Page 34 of Fault Lines
“I think we’re back,” I said, my voice tentative but giddy. “Me and Cam. Like really, really back.”
“You think…? Wait, as in, you guys…?”
“Yes, Rachel,” I sighed, though I couldn’t help grinning. “We’ve been at it like teenagers every day for a week.”
She cackled. “Horny bunnies! Good for you, Livi. Now can I go back to sleep?”
“Not yet,” I shot back. “He’s so happy lately, Rachel. It’s like the old Cam again. He didn’t go out last Thursday. He stayed home, with me, all night. I think—I hope—it means he’s done with all that.”
Rachel was silent for a second. I could hear her rustling around her apartment, probably searching for her shoes. “I’m not trying to be a downer, but did he actually say he was done?”
I hesitated. “No, but he didn’t go last week…”
“That’s a good sign, babe. Just don’t get your hopes too high, okay?”
I dropped onto the couch, tucking my legs under a blanket. “But he wants me now. I can feel it. That’s what matters, right?”
“Livi, I think he always wanted you. But wanting you and wanting only you might not be the same thing for him. I just don’t want you to get hurt if it’s not what you imagine. It’s only been a week.”
I hugged the phone, wishing she was there in person. “I know. It’s just been so good…”
“And it should be!” she encouraged. “I hope this is it. Just…keep your guard up, okay?”
I let out a hollow laugh. “You’re right. I’m just hoping.”
∞∞∞
That evening, I waited by the door at 5:30, nervously watching the numbers on the clock. No Cam. My phone stayed stubbornly silent. Not even a text about work running late.
That was how I always knew: if it was just work, he’d find a way to let me know. But when it was Thursday nights, when he went elsewhere, it was silence. He didn’t want to hurt me with a reminder, he’d said, as if silence was any better at all.
I waited. I called him, twice, praying for an explanation. Nothing. Rachel had been right. It hadn’t changed.
He came home just past one in the morning, the house dark except for a single lamp.
I was curled on the couch, hands tight in my lap. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw me.
“Livi?” His hand hovered near the switch. “What are you doing up?”
I stood, slowly, numb from sitting so long. My eyes prickled with tears when the scent of another woman’s perfume reached me, and there on his neck—a faint smear of lipstick.
“I thought,” I managed, my voice wobbling, “since you didn’t go last week that–”
He dragged a hand over his face, the look in his eyes all defeat. “No, I just didn’t go last time because she canceled. I didn’t feel like finding someone new.”
“She?” The word was bitter on my tongue. “So you have a regular?”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t need to hear this, baby. It’ll only hurt you.”
“Is she beautiful?” I asked, quietly.
He stepped forward, desperate. “You’re beautiful.” He reached for me, but I dodged him, shifting out of his arms.
“Don’t touch me!” I flinched away, voice rising. “Don’t you dare touch me with her all over you. I thought you’d stopped. I thought you were mine again.”
I was sobbing now, ragged, the words tripping and falling out.
“Livi, I am yours. We’ve been so good, these weeks. Especially since we started having sex again. What more do you want?” His frustration bled through every word.
