Page 6 of Santino (The Camboy Network #4)

CHAPTER

FIVE

HAYDEN

Consciousness comes to me slowly. It’s hazy at first, fuzzy around the edges like a dream. But gradually, light invades the dark corners of my room and sounds solidify into car horns and sirens in the distance.

There’s a split second before I’m fully alert when my brain hasn’t quite remembered the shit I’ve been going through lately.

In that fleeting moment, I feel like my old self again, filled with excitement over the potential of a brand-new day.

But then my brain powers all the way up and that positive, optimistic feeling vanishes.

I open my eyes and groan. Fuck, I’m tired. I haven’t felt this tired in… actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this tired before. We didn’t even stay out that late. And I only had a couple drinks. There’s no reason why I should want to curl back up under the covers, but I really, really do.

Last night comes back to me in stages. It was fine at first. Great, even. But by the time food was served at dinner, everything started falling apart.

The ache in the middle of my chest. The invisible heaviness weighing me down. The distance between me and everyone else. Like I was watching them through a thick pane of glass. Like I was drowning on one side while they all continued with their evening on the other.

It only got worse at The Bronzed Rail. Everyone was having so much fun.

They all looked so happy. I should’ve been in the middle of it, smiling and laughing along with everyone else.

But the more I watched them, the more the ache tried to swallow me up and the heaviness tried to crush me. And then there was the voice.

I mean, it’s not really a voice. Like, I’m not hallucinating and hearing things that aren’t actually there. The voice is just me, but it’s putting words to thoughts I’ve never had before. Like, they’re coming from me, but they’re not really mine.

No one wants you here. You’re only here because they need someone to bring Santino to the restaurant. You could get up and leave and no one would notice you were gone.

I didn’t think any of that was true, but the voice wouldn’t stop repeating it over and over and over. At one point, I wanted to cover my ears and scream just to drown it out.

But then someone did notice. Someone saw I was standing against the wall, trying to focus on anything else but those ugly, negative thoughts. Someone came over and sat down with me. Someone made sure I wasn’t alone.

Santino. The new guy.

God, how embarrassing. He must think there’s something wrong with me. I mean, I guess there is something wrong with me. But he didn’t need to know that. Not when he has to live with me for the next few weeks. The least I could’ve done was pretend I was normal.

But nope. He saw me hovering on the edge of freaking out. He reached out and threw me a lifeline. He reeled me in and made sure I didn’t float away.

How was he able to see me when no one else could? How did he know I needed someone to sit with me? Who is this guy?

Something stirs in my chest. It feels a little frantic, a lot desperate. It wants to latch on to Santino as if he’ll be able to save me from whatever’s wrong. As if one small act of kindness means he has the answer to all my problems.

Life doesn’t work that way, though. People don’t waltz into your life and magically fix everything that’s wrong. He didn’t come here to fix me anyway. He came here to work on the documentary. What right do I have to ask him to help me?

Besides, he probably thinks I’m a freak now.

I stab my fingers through my hair and force myself out of bed.

I should stay away from Santino. Let him enjoy his time in the city.

Let him focus on the documentary. He doesn’t need me and my issues distracting him from why he’s really here.

And when he’s finished, he can go home with happy memories of his time in New York.

He’s only here for a few weeks. I can hold things together for that long—I hope.

In the kitchen, I open the fridge door and stare inside.

I’m running low on food, but there’s still more than enough for a decent breakfast. I could do breakfast burritos, BLT bagels, straight-up omelets.

But I don’t really want to do any of that.

I want to crawl back into bed and sleep for another hour or two or three.

Behind me, Rhys’s door—no wait, Santino’s door—opens. He comes out wearing boxers and a t-shirt. His thick, dark hair stands up on end and his eyes are barely open. He rubs a hand over his head. “Morning,” he mumbles.

My heart does this weird lurching thing in my chest. He looks adorable. All warm and soft from having just woken up. I wonder what it would feel like to pull him into my arms and lose myself in all that warmth and softness.

I spin away, heart aching with just how much I want that. But it’s ridiculous. I don’t know the guy. I can’t maul him first thing in the morning before he’s fully awake. Instead, I put on the cheeriest voice I can muster while I’m still kind of groggy. “Morning! Want some breakfast?”

Santino leans against the counter as if he needs help staying upright. “Coffee?”

“Coffee! Yep, I can definitely do that.”

Santino’s face is all scrunched up as he eyes me with suspicion. “Lemme guess. You’re a morning person?”

I open my mouth to say yes, but stop short. I don’t know if I’m a morning person. Old Hayden would’ve been up hours ago, whereas I barely managed to force myself out of bed. I want to be a morning person again, but that feels so impossible right now. “Sometimes?”

Santino groans and rubs his hands over his face. “Bellamy’s a morning person too. Always up at the crack of dawn. It’s inhuman, bro.”

His grumpiness is endearing and I find myself smiling a little as I fill the kettle and prep the French press. “Rhys is like you. He hates mornings. Never gets up before ten o’clock.”

“See? Cool people don’t wake up early. I knew I liked the guy. He knows what’s up.”

A wave of nostalgia hits me. God, I miss Rhys. He always made the apartment so lively and vibrant. He loved to hang out and catch up while cuddling on the couch. I even miss the bad things, like when he left dirty dishes in the sink or his long hair all over the bathroom floor.

The apartment was so empty when he moved out.

It was so quiet—too quiet. I’d wander from the living room to the kitchen to Rhys’s empty room to the bathroom and back again, never knowing what to do with myself in such a big place.

I ended up cooking way too much food. I had no one to talk to.

I know he’s happier than he’s ever been living with Angel and I want that for him, but…

What about me?

Guilt hits me like a train as the question echoes through my mind. What about me? I’m fine. I’ve got a great job, great friends, great life. So, the apartment feels too big for just one person. Find a fucking roommate.

Suck it up, loser. Deal with your own shit. Don’t dump your problems on other people. They have their own lives. They don’t have time to coddle you because you’re feeling a little lonely.

“Hey.”

I startle at the hand on my arm, spinning around to find Santino standing right next to me. He’s close enough for me to feel the heat of his body and smell the scent of cinnamon on his skin. His hair is still mussed and in disarray. There’s still some crusty white stuff around his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

The three simple words are like a knife, cutting through the delicate ties holding me together. I can feel myself falling apart, chunks of myself dropping away as my fragile defenses crumble.

No, I'm not okay. I want to scream it from the tops of my lungs. I haven’t been okay in a long time and I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell anyone. I don’t want the guys to worry about me. But I don’t know what’s wrong with me and nothing I do is working.

Maybe I could just tell him. I could let it all spill out like emotional projectile vomit. Maybe he’ll know what to do. Maybe he’ll be able to help.

But no. I can’t do that. I’ve known the guy for less than twenty-four hours. He’ll just think I’m crazy and run as far and as fast as he can. That’s what any normal person would do.

That’s what all your so-called friends have done, isn’t it? You’ve chased them away with all your bullshit. You’ll just chase this guy away too.

Is that true? Have I chased away all my friends? Is there something wrong with me? Did I do something to hurt them and didn’t even realize it?

I can’t do that to Santino. He’s a guest. He’s here to be in the documentary. He doesn’t deserve to be saddled with me just because I’ve got an empty room for him to stay in. He’s only being nice. He doesn’t actually care if I’m okay. Why would he care? He doesn’t know me.

I force a smile onto my face. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, you know, mornings. Do you take milk or sugar in your coffee?” I spin away to dig out mugs from the cupboards.

“No, just black.” There’s a hint of caution in his voice, like he’s not buying my act.

So, I try to smile bigger. “Nice. This coffee is from a local roaster. They get their beans directly from farmers in Colombia. You’ll really taste all the flavor notes when you drink it black.

” My hand shakes when I reach for the kettle and I have to use both hands to pour the boiling water into the French press.

Santino doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the weight of his gaze on me. He’s too observant. He sees too much. When I risk a quick glance in his direction, his eyes follow my every move as if I might spill boiling water on myself or drop the mug on the floor.

I don’t think I can stay out here any longer.

I can’t hold myself together under his scrutiny.

“Okay, so, um, you’ll want to let this steep for a few minutes.

Then push down this depressor thing to filter out all the grinds—sorry, you know how to use a French press.

Obviously. Anyway. Um, yeah. Help yourself to whatever in the fridge. ”

I make my escape and run into my bedroom, just barely stopping myself from slamming the door shut behind me.

I perch on the bed, gripping the edge with both hands.

My heart is racing like it’s trying to beat its way out of my chest. My mind races, jumping from one thought to another faster than I can follow.

Wow, that was embarrassing. You’re such a loser. Santino’s gonna think you’re a lunatic. Everyone thinks you’re a lunatic. Nobody likes you. That’s why Rhys left. That’s why they all left.

In the small, rational part of my brain, I know none of this is true.

My friends love me. Rhys loves me. I’m not a loser.

I’m not an embarrassment. But the voice is louder than my reason.

The voice blares on repeat in my mind until there’s no space for any other thoughts.

It’s like a parasite that’s lodged itself inside my skull.

I dig my fingers into my hair and pull. I bang the heels of my hands against my head. I grab a pillow and try to suffocate myself with it, trying to block out the voice. But how can I block out something that’s in my head?

I need it to stop. I need it to go away and leave me alone. I just want to be happy again. Is that so much to ask? I just want to be the person I used to be before this all started happening. I just want to be normal.