Living With The Player

CAMILLA RENÉE

MONDAY.

7:05 PMContent © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

I settled on the walkway clutching a few devices with messy hair and an even shabbier face.

After about five minutes, I secured an Uber. An overpriced one. It is nearly seven pm.

The driver took one conclusive look at me, scrutinizing my outfit. Confusion sprints past his lids as I got into the car. He utters no word-thankfully.

Throughout the ride back, I took full breaths and reminded myself I did not care for Dylan. Not even half a fuck.

Why do we keep running into each other?

Graham was there as well. It’ll be silly to think both of them might quarrel. I hope not.

I don’t know Dylan anymore. I never even knew him, but Jimmy wouldn’t do anything stupid. I’m sure of that.

After I said and done all, I dragged my exhausted figure from the elevator to room 205.

“Fuck. No keys.”

I grit my teeth and call Miranda. From this side, I can hear the call ringing.

“I’m outside. Didn’t take my keys.”

I end the call, leaning against the wall. Moments later, the door unlocks from inside and I push myself into the room.

“I thought you were spending the night over at Jimmy. From your text, it seems you two…”

Miranda goes on and explains my day like I didn’t just live it.

I kick off my boot, crawling into bed, squeezing my arms and legs together so I only take up a small portion.

“Cam?”

“Yes?”

I murmur sleepily.

“What’s wrong?”

I breathe, keeping my lids shut down.

“Everything.”

I momble and haul the covers up to my shoulders.

Silence. I can hear her by my bed. Quick breaths, possibly watching me.

Then, without a word, she gets into my bed and pulls the cover over herself.

“Well, I’m here.”

I don’t answer. Not even a nod. Can’t risk a crack in my tone because hell if I’ll shed a single tear. I’m an adult. I don’t get to cry whenever I face life problems.

I press my lids down on each other, forcing myself to sleep. It’s hardly a limited escape. My problems remain come dawn, but I’ll take it.

I’ll take anything at this point.

****

DYLAN EMERTON

MONDAY.

4:40 PM

“Tell me again how your first week at Cal-U went and fingers crossed the parts about Camilla were a figment of your bird brain imagination!”

I exhale largely, monitoring Claire while she paces across the room, locking and unlocking her fingers.

“I saw her last week during orientation. I can’t tell if she saw me or not.”

I break and recollect Camilla’s face that day. She didn’t look enthusiastic at all. She scowled at everything in the staring distance, cringed each time a new voice came up, flinched whenever a student tries to introduce himself. It’s easy to read her features when so much hasn’t changed. At least towards everyone else.

Once she sees me, her wall is up. She’s cold. Venomous. Her hatred for me thickens and its daggers shoved through my belly, then twisted.

Every day I wish I could turn back time.

“Hello? Dylan!?”

Claire shoves my shoulder. I jerk back, shaking my head with a few fingers still running in my hair.

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Clearly. What the hell are you thinking of?”

“Her. That’s all I can see.”

I answer without a single thought.

“We had a plan.”

She wiggles her brows. Irritation? She didn’t expect Camilla to stay this close and I’ll repel?

“No, you had a plan. A plan which you keep all to yourself. I don’t know what you’re doing. Phase two or some silly shit.”

I fire.

I’m being frisky and harsh. Can you blame me? My whole life feels shitty.

I choose off-campus housing this year.

Have my place ergo personal space, yet Claire graced me with her presence thrice already.

How sweet.

“I would have told you every detail. You know that. It’s awful now. First, you stalk during orientation, then you stalk again on her date. Twice. Now you’re telling me she’s the outsider on your project?”

I exhale. I have made poor choices over the past week.

“First, I wasn’t stalking during both dates. I thought someone was following her on Friday. She was in danger.”

Claire narrows her gaze in disbelief.

“I mean it!”

I yell, exasperatedly. I know what I saw on Friday.

“You weren’t watching her?”

“I was. I just thought-”

I cut myself short and breathe through my mouth. I sound crazy even to myself. Camilla didn’t believe Claire won’t.

“Never mind. We already argued on Sunday, plus she has a boyfriend now. She’ll never trust or forgive me, so phase two has failed before it began. Maybe you and I should forget the whole plan.”

“Dylan-”

“She made it clear on Sunday where she stands. With. Her. Boyfriend. He’s the same guy she was with eight months ago. He was at the orientation. With her. Friday party. Now pizza on Sunday. Four times? That’s a pattern. A relationship pattern.”

She sighs, grabbing my arm.

“I should go.”

I recoil and get on my feet.

“There’s this guy I need to meet for a project. I’ll be back. I don’t expect you to wait. Go to your dorm, Claire.”

I wash my palm over my face, forcing a smile across my features.

“Thank you, Claire. I wouldn’t be in college if it wasn’t for your push. Sometimes, it’s best to accept that some things just aren’t meant for me. There are mistakes that we just can’t come back from.”

She blinks her lids, her lips parting with no words coming out. I take that as my cue and slip out through the door. Hands tucked away and head bowed. I need a drink.

****

6:49 PM

I should have gotten that drink. Instead, I met up with Graham. He wasn’t able to take my mind off her. I barely kept up with the project arrangements and now we were supposed to head over to his place for drinks, but the universe despises me so.

It turns out that of all the roommates or friends Graham could have; he picked a bastard. Jimmy fucking, I don’t know his last name.

That would’ve been great. Sure, I hate his guts and want to shove him into a moving truck, but I could’ve walked out of there. That is easy.

But no. It got worse because she was there. And since Graham and I arrived minutes apart, I know she was there for him. She was there with him.

Fuck the computer she held. Her demeanour gave her away. Her hair. Her eyes. Her suspiciously dry lips and the fucker.

I wince at how literal that might be. The bastard wasn’t wearing a shirt and Camilla’s looked like it was just tossed on.

I don’t think. I can’t feel it. There’s only one thing on my mind-Hit him.

He wouldn’t touch her. I don’t care if they’re fucking dating. He would not fuck Camilla. She wouldn’t fuck him.

I facepalm myself mentally. Of course, she would. She’s grown. In college. Not with me anymore. They had sex. I scrunched my nose at the rotten stench.

Then I wait for her gaze to meet mine. It confirms everything I already know.

The blow kicks me straight to the gut and I shudder.

He had his hands on her. I don’t shut my eyes; I keep them wide open. I can’t imagine what they did. That’s too much torture.

She twists the knife even further by acknowledging his presence and not mine. I don’t expect a “Hey Dylan.” At least a small smile. Yes, I’m that desperate. She has me wherever she wants.

I could fall to her feet. Kiss them. Help her put on slippers. Fucking crawl. I don’t give a shit as long as I’m close enough to grace her presence.

All I see is her. But all she sees is an idiot who tore her heart to shreds.

The knife sinks into the pit of my stomach when she exits the apartment. I called her out on it yesterday, and she just proved beyond doubt how wrong I was. She can do anything herself.

“What do you want with Camilla?”

I turn half my body to him. I couldn’t tell at what point I ended up peaking outside to watch her retreat.

I draw my bottom lip, peaking at his bare chest. Not in a good way. He’s hot. Why did he have to be hot?

“This isn’t middle school, pretty boy.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re not getting another chance to hurt her. I don’t care if I have to beat you until you’re six feet under. Farthest away from Camilla.”

I chuckle, genuinely finding it funny.

“Bold and a bit funny for you think even death can keep me away from her. It won’t.”

I stare him down, scoff, then pocket my hands and exit as well.

I don’t call a cab; I take the other direction and begin walking.

My legs are this close to turning and running after her. Fall. Beg. Cry. Yell. Whatever. As long as it pleases her.

I can’t. I won’t. I don’t.

****

Thank you for the comments. I dozed off while editing. My bad!