Page 14 of Only You

Adam’s gasp of pain was guttural. “Youdid?With who?”

I didn’t owe him details. I didn’t want to mar the memory of my night with Daniel by telling Adam about it, but he had to know the truth. He had to understand. This wasn’t just about him and me, anymore. Thanks to him, it never had been, and now, thanks to me, he’d get a taste of how that felt.

I spoke as steadily as possible, keeping my tone quiet and cold. “With a guy I met this summer. A guy I care about. A guy I want to be with instead of you.”

The phone clattered on his end, and I heard retching noises.

My heart hammered. I hated the bright satisfaction that pierced a dark part of me. I considered hanging up, leaving him with those words as my final say on our disaster of a relationship.

Instead, I listened to him puke and cry, examining the nasty feeling in my chest. What was this miasma of sneering pride and wrenching pain? Did it have a name? How could I take a picture of it? It was so ugly, sharp, and mean.

Eventually, he came back on the line, his breathing ragged. I braced myself.

“Who?” he whispered, voice raw.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want you anymore. That’s all you need to know.”

“That’s bullshit!”

My stomach twisted, and my heart tore open. “It’s the truth.”

“All this because of a fucking condom? Dammit, Peter, stop this, okay? This is ridiculous. You’re being insane.”

“It’s not…it’s not just because—”

“I’ll use condoms with both youandLeslie from now on, okay? Just please don’t leave me.” More rough, broken sobs tumbled out of the receiver, and the ice around my heart started to melt.

I was glad he was in Atlanta, three hours away. If he’d been in his room down the street, I wasn’t sure I could’ve stopped myself from running down there, taking him in my arms, and petting his hair.

“Please, Peter,” he begged again, sobbing. “Please.”

“Adam, it’s not about the condoms. Be happy with Leslie. She’s a good person, and she loves you.” I cooled my voice to ice again. “We’re done. Don’t call me again. Ever.”

I hung up before he could say another word. I had to get off the line before I let his love and my sick need for it pull me under.

Chapter Three

‡

The next morningthe sun rose early, and so did I.

I’d tossed and turned most of the night. Adam’s broken voice on the phone haunted me, but I wasn’t going to let him ruin more of my life. It was my first day of classes and I was determined to be excited, so I focused on that, with the occasional fantasy about what might happen with Daniel in the future creeping in as well.

My first day as a freshman at the University of Tennessee began at eight o’clock sharp. It started with Psychology 110 and continued until noon with Biology. I was most excited about my first college-level photography class after that, and then I’d head over to Robert’s for a few hours of work, before calling it a day.

I showered and shaved before struggling for far too long to get my contacts in for some annoying reason. After dressing in comfortable jeans and a soft, green T-shirt I’d picked up at Target, I dithered over which camera to take. I decided on the Minolta. Checking out the window for an indication of the weather, I found a bright, cloudless dawn, so I popped in 200 speed film—good for daylight and decent for indoors with the right camera settings.

Heading downstairs, my nerves jangled with each step, a kind of electric anxiety built into the soles of my Chuck Taylors. I’d been on campus a thousand times over the years. I’d spent many sick days on the floor of my dad’s office in McClung Tower. But this would be my first time as a student.

I chewed on my lip, biting back a nervous smile.

In the kitchen, Mom stood by the stove, wearing an old-fashioned white linen nightgown—she must have been working on a Regency romance novel—and staring down at the griddle pan. Her dark brown hair hung in messy hanks, and a cup of coffee steamed in her hand. Round tan splotches of batter indicated she was making pancakes.

“Morning,” I said, crossing to the table. I opened my canvas backpack and fit my camera at the bottom. “What are you doing?”

Dad was the cook in our house, if you could call his microwave meals and Ragu spaghetti sauce cooking, so the sight of Mom using the griddle was unnerving.

“Making pancakes.” She smiled at me, her eyes still sleepy. Then she turned back to the griddle and stared down at the pancakes with concentrated effort.

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