Desperate to Touch

Taking my gaze away from the gorgeous house, I read the text and then I have to read it again.

You want to go out soon?

My brow furrows, a deep line settling in my forehead.

My first thought is: what is Cami doing on the East Coast? After all, who else would be texting me?

A vise tightens around my dry throat. Cami’s dead. Fuck, my head is so messed up.

It’s been like this since I saw Seth days ago. Since he called me Babygirl. The past has a way of creeping in. All the things once forgotten come back. With the pain lingering in my chest, oh how I wish Cami were here. I wish it were her who sent that text.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had moments like I’ve been having, where I’ve forgotten about everything that happened when I left. I don’t hold the guilt or any of the fear. In those moments, my mind plays tricks on me to convince me Cami’s still alive, still happy. I’ve only left her on the other side of the country for school and work. It’s a nice thought for a moment, but then my eyes prick with hot tears and the memory of the night I left comes flooding back in a rush.

I’ll never forget that imagery. I’ll never forget how cold her skin was. Or the feel of her lashes against my fingers when I closed her eyes. I hold my fingers now, willing the sensations to go away.

My body’s heavy as I fall against the driver seat. Breathe in, breathe out. Just keep breathing.

Ping. Bethany texts again. She’s not Cami. She’ll never be Cami.

A new friend to replace me, Cami’s voice whispers in my head and my throat tightens as I read the text Bethany sent: I miss you. I really do.

I don’t even have time to think about what happened between Bethany and me. I haven’t seen her since she left my apartment, pissed off at me. I did what I had to do. It was a few days after I’d seen Seth. I did what I thought was right.

I’ll tell her everything. She’ll understand. Some friendships come and go but some, like the one I have with Bethany, are meant to be forever friendships. I want so badly to make it up to Bethany and explain. Just like I want to do with Seth.

She’ll understand.

Failure and regret are kneading together in the pit of my stomach. I’ve made so many mistakes. Countless times I’ve prayed and wished that I could just go back so I could do things differently. If only I could have known…

I miss you too and whenever you want, I’m there. I type out my response and hope she can feel just how much I miss her too.

Tonight? Bethany’s answer is immediate and my teeth bite into my bottom lip as I suck in a deep breath.

Dammit. I can’t tonight.

Tomorrow then? she asks.

Tomorrow. I respond immediately and then quickly add, I am all yours tomorrow.

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until she replies, Can’t wait and I finally exhale.

I can make things better. I can make them right again. Closing my eyes again, I see Cami’s face. Not everything can be made right.

With another exhale, I try to shake off the nerves that curl and coil around my insides. Preparing to toss my keys in my bag, the jingle of them is all I can hear other than my wonky heart when I look up and see Seth standing there.

My heart tumbles over itself at the sight of him. I’ve only seen him in a suit once before. For his father’s funeral. Back then, the suit looked like a hand-me-down. He could have afforded whatever suit he wanted, but he chose a loose black one, with a black tie that was never tight around his throat. The knot hung loose and the second the casket was lowered to the ground, he ripped it off, followed by his jacket. It was snowing that day, but he couldn’t have cared less. He never did like suits.

It seems that time has changed all that. The expensive cloth is cut perfectly to fit Seth’s broad shoulders. The black is pristine, the cufflinks a detail I’d never envisioned on him. He lifts his arm just slightly, glancing down at his wrist and the shine of a silver watch, or maybe platinum, reflects back at me.

His clothes are all wrong, all different from what I know about the boy I fell in love with. But his eyes, they’re the same. His stubble and hard jaw, they’re what I remember. His cheekbones seem more defined with how trim he keeps his facial hair and the lines around his eyes are faint, but they tell tales of an older man, not one in his twenties. The look he’s giving me though, with his lips slightly parted, his tongue peeking out just for a moment to wet his bottom lip… it’s reminiscent of before, but just like his clothes, it’s worn differently.