10. love and war

10

LOVE AND WAR

DAY 9

"Amnesia?"

"Yeah." I take a drag of a contraband cigarette. "Wild, right?"

"Dude," Callum says heavily. The tip of his cigarette glows in the darkness. "Wild."

"For real."

We trade wry glances at our juvenile vocabulary.

Callum pivots to face me, turning his shoulder against the back wall of his cabin. "What do you think happened?"

"Like you said, something bad." I blow a stream of smoke toward the starry sky, then flick the cigarette to the ground and smother it with my shoe. "Or maybe nothing?"

I don't like the question in my voice, but can't help it. I wouldn't be here if it was nothing. I just hope it wasn't something hugely tragic. Had someone been in the car with me? Had anyone died?

We stand silently for several minutes, each of us lost in thoughts. Callum finishes his cigarette and pops the cherry out before tossing the butt.

"I had a restraining order put out on me."

I tense. "You don't have to?—"

"It's okay. I want to." He sighs. "Another model. Her name was Frenchie."

"That's unfortunate."

He snorts. "Yeah, everyone called her French. Anyway, we fell into bed after a photoshoot last April. The chemistry was unbelievable. We ended up spending a weekend together. I fell in love."

I don't say anything, mainly because I hear the curl of sarcasm in the last word.

"I thought she felt the same way," he continues, a thousand miles of regret in his voice.

I feel a sympathetic squeeze in my chest. Poor Callum.

"She blew you off?" I make myself ask.

He nods, features tight in the moonlight. "She had a boyfriend. I couldn't handle it. Long story short, I tried to break them up. I thought if she was single, she'd remember how good we were together. Obviously, she saw my actions in a different light."

I scuff dirt with the toe of my shoe. "You stalked her?"

"Yep, although I really didn't see it that way. I thought I was loving her." He pauses. "I have obsessive love disorder."

I consider saying something flippant, like there are millions of women who'd welcome being obsessively loved by him, but I bite my tongue.

"Do you know what real love feels like?" he asks, voice tight with need. "Dr. C has described it, but I think a woman's perspective would really help me."

I listen to my heart, which is suddenly beating hard. Anxiety tingles down my arms.

I shouldn't have smoked that cigarette.

"I'm the wrong person to ask," I say finally. "I mean, I love my brother, and I can tell you what I know about that."

He stares at me, silent and rapt.

"It, uh, makes me feel anchored. Jameson is like a weight that pulls me down, holding me to the world. I feel comfort when I think of him. And, um, I guess a big part of it is that he knows everything about me. All my flaws. And he still loves me."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. I feel this… bond. Trust, I guess. No matter what happens, or how much we fight, he loves me and I love him. That's all I've got, sorry."

"That sounds nice."

I glance at him, seeing his soft smile. "Yeah, it is."

Studying his perfect features, ethereal in the moonlight, I wonder how it's possible that Callum doesn't know what love feels like.

"What about your parents?"

He shrugs a shoulder. "Foster kid."

I wince. "Sorry."

Callum waves away my apology. "But you've never been in love?"

My heart kicks my ribs again. "I thought I was. Two times. My high school boyfriend and my ex-fiancé, Kevin."

"Will you tell me? Describe how you felt about Kevin? "

He sounds so freaking needy, I can't deny him. But the truth comes like knives from my throat. "Kevin wanted to take care of me. I wanted to let him, and I tried to take care of him, too. He loved the version of me that was perfect wife material. I was seduced by the idea of being that person."

"That doesn't sound healthy," he says dryly.

I huff. "Yeah, well, this isn't Camp Healthy People."

He snickers and I grin back at him.

"In the end, we were both acting. I don't think we really knew each other at all. I found him banging our next-door neighbor."

"Ouch."

"I was angry, obviously. But I wasn't heartbroken. I didn't feel that empty, hopeless feeling people talk about. I dumped his record collection on the front lawn and set it on fire."

Callum barks a laugh. "Holy shit, Mia. Remind me not to get on your bad side."

I bump his shoulder with mine. "I like you, you're safe."

Silence descends once more, but without its previous strain. We watch the sky. Spy a few shooting stars. A breeze kicks up, tickling our exposed skin with warm drafts.

"I'm getting better," he says mutedly, almost to himself. "Some things Dr. C has told me are finally making sense."

"Like what?"

"Hard to explain." He tilts his head toward me. "The fact I'm not obsessing over you is pretty amazing. It's almost enough to make me fall in love with you. "

"Me?" I scoff. "Buddy, I'm ten miles of bad road. You'd be better off with Kinsey."

Instead of laughing, he says gravely, "You really don't see yourself at all."

I scowl. "Quit it. We both know I'm a hot mess."

"Are you?" he asks cryptically. "I don't think you're crazy. I think you're complicated, and passionate, and terrified of the depth at which you feel things. It's easier for you to pretend you don't feel anything at all. A coping mechanism."

"Wrong." I cross my arms over my chest, wishing I had another cigarette. We smoked his last two. "The problem isn't that I can't feel anything, it's that I can't feel fear . And believe me, I've tried. I've put myself in horrible situations. Dangerous ones. Short of strolling naked into a biker bar, I've walked some shady lines. Scared the shit out of everyone who cared about me. Everyone except myself."

"Because you don't care about yourself," he states sadly.

"Meh," I say dismissively, having heard that assessment many times. I counter it with the same logic I always use. "If I didn't care about myself, I'd simply jump without a parachute."

"Self-loathing and being suicidal are different," he says gently. "This I know."

I rub my face roughly. "Fine, Dr. Rivers. You win." Peering at him over my fingers, I snarl, "I liked you better when you weren't playing therapist. Chastain's bad enough."

He laughs. "He's growing on you, isn't he?"

"Like a sexy fungus. "

Callum thinks this is hysterical and bends in half with the force of his laughter. I try to hold my frown, but my lips quirk. Eventually he recovers, standing to wipe his streaming eyes.

"Don't try to seduce him."

My brows rise. "Why not?"

All traces of laughter vanish from his face. "For both of your sakes. I don't want Dr. C to lose everything because of you."

I open and close my mouth a few times before finding my voice. "You're making a rather large assumption on his behalf."

Callum stares at me, eyes fathomless in the shadows. "It's not an assumption."

My pulse makes itself known again, this time between my legs. Ignoring the insistent throb, I say, "Just because you want to bone me doesn't?—"

"Let me put it to you this way," he interjects. "When we met, you immediately triggered my obsessive disorder. A part of that means I become hyperaware of potential challengers. Competition. I've seen him look at you when he thinks no one's watching." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I shouldn't be telling you this."

Unnerved more than I care to admit, I feign affront. "I'm not going to seduce my therapist, no matter how hot he is. That's low, even for me."

"Good," he grinds out.

"Happy?" I snap.

"Yes! "

Our gazes lock in an angry battle. It lasts ten seconds before we grin and succumb to laughter.

I nudge his shoulder. "I'm going to bed. Wanna come?"

He groans. "Fuck you, Goldie."

I waggle my eyebrows. "That's the offer."

Chuckling, he turns away. "I like you too much to have sex with you," he throws over his shoulder.

"Hey, that's my line!"

His laughter fades as he rounds the corner of the cabin. When I hear the open and close of his door, I relax against the wall, still warm from the heat of the day.

My body hums with the need for sleep, but my head spins like a carnival ride. Complete with disorientation and nausea.

Since my session this morning, all I can think about is the accident I can't remember. I spent hours holed up in my cabin, skipping lunch to piece together the months of 2016.

I have a vague recollection of a Christmas party, then New Year's. In February, I caught Kevin cheating and left his dumb ass. The next event I remember is white water rafting with some friends in June.

Between March and mid-June, there's nothing.

Nothing.