“I don’t want to be known, Caleb.”
He snorts in derision and then folds his arms across his chest, staring out the window.
When we arrive back at the apartment, Caleb is in a mood and I feel it, every bit of it, the way he won’t even look at me, how he seems to lean away from me.
This is exactly what I need. I need him to dislike me. To not want me.
As soon as the apartment door closes and I flick the lock in place, I turn toward him. “I think we should end this before you get hurt.”
He scoffs. “Oh, only I’d get hurt?”
He has no idea how much I ache already, how bruised my heart already feels. And it’s only been a day. My fingers tap a nervous rhythm on my leg.
“Yes, it’s for the best. You’re straight. This isn’t you. It’s a phase and…experimentation.”
“That so?”
I squeeze my leg tightly and nod. “You’re not my type, as we’ve established. And I’m clearly not yours.”
“You sure?” he asks, and our eyes clash.
“Stop it, Caleb. We should remain roommates, and that’s all. This whole thing was a bit of a mistake.”
He arches an eyebrow at me and then shrugs, like he doesn’t care. But I can tell he does.
“Whatever you want, dude.”
He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor. I glance at it and swallow roughly. He unbuttons his pants next and kicks them off as he moves toward the bathroom.
He’s wreaking havoc in our apartment, the same chaos he’s leaving inside me.
“I’m going to shower,” he says.
My eyes flick to the clothes and then to him, the way his muscles ripple, the shape of his ass. He’s a detriment to everything I’m trying to uphold.
My irritation spikes.
“Pick up your clothes first.”
“Nah,” he says with a wink. “I’ll do it later, roomie.”
My skin flushes, my body tight and warm as he brushes past me. His hand touches mine, just once, and I can’t help but reach out and grab it.
“It’s for the best,” I say, my words tight and low.
“Is it?”
“You’ll see.” I let him go, watching him disappear into the bathroom without a backward glance.
The next several days are excruciating. I’m dealing with my parents every day, forced into conversations about my future. Plans I want no involvement in, but ones I know they won’t let me walk away from easily. No, if I leave them, if I disappoint them, it will be painful—a brutal amputation.
So, I’m left to make decisions. Big ones.
It’s taking a toll on me. I want to curl up in my bed and hide away, but I can’t.
This is who I am, who I was born to be. I can never be myself. It doesn’t help that Caleb isn’t around much, either. He’s either been in class or working extra hours—at the scrapyard, I guess.
I remember him mentioning that he had a job there, but I don’t think I was truly listening.