by McKinley May
Yes, my childhood crush on Nelly is still burning bright.
And yes, I did make the mistake of divulging these personal quirks to Cameron during our last get together. He made fun of me for about five minutes straight, then proceeded to set this particular tune as the ringtone for whenever he calls or texts. We were dying laughing at the time.
Right now?
I think I might die of embarrassment.
With the most stealthy of movements, I reach into my pocket and turn the volume off.
Everyone's staring at my lab table, the professor's frowning at the interruption, so I quickly make my debut as a Hollywood actress.
"Whose phone was that?" I ask loudly. With saucer-wide eyes, I dramatically whip my head around like I'm searching for the culprit.
My lab partner, Justin Something-or-other, is snoring in the seat next to me.
I point at him and slowly shake my head in disappointment. "Always forgets to turn his phone off. Typical Justin. And that song? Not very school appropriate!"
Once the suspicion has been shifted to my innocent lab partner—You snooze you lose, buddy!—I check the message.
Cam: House empty. My bedroom. Get your ass over here ASAP.
The last twenty minutes of class drag by at a snail's pace. The professor's droning on about something boring. Bunsen burner safety, I think? Maybe some info about chemical burns? Who knows...I'm not paying attention.
After a text like that, how could I?!
My mind only has room for one thing.
What feels like a trillion years later, lab is finally released. I sprint to my dorm, drop off my textbooks, change my clothes, and suddenly I'm knocking on Cameron's bedroom door.
"About damn time, Syd. Took you long enou—" His words morph into unrestrained laughter. "What the fuck are you wearing?"
"What?" I peer down at my black turtleneck and leggings. "Just an everyday outfit. Nothing to see here."
"I'm talking about the black beanie and gloves, dork." He waves a hand over my attire. "I thought you were stuck in lab, not out robbing a bank."
"You thought wrong." I plaster on an evil grin. "If you don't turn me in, we can split the cash 50-50."
"Deal." He laughs again, then tilts his head. "But for real. Why are you dressed like that?"
"It's a disguise." I point across the long hallway to Vaughn's room. "Just in case the house wasn't quite as empty as you thought."
"Well, let's fucking hope it's as empty as I thought. If anyone got a good look at you, there's a strong possibility they called the cops and reported an intruder."
"Crap...you're right. Fingers crossed a SWAT team doesn't come busting down the door in a few minutes."
He grins and motions me inside. "Get in here."
I've never stepped foot in his space before, so I eagerly hop over the threshold and observe my surroundings.
First thing I notice is the attic-nook type of vibe; the room is small and cozy, the low, sloped-ceilings following the pointed roof of the home.
Second thing my eyes are drawn towards is a gorgeous bay window taking up a decent chunk of the front wall. The outside view is partially blocked by thick tree foliage, but I can still see the glistening pool water and a few surrounding lounge chairs. Golden beams of sunlight penetrate the glass, creating dozens of intricate shadows scattered about the wooden floorboards.
"I love your room," I say as I continue my exploration. "Feels like we're in a cottage in the middle of the forest."
His style is minimal, color scheme a neutral combination of pewter gray, creamy white, and natural wood tones. All of his belongings are organized in a meticulous fashion, which doesn't surprise me in the slightest.
Cameron's tidy as can be—a trait I seriously appreciate in a guy.
My eyes light up when I spot his bed.
"Oh my Goddd. I've been in Twin XL Land for so long, I forgot what a real bed looked like." The impossibly thick mattress is straight out of The Princess and the Pea. A wave of envy rushes through me at the sight. "That must be super comfy."
"Totally." He nods. "Like sleeping on a cloud."
"I'm almost positive my dorm mattress is made of cardboard and styrofoam." I meet his gaze, a pout on my lips and my hands clasped together in a begging gesture. "Can I lay on it?"
"Sure. But first..."
He reaches over and removes the beanie from my head, my hair falling to my shoulders.
"There. Much better. I'm no longer concerned you're gonna pull a knife on me and steal my shit." With a little smirk, he gestures towards his bed. "Knock yourself out."
I yank off my gloves and take a diving leap onto the linen sheets.
The verdict is still out as to whether or not it's as comfy as it appears, but I can confirm one thing.
It's bouncy as heck.
"Ahhhh!"
The moment I hit the mattress, I go flying off like it's a trampoline. My body crashes into a sturdy desk situated against the wall. A few heavy items fall off the furniture, bonking me on the top of my head.
"Ouch."
I'm laying there like a discarded rag doll, eyes closed and limbs splayed out as Cam calls out to me.
"Shit. Are you okay?"
"Yeah." I lift a hand in the air and flash the A-OK symbol. "Didn't really stick the landing, but all is well."
"Damn, Sydney. When I said knock yourself out, I didn't mean literally."
I hear heavy footsteps as he jogs over, and suddenly warm hands are cupping my cheeks. My eyelids slowly flutter open, revealing his entertained smile.
"What the hell am I gonna do with you, Baby Blue?"
"Good question. Put me on a leash so I stop wreaking havoc?"
"Remind me to put one in my Amazon cart as soon as possible." He helps me to a sitting position. "You sure you're alright?"
One hand moves to the top of my head, his fingers gently caressing the giant knot forming on my skull. The soothing touch feels nice.
Extremely nice.
"If I say no, will you keep doing that?"
He chuckles before squinting concerned gray eyes at me. "You dizzy or anything?"
"Not really."
"Blurry vision?"
I shake my head.
He holds up a hand and wiggles some digits. "How many do you see?"
"Cameron! I'm fine," I insist with a grin, but he's not letting me off the hook just yet.
"How many?"
I roll my eyes, but I won't lie—him doting all over me makes my heart skip a beat.
"Three fingers."
After passing his extensive concussion protocol, I pick up one of the items responsible for the bump on my head.
A vinyl record.
My vision travels upward to the old-fashioned turntable sitting on the desk. Dozens of vinyls are stacked up neatly beside the musical machine.
"I love record players," I gush as Cameron pulls me to my feet.
"Yeah? Pick one," he says. "We'll put it on."
I thumb through the collection of alphabetized records, letting out an "Aha!" as I find the perfect choice.
When I hand it to him, his brows jut up. "Elvis fan?"
"Mega fan," I say with an enthusiastic nod. "He is the King, Cam."
"A girl who appreciates some old school classics?" A hint of pleasant surprise flashes through his gaze and he smiles. "I like that."
When he lifts one side of his mouth into Mr. Presley's famous lip curl, I burst out laughing.
"Holy shit. You're good at that. The resemblance is uncanny."
"Thank you. Thank you very much."
I giggle again as he puts the record on the track and drops the needle. That gritty white noise that precedes the music sends a wave of goosebumps down my arms.
"The crackly sound gets me every time."
"Same," he agrees.
Suspicious Minds begins, the upbeat melody so raw and authentic in this format. My head bobs to the tune as I inspect the record player further. It's old—a vintage item,
no doubt.
"Where did you get this?"
"It was my mom's. And before that, it was her mom's."
"Family heirloom?"
"I guess you could call it that."
For some reason, his answer is coated in bitter-sweet nostalgia.
I cock my head, waiting for him to explain.
"It wasn't exactly passed down to me. Just before I moved here for college, my mom got committed to a state rehab facility. The bank seized her house and assets and all that shit. Since I'm the only family she's got, they had me go through her stuff. I gave away or tossed out most of her belongings, but not this. I couldn't part with this."
He taps the edge of the record player, an inquisitive expression on his face. "I dunno why. Maybe because it's my only positive memory of her."
"She liked music?"
"Loved it," he says with a sentimental smile. "When I was really young, we'd push all the furniture aside and make a huge dance floor in the living room. She'd close her eyes, pick a record at random, and put it on. I'd place my feet on top of hers and she'd spin me around the room for hours, both of us laughing and singing along to the music."
"Awh." The image of little-boy Cameron and his mom twirling around gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside. "That sounds really nice."
"Yeah. It was." He rubs the back of his neck. "But those nights became less and less frequent over the next couple years. My mom, she..." After a lengthy pause, he emits a deep exhale. "She had a lot of problems. Mental, mostly. My dad bailed on us when I was four, and that must've really messed her up. Led her to hard drugs and shit like that. She would drink herself sick some nights, shoot up heroin until she passed out on others. Not exactly an ideal environment for a growing kid. I got put into the foster care system when I was seven."
And just like that, the warm fuzzies scatter as my heart sinks into my stomach.
"I'm sorry that happened," I mumble. I reach out and give his wrist a soft squeeze. "I really am."
"It's cool. It was a long time ago." He sits on his bed, back resting against the wooden headboard as he shrugs. "Life's not always sunshine and rainbows. You take what you get and make the most of it, you know?"
I nod. "Exactly how I feel."
"Enough about my sob story." With a small smile, he pats the pillow next to him. "Get up here—carefully this time—and tell me about your parents. Your life growing up."
When I join him on the mattress, he tugs me onto his lap. I straddle his lower abdomen, my legs wrapped snugly around his hips.
"I hate to break it to you, but my background's not so great either," I admit with a sigh. "From the outside, it looked storybook perfect. Big house, nice neighborhood, mom, dad, son, and daughter... Dream life, right? But behind closed doors, we were about as dysfunctional as you could get."
"I kinda figured as much," Cam says. "Vaughn doesn't talk about y'all's family life. Ever."
"That doesn't surprise me; it's not the most fun topic to discuss. Neither of us communicate with our parents anymore. I can't even remember the last time I spoke a word to my dad. Five, maybe six years ago? I don't know. He was in and out of our lives from the get-go, only showing up when his guilty conscience from being a shitty parent became too heavy to bear. He'd claim he was back for good, ready to step up to the plate and be a father, and then bail after a week or two. It was like clockwork."
A frown turns my lips. "Personally, I never had, nor did I ever want any sort of relationship with the guy. Vaughn, on the other hand...he was always more optimistic than me when it came to daddy dearest. He tried to give him the benefit of the doubt time and time again, which turned out to be a huge mistake. He ended up fucking Vaughn over. Majorly fucking him over. The whole situation was awful, and unfortunately it led to me and Vaughn having our own falling-out."
I shake my head, stopping myself before I get too carried away with that particular topic. "It's not my place to talk about all that. That's my brother's story to tell, not mine."
"I get it." Cameron's hands come to rest on my waist. "And your mom?"
"My mother...God, where do I even begin?" My eyes wander to the ceiling, distant thoughts and once-buried memories swirling in my mind. "Cold. Unforgiving. Imagine the most unmotherly woman you can, and then multiply that by ten. She despised me. Despised Vaughn, too, and I don't use that word lightly. She truly couldn't stand the two of us and made no attempt to disguise it. Hating her own flesh and blood, for literally no reason. Insane, right?"
"More than insane." Cam's brow lowers. "That's seriously fucked up."
"I know. The good thing was she loved to travel, so she was gone more often than not. That's when things were the best—when it was just me and Vaughn in the house by ourselves. We'd play soccer together in the backyard, build elaborate pillow forts in the living room, watch TV and eat junk food until one in the morning on school nights. Those were some of my favorite memories growing up."
I twist a stray thread from my sleeve around my finger and continue.
"But when Vaughn went off to college, things took a turn for the worse. My mom went from mostly ignoring my existence to constantly instigating fights. To this day, I still can't pinpoint what triggered the abrupt change, but it was bad. Like, bad bad. Incessant shouting, insults, name-calling...just an endless amount of verbal abuse that really started to wear me down. I consider myself pretty thick-skinned, but there's just something about your own mom telling you how unwanted you are that cuts deep."
"Shit," Cameron mumbles.
"Things between us were beyond toxic, and I knew something was bound to go terribly wrong sooner than later. I was right."
I pause for a moment, hesitant to reveal the final portion of the story.
I'm not one to divulge too many details about my hardships. I prefer to handle my shit alone, deal with it in private and on my own terms. Being vulnerable with anyone who lends an ear isn't my jam.
But Cameron isn't just anyone.
The way he's fully focused on me, soaking in every word, every syllable; how safe and secure I feel in his protective grasp...
My guard is completely down for this man.
"I've never told anybody this before," I begin, "and please, please, don't tell Vaughn, okay?"
"I won't." He gives me a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "You know I won't."
"When I was seventeen, I came home from a soccer tournament late one summer night. I was freaking exhausted from playing in the hot sun all day long, and the only things on my mind were a long shower and a good night's sleep. I got to the top of the stairs when suddenly my mom was in my face, screaming at me to turn around and clean the oven or mop the floor or something of that nature. It's hard to remember the specifics."
My forehead wrinkles. "Whatever it was, it was ridiculous because it was eleven at night and could definitely wait until the next day. I told her I was too tired from my games and I'd do it the next morning, but she didn't like that response. She went berserk, bitching and shouting like it was the most important thing in the universe. I tried to brush past her, but she wouldn't let me. She put her hands on my shoulders and shoved me backwards—hard. Next thing I remember was waking up at the bottom of the staircase, bruised and shocked and just completely horrified at what she did."
"What the fuck?" Cameron's body goes tense beneath me. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious."
"That's assault, Sydney."
"I know." A heavy breath escapes me. "She'd never gotten physical before, but it didn't matter. One time was one time too many, so I packed my bags and left. I stayed with a friend for a few months and the literal day I turned eighteen, I moved into my own apartment. It was a total shithole, plus it was over an hour away from my high school, but there's only so much a couple hundred bucks a month can get you. The ceilings were growing mold, there was no air conditioning or heating unit, and I would fall asleep to the sound of rats and roaches scurrying around, praying they wouldn't climb into bed with me. Although, tec
hnically speaking, I didn't even have a proper bed—I slept on a cheapy futon I bought off Craigslist that smelled awful." I shudder at the unpleasant olfactory memory. "I learned to deal with it. Anything was better than being under my mother's roof."
"Damn." Cameron studies me for a moment. "You've experienced a lot."
"The whole thing was quite an experience, that's for sure." I shrug it off. "But I feel like it's just made me stronger as a person. Independent, you know? Like I can handle anything life throws my way."
He's still staring at me, brows drawn together in contemplation.
"You're resilient as hell," he mumbles, a hint of admiration in his tone. "You had to grow up fast."
"Yep." I nod. "But there's no other choice in the situation. A lot of other people have had it way worse than me, so I really can't complain. I grew up with a roof over my head, food to eat, clean water...And not to mention an older brother to guide me along the right path."
I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and continue. "Vaughn and I are extremely close because we were all the other had. He's way overprotective of me for a reason—he wasn't just my older sibling, he basically raised me. Taught me how to read, how to ride a bike, all sorts of things. And as I got older, he had to take on responsibilities that my mother 100% should have handled. Like when I was eleven and got my first period? It wasn't my mom that took me to the store and bought me feminine hygiene supplies. It was Vaughn who had that great honor."
Cameron emits a genuine laugh, the sound instantly brightening the mood in the room.
"He's a good brother," he says.
The memory of poor 14-year-old Vaughn scratching his head as he tried to read the back of a tampon box has me cracking a smile.
"The best."
"And he didn't do so bad with you." One side of his mouth lifts into a playful smirk. "You turned out okay."
"Just okay?" I poke him on the chest. "Rudeee. Try again."
"Decent?"
When I raise both brows in challenge, a grin spreads across his face.
"Alright, fine. You turned out damn near perfect."
"Much better."
I give him a goofy smile—one that makes him groan.
