My boyfriend's Cuckoo Roommate

5. Welcome ‘to the disastrous’ home

The residential street was empty, the kind where each house is a mansion, and the owners rarely leave, even for morning workouts because of their easy access to en-suite gyms. I sent my location to Jake twenty minutes ago, and now I'm sitting on the curbside on a sunny day, waiting for him.

Only a few cars had passed by since then, and all the time my eyes were carefully examining the logos to make sure there weren't any black Aston Martins coming in my direction.

Here's a quick narration of what went down in the past 40 minutes. Mr. Asshole, as I have dubbed him on his porch, decided to be humbled, as he said, given a pretty dark-skinned girl drove over to him. He was so excited about a new body, new face, and new s*x that he simply tossed out my things, including my bra and torn dress. Mind you, I had to hide behind a tree, and the girl saw me. She understood my situation, but some women these days are fools. So irrational to take what's to happen by the example they see.

I'm not saying I am perfect, but if I had seen this earlier, that he was a bastard who's only pleased once by a body, I would have resorted to sleeping on the street. Now I've learned my lesson, but it's too late. My first s****l experience is a tremendously absurd anecdote of imbecilic decisions. The memories aren't even fully comprehensive as every girl's first should be, but I can very well tell the part that I was thrown outside the house naked and being laughed at.

What a jerk!

I've gotten dressed on his lawn without the chance to wear any underwear because it wasn't a luxury private dressing. All the while, Mr. Asshole was waving from the second-floor balcony of his stupid mansion and dodging all the stones I hurled to hit him on the head and have him flatly knocked out. It didn't work, so cursing at him worked instead, though he was only amused, reminding me to look after my souvenir. What man bites and then throws women's things through the window? But the jerk has a childish syndrome and it is in his uncordial level of actions. I slept with a man with the mind of a grudging 4-year-old.

How great.

Spotting a cab coming in my direction, I stand up, folding my hands around my chest, as I didn't have a bra inside, and my n*****s were puckered from my nervous system.

The vehicle didn't fully stop when the front door opened, and Jake threw himself out, practically running over to me.

"My love," he calls eagerly as he jogs over, and I don't know why I turn around. I guess making eye contact with him didn't turn out to be as easy as it was before.

I feel long hands swaddle me from behind, and his warmth spreads through every pore in my body, arousing my tears.

Of course, he would take me by surprise; he always does. It's what brought us to this moment.

"I am so sorry, Amy. I am so sorry. Hit me, scream at me, do anything but do not turn away from me. Do not hate me. My heart can't take it. I swear. I've tried it, love, I swear, I've tried letting you hate me. But I couldn't breathe. I couldn't. Amy, I am so sorry," he buries his face in the nook of my neck, tightening his hold around me. Every word he uttered carved a meter of agony into my soul, fanning the reminder that I had messed up, and tears swam my eyes. "I left the job, Love. I am back. Nothing is as meaningful as my life with you in it. You are all I want. You are enough, I swear. I can't forgive myself I've left you all on your own here. I can't forgive myself I made you cry. I hate myself for not talking to you in the very first place, and I dare not say sorry immediately, I didn't run back to you immediately. Please don't hate me. Let me hate myself. Please, Amy..."

While I was getting drunk and having s*x with someone, Jake was on the plane, resigning from a job he so much wanted for us but chose me over it.

No, I'm finished. What a fool, Amelia. f**k you. Since when do you become a slut? Since when do you lose control? Since when is s*x so casual to you?

"Please, forgive me," he sobbed. He shouldn't; I should be begging him.

"No, no, no, Jake," choking on my tears, I spin in his arms, looping my arms around his neck, and he hugs me like I was going to disappear if he let go. I couldn't help but notice the fragrance of perfume I got him for his birthday last year, and my cry worsened; I could sleep in his arms.

"It's okay. I am here. It's all over. We will be fine," he whispered.

I felt safe, protected, and at home, yet I felt a profound taste of regret that I clearly will live with as long as I hold onto the secret without coming clean. But how can I? This isn't some normal 'I watched a new season of our favorite TV show while you're away' or even 'I spoke with my ex on the phone' coming clean. This is 'I cheated on you' coming clean. This is 'I gave my first to a stranger at a bar' coming clean. I swear even thinking about it, sounded foreign to me. How can I let that happen? How can I get excited by another that is not Jake?

But I guess I don't truly know myself, either.

When we pull back, Jake cradles my face, his thumb subtly stroking my cheek, and he leans in and kisses me. I was numb; I didn't feel much of it. I am just grateful he came back. I smile at him when he stares at my tear-stained face.

"Let's go home. Okay?" He nods. There is fear in his eyes as he awaits my answer.

But as I nod my consent, a smile smoothens his frown. He excitedly kisses my cheek, and my hair, and hugs me.

"I love you," I told him, swallowing the bile in my throat.

"I love you," he whispered, his thumb wiping the tears under my eyes gently.

"We are going to live together. As I always wanted."

"As we always wanted," he corrected. "We are really doing it." He exhales a laugh, and I look up to see his goofy grin. Jake was BTS-band handsome, with woody short curtain hair, brown eyes, and natural smooth skin with barely any skincare routine. He was lean and a few inches taller than me, with a bulge Adam's Apple that emphasized his muscularity in an adorable way.

"We are." I laugh, wiping the new tears welling in my eyes, those mixed with joy and guilt.

He pulled my luggage, making it look effortless, and we headed to the cab waiting for him.

"Get the boxes in the trunk," Jake told the cab driver and the man came out to set them in.

He lowers his hand to mine, lacing our fingers together, and I lock mine with his, like two excited middle school kids.

His eyes were like a mirror, and in its depth and transparency, I was the only one. Like he's my only one. But how do I say I have the best intentions when, during our one-day breakup, I went on and gave my V-card to a stranger? What kind of a hypocrite am I? This is the man I told him I couldn't sleep with until we were married, and he agreed because he respects me.

"We are getting a room at a hotel?" I ask in our embrace in the moving cab.

He has me close to him, clutched in his arm. "No, we are going back to Cam."

"What if he's already given the room?" I worriedly look up, locks of hair plunging over my face and covering my eyesight.

Jake smiled, and his other hand came, tenderly brushing back my hair. "There's enough room in the house; if he's going to rent a room, it wouldn't be mine." He said with certainty.

I like it. "My room." I playfully repeated, and he lifted his hand in the air in front of us and jiggled a key.

"With life, and as long as Cam is in Portland, I will always have a home in Portland until we get our own someday." He bragged.

"Hmm... what an alliance. I don't think we ladies can boast that much like that." I rolled my eyes.

He laughs, "Do not be jealous; I am sure women do have strong friendships too."

"Look at me; I practically crawled through high school, having gone through various pranks and humiliations, all orchestrated or assented by the girls. And I won't say I made one true friend."

"Hopefully, you will meet good friends here, and who knows, maybe you can make me and Cam jealous. But first, you have to find a friend aside from me." he jokes.

"I do not want any friend; as long as I have you, I am okay." I pout, and he beams, leaning over and nibbling my lips.

Jake had always talked about Cam; they went to college together, the same school I am starting tomorrow. And although Jake is two years older, they just have this natural connection you can see and hear in the way Jake talks about Cam. After graduation last year, Jake would've returned to New Jersey because things were hard without a job and a place to live. Still, Cam proposed he stay with him as long as Jake wanted, and now Jake was sending him a text that he was bringing me over too, and he even replied saying he was getting the welcome cake ready.

Cam and I have talked on the phone sometimes, but we've never met physically. However, all our conversations had been natural, like we'd known each other for years. He will sometimes complain about Jake not taking his daily three meals seriously, or sometimes when Jake is sick, or when choosing birthday gifts.

Jake and I are still kissing when the car stops. The driver has to clear his throat to get our attention.

Embarrassed, I fold my lips and tuck my hair behind my ear, but the corner of my eyes captures something familiar.

That cursed lawn.

No!

"Babe? Wh—where are we?" I stuttered, sensing tears pooling in my eyes.

This can't be happening to me.

If I am not delusional, and what I am seeing is true, and all Portland residential homes aren't the same, then I really am back in the same three-story villa where all my horror unfolds.

"We are home." Jake smooches my cheeks.

"We—we are living here?" My heart retracted, and my hands suddenly turned cold and numb.

"Yes. Cam's place." Jake jerks his head at the building and opens the door, stepping out of it and holding out a hand for me.

My eyes widened. I look through the window; there's the same car I was brought inside last night. There's the tree I hid behind naked, getting dressed. There's the shovel I slammed the surveillance camera. The porch, I landed on my bare ass. The pavement, I dragged my boxes... so many eye-sores and traumatic memories.

This is what the hell is made of.

I took Jake's hand; I guess he could feel the trembling. He helps me step out; my head is swirling, my mind racing. I just cannot understand what kind of fate this is.

Unmistakably, I've met Cam. Cameron Reynolds, who is Jake's best friend. Unfortunately, we did more than just get introduced.

"What the hell? Who did that?" Jake laughed, and it took me a moment to comprehend what he meant.

He is laughing at what was written on the wall. If only he knew.

"Scoop you up," I heard Jake say while I was momentarily lost in thoughts, and suddenly before I process anything, he carried me in his arms, in bridal style. I would be embarrassed if my stomach isn't the chaos of a tornado, and my whole world wasn't about to crash before me.

"Jake—Jake, ple—please put me down," I beg; I am suffocating, it feels like it is my shirt but it's not it. I've pulled the collar as I can, but I just can't breathe, but clueless Jake only laughs, using his elbow to turn the doorknob.

The flood of tears broke out.

"Welcome home," was suddenly exclaimed from inside the house. That voice, that scent.

No!

Jake set me down, but I couldn't bring out my face from behind my hair. There was quiet. Every part of me was burning; I swear I could feel those volatile green eyes delving into my soul.

I was shrinking in my tracks and embarrassingly readjusting the hem of my shirt.

"Cam, meet officially, my trophy, The Amelia," Jake excitedly bragged next to me.

Another silence settled in the air.

Whatever it could be, do not let yourself be a hostage of remorse. That feeling is the worst a person can feel.

"Ooh!" I heard that good voice uttered, shocked, and all that earlier zeal he had when he welcomed us was now lost in his tone.

I wipe the tears on my cheeks and look up.

Cameron, Cam. Jake's best friend, is the unnatural young man who possessed those bright forest eyes, a concrete jaw, and a nose so perfectly defined that all ruined everything.

He paused; his lips were parted, his eyes dilated, staring at me.

It was clear he didn't expect this too. He was wearing a festive hat over messy sandy brown hair and holding a chocolate cake with burning candles.

"You really baked the cake," Jake said to his friend, walking over and slapping his arm.

Cam's body jumped a little, and he revived. And he shook his head. I wiped my eyes quickly.

"You'd be surprised by a lot of things," I heard Cam reply, like a velvet whisper, holding the power to soothe, seduce, and murder simultaneously.

I met his eyes. He was fuming.

No! He wouldn't!

I've never silently pleaded as though my life was at stake, and I was dumb until this moment when with eyes I keep imploring Cam not to say a word.

Jake threw his arm over Cam's shoulder, both facing me. I was getting paralyzed, losing feeling in my hands and knees.

"Babe, this is Cameron," Jake joyfully squeezed the shoulder of the man, shooting daggers at me.

"Nice to meet you," I reached out my hand nervously, not knowing what else to do, but he didn't take my hand. He stepped up and brought the cake in front of me instead.

"Blow the candles for good luck; you will need it," his lip quirking up maliciously, matching the viperous gleam changing the shades of his eyes.

"I—I don't blow candles," I cracked, choking on my emotions.

He nodded calmly with his brows.

"May the Lord protect you then," he threatened. Jake didn't figure out the tone. He happily said, "Ameen," and came to me.

Breathing, I tore my eye from studying him and rushedly turned over to Jake with a nervous smile and took his hand. Some sort of assurance to myself and confirmation to the guy glaring at me like he's about to give a verdict.

Jake was so excited, like a little boy with a present. "I will show you to our room, and then I will get your bags inside."

I nodded. Everything is extremely strange, and I can only pray to have the strength to maintain a smile for him. He deserves it.

"And about a massage?" He offered, smiling at me.

My emotions drooping.

Don't get me wrong. It had nothing to do with Jake. I just feel really bad and don't know how I got here. How did I make this mistake? How can I ever heal?

"You are my lifesaver," I faintly smile.

"Aww!" Cameron purrs; it sounds gut-wrenching.

Jake grabbed my hand and led us up the stairs, but I couldn't get over the feeling that Cam would scream behind us and expose everything. When I looked back, he hadn't stopped glaring at me.

He hates me, I concur. I hate him too. But he can't make it sound like I was the one who forced him. If it was anything, I was the drunk one between us. He shouldn't talk. Not him.