Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him-it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at leas...
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"You should keep those sweatpants," I say. "They look better on you."
Camryn mumbles a response from the passenger seat that sounds vaguely like a sure, but I don't ask for clarification. I was hoping that she would be gone when I got back from the gym, mostly so I didn't have to deal with whatever the fuck last night was again. From her lack of speech though, I don't think she should be alone. She showered and was covered in crumbs when I found her in my bed. So her basic needs have been met, but her lack of words has me worried.
I've never been good at problem solving, especially when the opposite sex is involved so I ramble, trying to make small talk.
"They don't really fit anymore. Ya know, too many squats." The joke was supposed to make her laugh, or at the very least get her to roll her eyes. But again, the only thing from her mouth is a short response.
"But since I fucked my knee, they might fit again," I say in a low voice just to fill the silence.
"Well then you can have them back." Her voice is finally loud enough to be heard. But her mouth is the only part of her that is moving. It's like she's frozen to her seat. She hasn't moved an inch since she sat down. I take my chance at a stop sign and glimpse at her again. I can only see a sliver of her cheek beneath her half wet hair. Even her knees are facing towards the window, her arms resting gently in her lap. I make a move to lock the doors, afraid that she's planning the perfect time to jump out before speaking again, "No, seriously you can keep them." But a "Sounds good," is all she manages.
I'm tired of beating around the bush, but I know from my mom and sister that's its just how women function. This whole silence thing could be on purpose, an excuse to create some scenario in her mind where she has a right to be pissed at me. Keeping it all inside until the perfect moment to explode on me is presented. But guys, we just like to deal with things, say it as it is. No bullshit, say what you need to say, and move on. If you piss one of your friends off and he doesn't forgive you, then he wasn't a friend in the first place.
No matter how quiet she is, or what she might be thinking about, her words creep back into my mind making me pussy out.
I love you.
I know I heard them, but I've tried to pretend I didn't. They weren't about me, couldn't be. I hardly know her, but then again that could be her whole thing. Getting attached too quickly, not able or willing to handle it. She denied it when I asked about guy troubles at the art show, but maybe she was lying because it was about me. Although she doesn't strike me as getting sad and drunk because of a boy.
Regardless, something happened for her to go from one extreme to the other. I just hope my plan works out. A way for her to work through her own shit, and then I can report a clean bill of health to Cal. I'm saved from my thoughts when my Maps app lets me know we're half a mile away just before I see the business sign in the distance.
