CAMERON
"Just stop traumatizing her," Malia spitefully says, halting me as I stare at the door where their other friend, chasing after Amy with his car key, disappears. "She has Jake; do not ruin that for them like guys like you do."
You argue against the world when those you fight for want you to, so I harbor my words in the sanctuary of my silence. Amy hates me. They say to look into a person's eyes is to see their soul. I look into hers and see a weapon—sharp and cutting, ready to wound, void of warmth, a bottomless pit of cold, unwavering hostility for me.
Leaving the residence hall, I feel drained and slumped, as though a part of me has collapsed. On my way, my eyes caught the guy who followed Amy, calling after her as she raced down the parking lot. I hope she stops and lets him s
