Cam
The rest of the night is as merciless as my conversation with Aspen was. I’m past the vomiting, but I’m no less sick to my stomach. Knowing that she’s one room away from me, replaying the horrible things I said to her over and over again in her head, the same way they’re repeating in my head… it’s almost too much to bear.
I finally manage to settle into an uncomfortable sleep around four o’clock in the morning. I dream of Aspen—of the kiss that never happened and probably never will happen; of the way she looked in the road that night, bloody and helpless; of the way her pale, blue eyes glittered with rage and pain as she screamed the truth to me about her brother.
I wanted to believe you were different. Like him. A jock with a heart and a record collection. But you’re nothing like
