Chapter 27: Chapter Twenty-Six

The after-Pasadena return to reality had been bad, no doubt, but it had nothing on the after-Toronto hangover hell.

After I swiped my V-card with the nicest and hottest guy I knew, we showered (not together), ordered takeout and watched a movie (together). If I had thought that our sleeping together would change our relationship dynamic, I would have been wrong. There was maybe a bit more touching—a lingering hand here, the grazing of knees there—but other than that, things were unchanged. And that, in my books, was a very good thing. No one immediately shied away or expressed regret or burst into tears. Turns out that was only a during-sex thing for me.

Throughout dinner and the movie, we joked and commented on the most random of things, like how one of the shopping malls in Toronto was where Mean Girls was filmed, or how when certain birds chirp it sounds like they're saying cheeseburger.

The only time things had even just a hint of awkwardness was when it was time for us to go to sleep. As little experience as I had, I knew enough that it made sense that we'd sleep in the same bed. I mean, you don't let a guy put part of his naked body into your naked body and then make a big deal about sleeping together.

The literal sleeping together, to clarify.

But, I also knew myself. And I knew that I would probably be distracted by the fact that Taylor was on the pillow next to me and that I wouldn't sleep well. So, I figured Taylor might also have that issue. Considering he had a hockey game to play the following night, I wanted him to get as good a sleep as possible. I told him I'd take the couch, and he objected at first, but when I played the hockey card, he came around.

The first thing I heard when I woke up was Taylor whispering in my ear that he had to leave for morning skate but that he'd be back before eleven. I took advantage of the fact that he was gone to take as long as I wanted getting ready. As soon as I was vertical, I opened all the blinds in the apartment to let the amazing city in.

When Taylor returned, he followed through on his promise and took me to the University of Toronto campus. It was a nice gesture, but the trip was an epic fail. The campus was so damn big and we had no idea where we were going, so we had no possible way of giving ourselves an actual tour. We resorted to just walking around the area—the campus was immersed in the downtown streets—and ending up wherever we ended up. Whenever we thought we had walked far enough that there was no way we could still be on campus, we'd see a U of T building sign, proving us wrong.

The next time I really got to spend time with Taylor was after his game. When we got back from our exploration, he napped and then had to make his way to the arena. I had a few hours to kill waiting for the Uber Taylor arranged and paid for, and I used my time alone in the big, empty condo to think.

For once, I tried to not let anything negative seep into my brain. I was in a good mood and was feeling really good about myself—for once— and I wanted to prolong it. Instead of worrying about what this all meant for my relationship with Taylor, I focused on the fact that I just did something special with a guy I was in love with.

That would have to do.

Because not everyone needed a label like I did. I liked labels because they simplified things and allowed people to be on the same page. But maybe this time, I just had to trust myself and trust Taylor to know what this is and to cherish it.

Thoughts like these consumed my mind when I had breakfast with Taylor on Sunday morning, flew home, and returned to my classes. The only time I had relief was during the game on Saturday night. I had no other choice. Watching Taylor live—the whole game, really, but especially Taylor—was a freaking unbelievable experience. It was the crowd, the action, the special effects, the everything that had me buzzing all night. When Taylor drove us back to his condo I couldn't stop talking about it and even though my mouth was moving a mile a minute I didn't care enough to get embarrassed. I was so riled up and excited like I couldn't remember being ever before. There was no way that I could fall asleep right away; thankfully, Taylor was similarly energetic and had his own adrenaline running through him. He asked me what I felt like doing and I only blushed in response. He shook his head, saying that I'd be sore and the last thing I needed was to add to it. So, we ended up playing some silly two-person games on his phone. It was fun, maybe not as much fun as our other option, but still fun.

Taylor turned out to be right.

I didn't really feel it until Sunday, but when the pain did set in, it was bad. Even as I sat on my bed now, a week later, there was still some residual soreness.

Totally worth it, for the record.

"Camille? Hello?" Angela called up.

"I'm in my room."

Angela had the layout of my house memorized a long time ago. She didn't need me to walk her up to my room, which was a good thing, given the current state of some core muscles.

"Hey," she said as she popped into my room. "I got here just as your parents were leaving, so they let me in."

That was purposeful. I could be a real conniving little thing when I wanted to be. I invited Angela over for a time when I knew my parents would be out. They did not need to be here when I told Ang what I did over the weekend.

(And you'd think it'd be my dad that was the bigger issue, but it was actually my mom. Whereas my dad would cover his ears and flea the scene, my mom would most definitely ask me constant questions because she was concerned like that.)

"I feel like we haven't seen each other in so long," I said, rearranging my posture after Angela had taken it upon herself to just flop face first on to my bed.

She lifted her head up and looked at me.

"What do you mean? We've seen each other twice this week in class."

"I know, but that doesn't really give us a chance to talk. Privately, I mean."

Her eyes lit up.

"You have juice! Spill!," she squealed.

She was right, of course. Angela had asked me about my weekend both over text as soon as I got back and when she saw me on Tuesday in our psych lecture. I told her it was good and described the PG parts of the weekend.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. This was a huge deal for me, and I had gone one week without telling anyone else. Not too shabby. As I opened my mouth to tell Ang though, I felt this uncomfortable twinge, like by sharing I was disrespecting Taylor. But this was my business as much as it was his and Angela wasn't the Internet or the whole country of Canada.

"I had sex with Taylor!"

Gah! I said it! Now it really did happen.

Over the week I brainstormed how Angela would react. She would probably scream, or clap, or hit me with a pillow for not telling her sooner.

In reality, she didn't do any of those things.

But boy, I wish she did.

For the first few minutes, she just looked at me. No, stared at me. Should I be offended she seemed that shocked that I had sex? Actually, if she was only shocked, that would have been fine. A little offensive, but understandable. But her lips were slightly parted and her eyes were narrowed into slits. Was she... angry?

"Why aren't you saying anything?" I said, my excitement dissolving with each syllable.

Angela shook her head, like she was trying to bring herself back to earth.

"I'm just so...surprised, that's all. You had sex...with Taylor?"

"Yes," I said, my tone clipped.

Now I was a lot offended.

"Okay."

Okay? I didn't just tell her that I had pizza for lunch. I scoffed, trying to blink back tears.

"Okay? That's all you have to say?"

She looked at me with a bit more warmth. Finally. "What do you want me to say?"

I shrugged. Good question. Did I want her to congratulate me? Well, no, but something remotely positive would have been appreciated.

"I don't know, but I thought you'd be happy for me."

"Should I be happy for you?" she began. Her voice was slow and questioning and not at all like her. "I honestly can't believe you've had sex with someone who's not your boyfriend."

Son of a b—.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I blurted, indignance flashing in my chest. "Aren't you the one who's always been giving me that speech that sex isn't wrong, blah blah blah, you should totally do it, Camille!"

Yeah, I was being petty, but I couldn't believe that Angela wasn't sharing in my joy right now.

"Okay, I definitely didn't say all that," she said before her voice grew quieter, "but I get your point. And I was wrong."

When I saw a tear fall onto her cheek, all that ugly anger immediately dissolved.

"Oh my god, what's wrong?"

I threw my arms around her shoulders and watched my friend inhale a shaky breath.

"I had sex with Lawson over Christmas break, when you were in Pasadena," she admitted. "And I spent the next two weeks thinking I was pregnant."

What the hell? Both of those things were news to me. I mean, I figured she slept with Lawson, but she didn't come out and say it.

As I ran my hand over her hair, smoothing it, I asked, "Did you guys not use something? Why didn't you tell me any of this?"

"No, we did. We were safe. I thought I was pregnant because I had sex and I'm me."

My caressing stopped. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I'm my mother's daughter, aren't I?" Angela shrugged. "You know, a little pretty but a lot trashy, no matter what I do. Someone who sleeps with the first guy who shows interest in her."

"I thought you really liked Lawson?" Of all the things she said, I responded to that first.

She nodded. "I do, but that doesn't change the fact that he's been the first person who's wanted to sleep with me. Anyways, after I took the fifth test and it came back negative, you know what my first thought was?"

I shook my head.

She smiled before she continued. "That my friend Camille would never put herself in a situation like this. That she was so much more than a boy. She has two amazing, hardworking parents and she's going to be just like them one day. She puts herself and her career first and she's going to find someone who complements all that and then lose her virginity on her wedding night on a tropical island."

I swallowed because holy fuck. Until I met Taylor, that was what I envisioned for myself as well.

"I love Taylor," I admitted in a small voice.

Great, now I was crying. Angela grabbed a tissue from my nightstand and handed it to me.

"Thanks."

"I'm sure you do. But does he love you?"

Did he? I didn't know for sure, but he had to. He wouldn't treat me like he did if he didn't love me.

He just had to.

"I think so."

Angela frowned and cocked her head.

"Has he told you? Has he told you he loved you? Are you his girlfriend?"

Her voice grew in volume with each question.

"No. But what does that matter? I love him and I haven't told him those exact words."

I ignored the girlfriend part, because I didn't have an answer for that.

"I know. That still doesn't mean he feels the same."

I ran my hands threw my hair. The strands were knotted and it hurt but I didn't care.

"Ang, please, I know you're just looking out for me, but I can make decisions for my own life."

"That's the thing, Camille, you can't. At least not for this. You know I think you're brilliant and the best person I know, but you've been sheltered your whole life. You've always had your parents there to help you make decisions, to make sure you only saw the best in the world."

"What?"

"Come on, you know what I mean. I'll give you an example. When you found out your brother smoked marijuana, you went absolutely hysterical, saying that you didn't think people actually smoked weed and that only the 'really bad' kids did."

"That...that may be true, but that's not relevant to this," I said, my mind going back to that incident years and years ago. "I know what Taylor and I have, okay? He's my best friend and I—"

Oh fuck.

Of all the things I'll end up remembering from this conversation, the one thing that will stand out is that it broke Angela's heart.

I watched her eyes pool with tears and prayed that the words could somehow be shoved back into my mouth.

"Ang, you know I didn't mean tha—"

"No, no, I get it. You love him."

"You know I love you too."

Angela wiped her eyes and a small piece of my heart broke off. I felt like absolute shit.

"You know what, I better get going," she said, talking quickly and getting up.

"No, don't go, please."

"Look, just...just forget all the things I said. You're right. I stepped out of line."

I stood up and wrapped my hands around her forearms.

"I know you just want the best for me."

"I do, and it seems like you have it with Taylor. Don't make my stupidity ruin it for you. I'm sure you're right."

As I watched Angela walk out of my room I stood there, feet frozen on the floor. I was bawling at that point and I threw myself back onto my bed and resolved to make this right. Eventually. Some way.

The suggestion that Taylor might not love me hurt. It knocked the wind right out of me.

I had to be right about my feelings.

Do you want to know how I found out I was wrong?

As soon as the prof dismissed us, I did the first thing I always did. Check my phone. I wasn't particularly proud of that habit, but the fact that I had the will power to at least wait until class ended had to mean something, right? Okay, so I also checked it during the ten-minute break during the lecture. Sue me.

It was something I did automatically. Close notebook, put pencil back in my pouch, check my phone. I typically didn't have many messages waiting for me and if I did happen to have an email it was usually some spammy-type thing from a store I once shopped at.

That was why when I saw the text message on my lock screen, I did a double take.

It was from Angela.

You'd think a text from her wouldn't be out of the ordinary and on any day other than this one you'd be correct. We hadn't spoken since she came over on Saturday and to go this long—even if it was only a few days—was rare for us. But the lack of communication wasn't due to a lack of effort, at least on my part. I sent her two text messages and called her at least five times over the seventy-two hours since she left my room.

My stomach clenched. It was like my gut was directly connected to my amygdala. Whenever I felt an unpleasant emotion, my stomach never failed to hurt.

And it hadn't stopped hurting since that horrible conversation.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and read the message as I walked out of the classroom.

Angela: Cam, I miss you. I know you have a class that ends at three. Can you come over to my dorm right after? I'm sorry.

If it wasn't for the whistling of the wind, I'd bet that everyone within a ten-metre radius would have heard my sigh of relief. I hated conflict with my enemies; I sure as hell couldn't tolerate it with my best friend.

Because Angela French was my best friend.

I realized that now.

Me: On my way right now. :)

Angela wasn't the only one who wanted to say sorry. I replayed our heated conversation in my head at least ten times and saw all the places that both her and I were being unreasonable.

Let's start with where Angela fudged up, shall we? Yes, I was born to amazing, supportive parents who gave me the entire world, but I was still born human. I wasn't better than anyone, let alone her. I was special in the same way all people are special. I didn't want to be held to higher standards or placed on a pedestal just for how I was raised. I was a living, breathing young woman and I deserved to do what I wanted and give in to my desires, just like everyone else. I knew Angela didn't mean to cause harm by thinking that way—in fact she probably meant it as a compliment—but it was. Harmful, I mean.

And then there was all the crap that I spewed. Angela had a point, of course she did, when she pointed out that Taylor hadn't said anything that suggested he was in love with me. That reminder stung and played on my anxiety so I called Taylor my best friend because that was the only label he had given me. In hindsight, that was something that never should have been admitted to Ang's face but the only point I was trying to make was that Taylor had told me, in his own way, that I was special to him.

So, clearly, we had both said some legit things in some less-than-ideal ways.

I walked into Angela's dorm, showed the student working the front desk my student card, and made my way down the hallway, all with my stomach swimming.

I was going to get emotional. There was just no way I was going to get through this reunion unscathed.

Her door was ajar, and I knocked as I pushed it open. Angela was sitting on her desk, back to me.

"Angela?" I said softly.

"Oh my god, hug!" she exclaimed, launching herself out of her chair.

As we wrapped our arms around each other, we let out all kinds of emotional noises. And tears. Told you.

"I am so sorry!"

"No, Camille, I'm so sorry."

"I felt so awful knowing you were mad at me."

"It's okay. I'm okay. Please don't cry."

Angela finally let go, pushed her door closed, and grabbed me a tissue. I took the piece of scratchy bargain material from her extended hand and blew my nose. After I took a pump of hand sanitizer that she keeps on her desk, I joined Angela cross-legged on her bed.

"I'm really glad you wanted to come over," she admitted.

"Of course! You didn't think I'd say no, did you?"

Angela shrugged and scrunched her nose. "Knowing you, I knew you'd say yes. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how much of an ass I had been for not being happy for you. This is the first time you've ever felt this way and my reaction must have hurt. I'm sorry."

I stretched out one of my legs and poked her shin with my toe. "You're forgiven, ass. I'm so—"

"No! Don't apologize." She held up her head, shutting me up. "I wanted you to come over so we could have kind of a redo? You can tell me all about Taylor and how much you love him, and I'll be happy for you. Promise."

That sounded like a plan to me. Second time's the charm, right? Whoever said it was the third time just messed up way too much.

So, with Angela resting her chin on her folded hands, I launched into the story that was Camille and Taylor. Him buying me a new top after the movies. Massaging my cramps. Staying late on the ice with the boy whose mom came late. Signing my dad's jersey. Calming me during my panic attack. Taking me to see Devon. All of it. All the things that made me fall in love with Taylor were shared. And sharing them made me fall in love with him all over again. Even deeper this time.

I paused, feeling the warmth and tenderness spread over my body. But when I looked over at Angela, the sadness in her eyes chased away those pleasant feelings and left chills and fear in their place.

Oh god. That look was certainly not happy. So what was it this time?

"You said you were going to be happy for me," I tried to joke, playfully pushing her in the arm.

Angela just looked at me with wide, glassy eyes for a moment before she said two words.

Two small words that had the impact of a shot gun.

"I can't."

Blank.

Blank.

Blank.

That was what was going through my mind at that point. If my mind was a colour, it would have been pure white.

"What do you mean you can't?"

Her shoulder lifted in the smallest of shrugs and if every fiber of my body wasn't absolutely zeroed in on her I might have missed the movement.

"I can't be happy for you because I know something about Taylor that you don't."

My stomach dropped.

Pardon? Care to elaborate?

What did she know? Was it that Taylor liked pineapple on his pizza even though I despised that? Because I knew that already.

What the fuck did she know?

"Okay," was all I said. Like an illiterate moron.

"Camille, I'm really sorry to be the one to..."

As Angela spoke, I zoned out her face, her body, her voice, until all that was left was the words being spoken.

Soulless, emotionless words.

Just words.

Horrible words.

You're not the only one Taylor's been sleeping with. He's been sleeping with other girls in Toronto. Did you know that?

Break.

Break.

Break.

That was what my heart was doing at that point. If my heart was a mirror, it would have been shattered into a million pieces.

I spent a few moments inside myself, desperately trying to put the pieces back where they belonged and willing them to unbreak.

When I finally did respond, it wasn't me. All the good things about me were replaced with Hurt, Anger, and Denial. They acted on my behalf.

"Is that why you called me over? So, you could tell me this?"

"I—yes. I'm so sorry. I just wanted you to—"

She kept talking, but I wanted her to stop.

I needed her to stop so I could process this. Because it wasn't making any sense.

She didn't stop. Her words were a jumble of things I didn't want to hear. I processed her voice like she was talking underwater, and I could only make out bits and pieces. Lawson. Visited Taylor in Toronto for an interview or something like that. Empty condom box being thrown into the garbage. A teammate teasing him. Lawson told Angela.

Condom box.

Taylor opened a new one when I was there. He made it seem like he only had one box and never used it. And I believed him.

I still believed him.

"Are you jealous?" I suddenly blurted.

Finally. Angela stopped talking.

"What?" She repositioned her body. Her slow, slinky movements were feline.

"Are you jealous of me?"

"Camille, what are you talking about?"

Looking back, that was the moment I realized that Angela was a better person than me. Before, I thought me and her were equally good people. But after that, no. No chance. She proved she was better when she gave me an out, a chance to stop and think about what I was saying before I got nasty. Even nastier than it was already.

But I didn't take it.

"Because you were the first one to have a boyfriend and finally you had the upper hand between us, had something I didn't. But then I do get a boyfriend and he's a professional athlete."

You can't stop a train when it's rushing down the tracks. I knew how it felt. In that moment, I was a train wreck.

"Camille, stop!" she cried. "You're being mean. I'm trying you help you here, okay? I'm on your side. I'm telling you that you're not Taylor's girlfriend. How could you be when he's been fucking girls non-stop since he got to Toronto!"

Break.

Break.

Breakbreakbreak.

I wanted to barf. I really wanted to barf.

"I know this is hard to hear but would you rather not know?"

There was no reason for Angela to lie, I knew that. Logically speaking, Angela had nothing to gain by telling me this. But I had everything to lose by hearing it.

"Shut up! Can you please shut the fuck up!" I roared. "Don't insert your opinion in places where it doesn't belong, okay? I know what Taylor and I have."

I could tell my words were hurting Angela and I knew I wasn't being fair. Her words were hurting me too, but that was because of Taylor. Mine were hurting her because of me.

Quickly though, her hurt was replaced with anger. She wiped her nose with her sleeve and glared at me.

"Do I even know you, Camille? This so isn't you!"

"I'm leaving, Angela. So, you can just save it, okay."

All I had brought with me was my bag and my coat. I swiped them off the desk and prepared to storm out.

"Fine, leave!" she huffed. "Go back to Taylor and enjoy being one of many!"

It was a toss-up of who was shocked more by Angela's outburst. This was too much. The information about Taylor. Angela yelling. Me screaming and crying.

I only had one thing to say to her before I slammed the door.

"You're a bitch."