Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

No one knows I'm here, invisible, in this interview room. I watch from somewhere up around the ceiling. It's kind of neat, being a fly on the wall, seeing and hearing everything, but I can't enjoy it because it's all so upsetting. They think I'm dead, but I'm right here.

I still want to think this is temporary, some kind of extended, recurring dream that I'll snap out of, but I'm beginning to be afraid that it isn't a dream at all. I've been feeling cocooned somehow, not as distressed as I should be, as if I've been drugged by something that takes the edge off and makes me experience everything at a distance. But now the cocoon is unravelling, and I'm more alert, less fragmented, more aware of what's going on. Like I've been given a shot of adrenaline.

Is this boy who says he loved me responsible for my being here now, in this reduced form, drifting from place to place?

He sat outside my house in the dark for all that time. Why would he do that? If he wanted to apologize, why didn't he text me and tell me he was outside? I would have come down. I would have let him into the house.

And then it strikes me. Maybe he did. And maybe I did let him in.

What did he do when he got out of the truck? The detective wants to know, and so do I. What did you do? I scream at Cameron. I get right up in his face and scream it over and over. He doesn't even flinch. I'm so angry. I can't participate. I can't communicate. I can only scream and scream and be ignored.

He's been lying all along. And now he's been caught out in his lies, and I want to know the truth. If he did this to me, I want him to suffer for it. I'm not an angel. Everyone thinks I'm an open book, but I'm more complicated than I seem, just like everyone else. I'm not a saint. I'm not perfect. I keep some things to myself. But that's what everyone does. Everyone has secrets – just look at Cameron. The lying bastard.

After the detectives leave the room I stare at my former boyfriend, slumped in his chair like a zombie, with his parents beside him. He's been crying a lot, anyone can see that. But maybe he's not crying about me. Maybe he's crying about what's going to happen to him.

As I watch him, I try to remember. I think about getting into his truck when he picked me up. I remember tossing my hair over my shoulder and smiling at him as I did up the seat belt, like always. And now, suddenly, staring at him, consumed with rage, I do remember. Driving along the rural roads in the pitch dark, our headlights slicing into the blackness. Stopping at one of our favourite spots, in the corner of a field on the edge of somebody's farm. Now that I think of it, it's not that far from where they found my body.

Cameron was on me as soon as he turned off the ignition. I wanted to make out, too, but not as much as he did. He always wanted sex – I think that's just the way it is with teenage boys. Afterward, he complained that we always had to do it in the truck. I tried to make light of it and reminded him that in the summer we spread a blanket on the ground and did it under the stars. But since the weather got colder it had been in the truck. We couldn't go to his place because his parents always seemed to be home.

‘You know, we could try your bedroom, next time,' he suggested as we pulled our clothes back on.

That got my back up right away. We'd had this conversation before, and I didn't feel like having it again.

‘I mean, your mother isn't home, and it's going to get fucking cold soon. We can't come out here in the winter.'

I didn't like his complaining, and I didn't like his tone. ‘Well, maybe you'll just have to do without,' I said, surprising myself. We never argued, so what happened next surprised both of us.

‘What the hell does that mean?' he said.

For a moment I said nothing, because I didn't know what to say. I wasn't going to entertain him in my childhood bedroom. And I was already annoyed at him in general, for his clinginess. He had his own football schedule, but when time allowed, he crowded me. But I had things to do. I had to keep my grades up, and I had a part-time job. Cameron didn't have a part-time job. His parents felt he had enough on his plate with school and sports. But I was being raised by a single mom and I was saving for college. And suddenly his sense of entitlement – to me, to everything – pissed me off. I spoke before I thought. ‘You know, Cameron, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about.'

He looked at me like he didn't like the sound of that. His shoulders went up and his eyes narrowed, like he was bracing himself.

‘I've been thinking, about college.' There was a long silence then, as if he knew what was coming.

‘And?' he said.

‘There are some really good veterinarian colleges I'd like to apply to – ones we haven't discussed.'

‘Yeah, okay. I can apply wherever you want. I already told you that.'

He wasn't taking the hint, but I knew he wouldn't. I knew I'd have to spell it out for him. ‘It's just that … I'm thinking it might be better if we don't go to the same college after all.' There, I'd said it.

‘What? Are you breaking up with me?'

It was his disbelief that sealed it for me. He simply couldn't believe that I would want to do anything without him. That he wasn't the most important thing in my life. He looked angry then, although I don't remember feeling afraid.

‘No, not right away,' I said, automatically trying to smooth things over and hating myself for it. Sitting there in the cab of his truck, I suddenly wanted my old life back, seeing my friends, spending more time with Riley, spending time with myself. But I couldn't bear to hurt Cameron, to cut him off so suddenly, so completely.

‘No,' he said.

I was a bit stunned by that. ‘What do you mean, no?'

‘We're not breaking up. You don't know what you're saying. You're just mad about me wanting to have sex in your room.'

Then I was angry. Livid. He was telling me that I didn't know my own mind, that I didn't know what I wanted. How dare he? And how did he think that he could unilaterally decide that we were not breaking up? Fuck that. It didn't work that way. Relationships end when one person wants out. ‘You know what? We are breaking up,' I said, sure of myself then. ‘Take me home. We're done.'

‘You can't be serious,' he protested.

‘Take me home. Now. I don't want to see you any more.'

He started the truck and peeled out of the field. He drove alarmingly fast down the dirt roads in the immense darkness. People have no business driving when they're angry. It's dangerous. Especially at night in the country where there are no lights. ‘Slow down,' I said angrily, my hand out against the dash. ‘You could hit something.'

‘Like what?'

‘Like an animal,' I said, furious.

When we got to my place he stopped in front, and I got out and slammed the truck door. I charged up to the house without looking back. When I got inside, I slammed that door too. I heard him speed away, tyres squealing.

Once I got inside, I couldn't believe what had just happened, how quickly things had changed. I hadn't planned on bringing any of that up. But I thought maybe it was for the best. I thought about texting Riley, but I didn't feel like it and decided to tell her about it in the morning.

I can't remember anything after that. But now I know Cameron came back that night.

I want to remember. Or do I? Do I want to relive the terror of being murdered? Maybe there's a good reason I can't remember. Maybe I never will.

I want to crawl back inside the cocoon. I don't want to feel alive, and not be alive. But I don't think I have a choice. I'm starting to realize that none of this is a dream.