Bad Boy, Good Boy (boyxboy)

26 - don't hurt me (part 3)

A/N: Since I've been posting so irregularly and so rarely, I'm thinking of maybe posting shorter chapters from now on. Otherwise it'll take me too long to write one long chapter. I don't know. I'm a mess. Sorry. 

Hope y'all are okay. And happy reading x)

chapter 26 – don't hurt me (part 3)

I've no idea how this is going to go, but, well, let's hope we make it out alive.

Both of us.

"That light is flickering," Cameron says, pointing at the street lamp.

I could drop him right here and run home. But I know I'd regret it. He's as helpless as a baby. Almost. Kind of. And somehow I feel like I'm suppose to take care of him. God, he should pay me for the babysitting service. He owes me multiple times already.

How is it that he always gets drunk and I'm there to...I don't know...judge him?

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "It's actually nice. Cool air. The quiet."

Ugh. Can he stop it already? I am slowly losing my mind. Next time I get the fantastic idea to go to a party, will somebody please stop me from making the same mistakes over and over again? (But I need to uphold my reputation. Not for long, though. As soon as I graduate, I'll become this mysterious bad boy that resembles more of a shadow than a person.)

"Won't you wake your parents?" He seems genuinely concerned.

"Not if you keep it down."

He pushes me away gently and stumbles on his own a couple of steps before grabbing onto my forearm.

"You have to muster all the intelligence in you – which isn't a lot – and be quiet. I am not an asshole child. I actually respect my parents."

"Is it cool if I don't believe you?" he asks.

I notice an eyelash on his cheekbone. God, now it's going to drive me crazy, but I can't just reach out and brush it away.

And now that I think about it, high school is meaningless. Who you are in high school does not define who you become in the "real" world. For some reason the "real" world doesn't start until you become an adult – that's what they indicate, isn't it.

So, at the moment, I am living some make-believe story. Basically, I don't exist. I am not a person yet.

We turn into the driveway of my house, and Cameron raises his eyebrows.

"This is kind of cute," he mumbles, taking in the yard, the apple trees, the front porch of the house. Somehow, he even finds the windows something to look at. "I thought your house was like a really angry dog, you know. Bad, like you."

I grin at how he says 'bad'. At least I've excelled in making everyone think I'm bad.

"But you're not, though." He's frowning.

"What?" I'd like to punch him.

Cameron shrugs, pushing away from me. He places his hands on his hips. "Maybe you are. But it's most likely that you are not." He glances over his shoulder at me.

I'm unsure of what to say. He doesn't think me a bad boy? Well, fuck.

I mean I know it wasn't going to last anyway, the reputation, but I was hoping to hold onto it a little longer. And I've worked my ass off to achieve it. But suddenly there it is, a nobody – a drunken nobody – telling me that I'm holding up a crappy façade and the truth is seen through it.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he keeps going, slurring some of the words. He should've known tequila isn't the drink for him.

"Will you please stop talking?" I sigh.

He hiccups, stretches his arms out. "I guess...since you asked nicely."

He better be quiet. I am too tired to deal with this.

"I don't like you at all," I whisper under my breath and the go up the steps of the porch. Cameron follows me.

"Why not, though?" He has leaned in, his breath tickling my ear as I'm trying to fit the key into the keyhole. His voice startles me.

"Fuck! What?"

Our eyes meet. I am straight up glaring at him but he doesn't seem to get it that I'm annoyed out of my mind with him.

"Why don't you like me?" he asks.

I roll my eyes. "Now's not the time."

"I would like to know."

"Well, then, you're sleeping in the yard. Have a nice life and be gone in the morning." I have managed to unlock the door and slip inside, pulling the door closed behind me. He stops me from closing the door by placing a hand on it, the other he rests atop the doorframe. Now we're face to face like enemies.

"What are you trying to prove?"

I could ask him the same thing. Why is he fighting with the rest of us? Why was he at the party? Why is he so interested in me?

"Why do you care?"

Not my best comeback.

"I don't know," he says, and his eyes betray it's the truth. It's almost like he's confused as well. But he must have an agenda. It doesn't make sense otherwise.

Or is it that he used to have an agenda and now it's gone?

He drops his arms and steps back. "I think I'm gonna walk."

I grab his elbow and pull him back. "Don't be fucking stupid! Your dorm is miles away. God, stop infuriating the shit out of me!"

He lets me pull him inside the house and I lock the door behind him.

Cameron's eyes watch my every move.

I lift my index finger to my lips, so he knows to be quiet like we talked. I take off my shoes and wait for him to do the same. Then I motion for him to follow me. Thankfully my room is on the first floor.

In the room I look for a T-shirt he can sleep in and hand it to him. I also give him a towel. He stands like a confused kid next to the bed.

"And now you're being nice to me?"

I clench my jaw so I won't lash out. "I was nice to you before, also. I asked you to please be quiet. Remember?"

This earns me a smile from him.

"You did."

The warmth radiating from him makes me relax a little. And for a moment a thought crosses my mind, he's not so bad after all, which I quickly shake away.

I turn away for a moment and then say, "Bathroom's down the hall." But there's no answer.

Frowning, I glance over my shoulder and see that Cameron has collapsed on the bed, clutching the shirt I gave him in one hand, the towel in the other.

Whatever.

I leave the room and go to the bathroom. When I return, he has changed out of his shirt and has removed his pants which are at the foot of the bed, now under the covers in my bed. I curse under my breath, take his clothes and place them over a chair, then look for another blanket which I eventually find, and climb onto the bed next to him. Thank god I begged my parents for a bigger bed for my sixteenth birthday.

It takes me a while to find a comfortable position and can finally try to fall asleep. It doesn't help that Cameron keeps mumbling things in his sleep.

Still, I think a little better of him, and I don't know why.

The dislike is still there, though.