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“I've known him since he was thirteen. If he’s tired, his answers are short.” In part, that’s a lie. His answers do change when he’s tired, annoyed, or dealing with a game loss, but also, he’s losing interest in her. If Jaxon likes you, he texts you. A lot. And besides that, if he had any feelings for her he wouldn’t still be talking to me, right? Right? Someone please confirm this because my anxiety is writing fan fiction in my head.
“I see.” She tucks her phone into her pocket shyly. “So he’s not ghosting me?” she deduces. It’s not a question, at least I don’t think it is.
Make it stop. Make this gut-deep, heart-crushing feeling fucking stop. I want to crawl under the table and hibernate until this whole situation goes away.
“I have no idea,” I snap, annoyed she’s still sitting in front of me and asking me all this shit about him. “We don't talk as much.” And I don't have to know anything about her to know she’s shocked here. “You'd have to ask him.”
“Wait.” Her brow draws together. “You guys still talk?”
Oh shit. Did I say that out loud? My heart stops, then starts again at double speed. This is fine. Everything is fine. Except it's not fine. Nothing about this is fine.
I panic, that lump rises in my throat again and it’s as if my ribs are squeezing my organs. Like my entire chest cavity is playing a game of “how much can we compress before she passes out?” Will he be mad if I say yes? Should I even care at this point?
I definitely care, even though I shouldn’t.
My thoughts rush, a tingling heat washing up my neck as I envision us in the shower. The way his words “Baby” felt whispered against my wet skin.
Oh god, brain, not now. This is NOT the time for that highlight reel.
I can’t breathe in here and I think I’m going to throw up. I can feel it rising up in my throat. The room is spinning like I’m on some twisted emotional merry-go-round. I want off this ride, sir.
I don’t wait for the next person to interview me. I stand up and rush out of that media center. Real professional, Cam. You’re nailing this whole “composed athlete” thing.
The wind hits my face subtly and there's a small amount of relief, but it's not enough and only a reminder. Thirteen years old. A spring day at the fields, alone in the dugout after practice and him standing next to me. I can recall every detail of the way it felt when he touched me for the first time. Gentle. Reassuring. I remember his fingertips were cold to the touch, his intention hesitant but his words warm as he whispered, “Pretty girl,” in my ear.
Leaning into the railing outside, I try to draw in deep calming breaths but nothing helps and I start to hyperventilate. I push out quick, shallow breaths but they don’t provide any relief. I want to burst into tears. I hold them back. I won’t let them fall. But I do.
Why am I letting this control me? Why am I constantly doing this to myself? It’s like I’m starring in my own personal soap opera, except instead of dramatic music, all I hear is my anxiety screaming.
I cover my face with my hands as the tears roll down my cheeks. Angrily I brush the tears away, pissed I’m crying. Nothing says “I'm totally fine” like crying outside the media center while desperately trying to not cry. Nailing it.
Let him go. You don’t need this stress.
I’ll tell you what though, I shouldnothave looked at those texts. Like, that was probably in the top five of “Worst Decisions Camdyn Has Ever Made.”
And I sure as shit shouldn't have fucked him the other day.
Two epic fucking fails on my rules. Someone revoke my “Making Good Life Choices” card immediately.
Groaning, I run my hands down my face, wet with the tears I can’t stop.
I hear the media doors open, then two arms around me. I don’t have to look to know it’s Brynn. “What happened?” shewhispers in my ear, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Inez said she showed you Jaxon’s texts.”
It takes me a minute before I can reply and I’m brushing tears from my cheeks. I shrug out of her hug and turn to face her. “I saw a goodnight text from him and it brought back all these memories.” I hate the way my voice shakes. I don’t have to let this bother me, but I am, and the weakness taking over makes me feel like I’ve failed, once again. I fail myself, him, this team... Add it to my growing list of “Things Camdyn Screwed Up This Week.”
Brynn continues to rub my back. “Oh, babes. I'm so sorry.”
“Am I being stupid hanging onto him, Brynn?” I suck in a quick breath. “Like for real. What the fuck am I doing? This is so stupid.” It is stupid. I’m being dumb. He’s not mine anymore, and I’m not his. We’re... whatever the fuck he decides, and that right there should tell me to move on. But here I am, collecting emotional bruises like they’re Pokémon cards.
“Girllll, I’ve been in love with the same guy since second grade and I’ve never officially dated him.” Her eyes widen. “I'm the wrong person to be asking.”
She’s right, in part. It’s different for Brynn though. She talks to other guys, dates them, puts herself out there. I can't. I’ve tried so many times. I have no interest in seeing anyone else and as you can see, the idea, the realization that Jaxon was trying to date other girls sends me into a fucking anxiety attack. Why can’t I be like my friends and move on? Why can’t I be a cold-hearted bad bitch?
No, instead I’m a caring Camdyn drowning in fucking feelings.
Brynn pulls away and I hate the sympathy in her eyes. “No boy is worth feeling like you’re not enough.”
I want to believe her. I should, but it’s not that easy. Not when everything I’ve ever known about life and love goes backto him. I can’t walk away and forget it all like he didn’t mean anything to me. That would be like trying to forget how to breathe. Theoretically possible, but probably fatal.