Elias and Bray, carrying their stuff, approach the car and get in the backseat.
Andrew
25
I don’t even know how I find our way back so easily. I think at one point, I didn’t care much if we got lost. But I get us back without a wrong turn or having to pull over and ask for directions. Not much is said between the four of us. And the little that was spoken, I don’t remember any of it.
We pull into the parking lot of the hotel and part ways with Elias and Bray. Maybe I would’ve thanked Elias or wished them luck on the rest of their trip, or maybe even invited them with us somewhere tonight, but given the circumstances all I can do is nod when they thank us for the ride.
I pull away and drive around to our side of the hotel.
Camryn seems uncertain about talking to me yet. Not afraid, just uncertain. I can’t even look at her. I feel like f**king shit for what happened, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.
Camryn grabs my hand and we head straight up to our room. I swing open the door and start tossing our stuff in our bags.
“It wasn’t your—”
I stop her. “Don’t. Please. Just… give me a minute…”
She looks at me so dejectedly, but nods and gives in.
Soon, we’re on the road again, heading north up the coast. Destination: Anywhere But Florida.
After driving for an hour, I recall what happened last night in my head over and over again, trying to make some kind of sense out of it. I pull off the highway and the car crawls to a stop on the side of the road. It’s so quiet. I stare down at my lap and then up through the windshield. I realize that I’m white-knuckling the steering wheel. Finally, I swing open the door and get out.
I walk fast over the gravel and dirt and then down through the slope in the ditch, coming up the other side and head straight for the first tree.
“Andrew, stop!” I hear Camryn calling out to me.
But I keep going and when I face that goddamn tree, I hit it as hard as I hit Tate and Caleb. The skin over two of my knuckles splits open and blood runs over the top of my hand and in between my fingers, but I don’t stop.
I only stop when Camryn steps around in front of me and pushes me so hard in the chest with the palms of both hands that I almost fall backward. Tears are streaming from her eyes. “Stop it! Please! Just stop it!”
I let myself fall onto the grass into a sitting position, my knees bent, my bloodied hands dangling at the wrists. My body slumps over forward, my head hanging there. All I can see is the ground beneath me.
Camryn sits down in front of me. I feel her hands on the sides of my face, trying to raise my head, but I don’t let her.
“You can’t do this to me,” she says, her voice shuddering. She tries to force my gaze, and finally I let her because it hurts like hell to hear her cry. I look her in the eyes, my own eyes brimmed with angry tears that I’m trying to contain. “Baby, it wasn’t your fault. You were drugged. Anybody could have made that mistake as messed up as you were.” Her fingers tighten against both sides of my face. “It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault. Do you understand me?”
I try to look away, but she moves my hands out of the way and sits between my legs on her knees, facing me. Instinctively, I put my arms around her.
“I should’ve known still,” I say, looking down. “And it’s not just about that, Camryn, I was supposed to keep you safe. You never should’ve been drugged in the first place.” Just thinking about it causes the anger and hatred toward myself to rise up again. “I was supposed to keep you safe!”
She wraps her arms around me and forces my head onto her chest.
She pulls away. “Andrew, look at me. Please.”
I do. I see pain and compassion in her eyes. Her gentle fingers cup my unshaven face. She kisses my lips slowly and says, “It was a moment of weakness,” as if to remind me of what I said to her several months ago about the pills. “It’s my fault as much as it was yours. I’m not stupid. I should’ve known too not to leave our drinks alone with them even for a second. It’s not your fault.”
My eyes stray downward, and then I look back at her again. I don’t know how I can make her understand that because of how and who I am, I feel an intense sense of responsibility for her. A responsibility that I take pride in, that I’ve felt since the day I met her. It kills me… it kills me to know that in my “moment of weakness” I couldn’t protect her, that because I let my guard down she could’ve been hurt, raped, killed. How can I make her understand that it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t fault me for it, that her opinion, although I don’t take it for granted, doesn’t excuse my moment of failure? She’s entitled to a moment of weakness. I’m not. Mine is just failure.
“And I would never, ever hold that against you,” she adds.
I just look at her, searching her face for meaning and then she goes on:
“What that girl did,” she clarifies. “I’d never bring it up. Because you did nothing wrong.” I feel her fingertips press into the sides of my face. “Do you believe me?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. I do believe you.”
She sighs and says, “It might’ve been partially my fault, anyway.” She looks away from my eyes.
“How so?”
“Well,” she says, but hesitates with a distant look of regret on her features, “I think I may have accidently given her permission.”
That certainly takes me by surprise.
“I remember her asking about sleeping with us, and I think I told her that yes, she could. I-I didn’t know she meant it… sexually. If I had been sober I definitely would’ve caught onto that. Andrew, I am so sorry. I’m sorry I let that crazy bitch violate you.”