Jordan & Cameron - A Fanfic

"Comic Con,"

Jordan sighed as he zipped up his suitcase and set it down at the foot of his bed.

"Do you really think you'll be alright?" He frowns, "You can still come with me. You won't have a ticket, but-"

"I'll be fine." I smile weakly, not telling the truth to him. Honestly, I'm going to be mortified being here alone. My anxiety is higher than usual lately, and I'm jumpy.

Jordan and I went to the doctors office and he recommended that I stop taking Prozac. He got all the records from my old doctor and told me that I was actually less anxious and sad before I started taking it.

"I can tell that you are strong enough to stop taking this medication." He told me.

I feel like a hollow shell without it, though. I hope I get over this wave of fear.

"Are you absolutely sure?" He puts his hands on my shoulders and makes me look up at him.

I nod.

He looks at me for a moment then releases me, "Alright."

He pulls up the handle on his suitcase and grabs his backpack, then pulls it over his shoulders.

"I'll be back in a few days."

He walks up to me and pulls me into a tight hug, "Call me whenever you'd like."

I nod and inhale sharply.

Jordan kisses my cheek, making me blush furiously, then exits his room. A moment later I hear the front door close. I sigh and sit on his bed. What to do?

An idea forms in my mind and I call up my Dad.

He answers on the second ring, "Hey, Dad!" I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Hey, sweetheart! You all settled in?"

I nod, "Mhm." Then I realize that I still have unpacking to do. I furrow my brows.

"So, are you in the Los Angeles area?"

"Yes indeedy."

"Can we get some lunch or somethin'?"

"Sure thing,"

We decide to meet at a Mexican restaurant on the outskirts of town.

I grab my keys, including the one for Jordan's apartment that he's letting me keep, my phone and put on some flip flops, then head out the door after locking it.

I hop into my blue and white '68 vw bus and start it up. I shift into reverse and make my way out of the parking garage.

----------

I pull into the small parking lot of the Mexican restaurant. Two other cars were here, practically filling this tiny lot. weeds grew out of cracks here and there. I see my dad's blue '56 Chevy and park next to it. We are most certainly a family that has a passion for old cars. My Dad has always had a proclivity for fixing them up, working on them or simply driving in them. He has a fast paced career in drag racing when he was younger. But now his aging body is longing for more stability and relaxation.

I walk into the restaurant and see my Dad sitting in a booth, looking out of the window. Sunlight hits his stray hairs, making them seem like they're glowing. The wrinkles on his face are more prominent than they used to be, though he still seems young for his age. He notices me standing there and immediately stands up.

"Cam," He smiles and opens his arms.

I hurry over and hug him tight. He has a musky smell, though he always has a faint scent of exhaust lingering on him.

We sit in a booth together, facing each other and catch up on things. We order in between our discussion of maintaining one another's cars.

"I'll have a chicken quesadilla, please?"

"With the beans an' rice?" Our waitress with a heavy Spanish accent says.

"Yes'm."

She was actually quite pretty and had culry black hair. She picks up my menu with her well manicured nails.

"And for you, sir?"

My Dad runs his callused hands together and takes another minute to decide, the waitress didn't seem to notice.

"So," He begins after the waitress takes his menu and leaves, "What have you been up to? Made any new friends?"

He takes a drink of his water, "Found a job?"

I purse my lips, "Still on hold with the job thing."

He raises his eyebrows and sets his glass down, "Well, your grandmother can't send you money forever."

"She hasn't sent me anything this month."

He sneezes, then blows his nose in his napkin. Gross.

"Oh, really? Well, what about that uh, that guy....Peter? He was fairly rich, right?"

"We broke up a long time ago, Dad."

"Ah," he folds his hands together and looks at me, "You can't keep depending on people like this for money, Cam. You're not your mother."

That stings a little. "I'm not depending in anyone." I lie.

Truthfully, my grandmother was the one that gave me the money to rent out my apartment. She's also the one that bought me my new suitcases...

My mother is a total freeloader, and a whore, so my Dad even hinting at me being anything similar to her hurts, but he's not lying.

Long story short, about my past, I mean, is that my mother left me as a child and has continually tried to come back into my life. I have given her chance after chance but nothing ever seems to work out.

"So, friends?" My Dad questions, breaking me away from my thoughts.

"Oh, uh..." I trail off.

You see, my Dad never really liked my idea of playing video games all the time, or talking about them, for that matter.

I remember him saying to me:

"The real world is out here, meanwhile you're in your room on your computer or on your phone. You need to get your priorites straight. I don't want to hear anything about poodiepie whoever else you always watch on your youtube."

He never condoned my liking of the internet or games or comics or tv shows or anything other than cars or sports.

In high school, I remember I played tennis for two years just to make him proud.

"Well, I have met a guy."

My Dad seems intrigued. "Oh, really? Does he have a job?" He takes a sip of water.

"Yes," My Dad raises his eyebrows as he sips his water.

"He's a youtuber."

He Dad starts choking on his water.

"What?!"