Trying to live

Chapter 8 (Edited)

"My eyes were fine. We don't need to discuss them," I cut him off, knowing he was right and that he was annoying me. So, I said the first thing that came to mind, which was utterly stupid. "You know, it would be so easy to kill you. Right here."

"How?" he asked, intrigued.

"Well, I... I could put something in your drink, and no one would notice, not even you because you trust me," I said without thinking straight.

He laughed. Why was he laughing? "Now you really owe me a favor." I looked at him like he was crazy, which he was, considering he laughed like a maniac. Then he showed me his phone. "I recorded you, and if you don't do as I say, I'll send it to the police."

"Are you kidding me?" I asked, disbelief thick in my voice. He wouldn't, would he?

Cam stepped closer, our chests nearly touching. I took a step back, hitting the counter and biting my lip to stifle the pain from the bruise forming on my hip. "Nope," he said, tapping my nose with his finger. "I'll tell them my life is in danger and that someone is threatening me. They'll recognize your voice because you know them, and vice versa."

"I don't know them," I said, annoyed.

"Sure you do. You were always at the police station."

"That was a stupid rumor you shouldn't have paid attention to," I snapped. Why did everyone believe I was a juvenile delinquent? "The only time I was at the police station was because of Fluffy."

"Who's Fluffy?"

"A cat."

"You had a cat? I thought you were a dog person and weren't you scared of cats because they can scratch you?"

I glared at Cam while he grinned at me. I wanted to wipe that grin off his face—or better, wipe his whole face off. "Fluffy was a stray cat I found and took to the police station."

I shuddered, recalling the awful car ride with Fluffy. Who named her that? She was neither fluffy nor sweet—she was a terror to all cat lovers.

"So... the officers know you from that cat incident?" Cam mused.

"No."

He raised his eyebrows. "But why would they talk about you?"

I groaned and massaged my forehead. If he didn't stop with those stupid questions, I was sure I'd get a headache. "I don't know. Maybe because they're stupid."

"Why would stupid police officers talk about you?"

I sighed heavily, imagining smoke coming out of my nostrils. "Everyone talks about me, okay?" I said exasperatedly. "Can you just tell me what you want from me?"

"Ah... I know. You think it's because we live in a small town, where everyone knows everyone," Cam said with a smirk. I glared at him again. "Fine, I'll stop. What I want from you is to sit with me at lunch again."

"What?" Leave it to him to shock me with every sentence. "I can't... I can't. I'm free today, and you know how much courage it took me to finally get this freedom."

That was true. I had planned to ask for it for a year, but today I mustered the courage I never had before.

"I wasn't finished. I want you to sit with me at lunch, and I mean, we could sit together, just the two of us, but that might raise questions. Better to sit with the others. And I want to spend time with you," Cam said, looking at me with such honesty that I would have said yes in a heartbeat. "We could spend at least one to two hours together after your shift ends, starting from tomorrow."

"Why?" I blurted out.

Cam moved closer, his face inches from mine, our lips almost touching. "I miss you and our time, Em," he whispered.

Something shifted. I didn't feel numb anymore; it was as if the heavy stone on my heart was being lifted. I knew Cam wasn't lying; I saw it in his eyes. I bit my lip, trying to control the urge to say, "Yes, I would do anything for you just for the honesty in your eyes." Instead, I asked, "What if I say no?"

Cam took a strand of my hair and wrapped it around his finger. "Well, I'll probably go to the police and say my life is in danger," he grinned and winked at me.

"Fine," I gritted out. Why did I feel like my heart had just made an exciting jump? Maybe I wanted to see what it felt like to spend time with Cam again. I really didn't want anything to do with the police—my life was already a mess, and I didn't need more trouble. Besides, Cam wasn't bad—he never was.

"Hey! Could you both stop flirting? I want to gag when I see you two, and I need Em back," Dean yelled from behind us.

I turned around. "W-We aren't flirting!" I said, flustered. I slapped Cam lightly on his chest. "Tell him."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," he said, drawing out "sweetheart" with a breathy voice and showing me a lazy grin. I felt suddenly hot.

I didn't even know what Cam was doing—something between playing with my hair and smelling it. I scowled at him. "See you tomorrow at lunch," I said, then added, "Sweetheart." Cam laughed at my reaction and went backwards.

It was a miracle he didn't bump into a table or chair or fall down. Wow, I must be aggressive—maybe I needed anger management training. Cam winked at me before ascending the stairs.

God, that boy. He and Henry were similar, but Henry annoyed me more. Well, not anymore. Cam seemed to be the one who didn't want anyone to be sad. I knew that, somewhere deep inside, he was sad that his parents' marriage didn't last and that he was always in between them, moving from one to the other during the holidays.

Even if he didn't say it, I knew it stressed him out—to be the perfect son for both parents, even though they didn't really give him a choice. I understood that stress because I shared a similar burden for different reasons. I never understood what was wrong with having divorced parents until I experienced it myself. It wasn't bad for everyone, but when you had parents who constantly blamed you for their divorce or forced you to choose sides, it was a different story.

I was glad I realized that. Glad he wanted to be with me after all that had happened as I watched him disappear upstairs. Glad he missed me. A small smile stretched across my face. I placed two fingers on my lips, questioning what I was feeling. It felt like joy, something close to happiness, just because Cam asked me to spend time with him.

I turned around and slipped behind the counter. Dean looked at me, amused. "Hey, Caesar, who am I? We—We weren't flirting. Tell him," Dean imitated my voice.

I crossed my arms, waiting for Caesar to tell Dean that he looked ridiculous and that it wasn't funny. I was wrong. Caesar went to Dean and grabbed his face. "Whatever you say, sweetheart." He tried to sound flirtatious but failed miserably.

I glared at them. "You both suck." I took a box to collect dirty cups and plates. "And I don't talk like that," I said pointedly to Dean before heading to the tables.

I heard them laugh and shook my head, the smile from thinking about Cam never leaving my face.