teased the moment out a bit, tried to make her guess when he would ask the first question. He wanted her to scramble.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I already told you. Your mom called me and told me what happened. I wanted to be here when Alex woke up. I took the first train."

  Cameron scoffed, taking two steps back and rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb before shoving his hands in the pocket of his coat.

  Imogen swallowed. He was mocking her, laughing at her as he moved backward, curls falling into his eyes when he shook his head. Her knees felt weak and her head light. She wanted to cry, to scream, to put her hands on him and shove him to the ground. She stayed where she was.

  "I never could get rid of you," he said. "You come all the way over here, knowing that I was going to show up, too. Can't you ever just leave me alone, Imogen? Don't you understand that I want my space? I don't need you around me all the time. You're a nuisance." He pulled his hands from his pockets and held them out at his sides. "You make it worse by never being able to take a God damn hint."

  Imogen's entire body was trembling. She wanted to speak but she was so confused, so hurt, by what he just said to her that she couldn't decide which words to say to him first. All she could do was blink away the bewilderment.

  Finally her voice came back to her, and she said with angry eyes, "Cameron, not everything is about you."