AMELIA
I am seated at the table, absentmindedly staring and fork-stabbing the breakfast mom prepared, when she exclaims behind the stove, “Oh my goodness. What happened to you?”
Assuming she is addressing me, I glance at her, but behind me, I hear that deep, sleepy voice, and I tense.
“I am fine,” he says.
Last night, I couldn't sleep; inappropriate thoughts filled my head one minute, guilt the next. These conflicting emotions battle within me as enemies up until now, leaving me without appetite and with under-eye bags.
“You got into a fight?” Mom continues to ask, showing a keen interest in Cam, whom she has made it her mission to idolize.
“I—” Cam stumbles, clearly unsure how to be honest with Mom without shattering her ideal image of him.
I hate that I'm doing this. Thinking
