“Because when you hear something said to you over and over again about yourself, it becomes pretty easy to start believing it,” he mutters, his tone soft and even yet tainted with little bites of embarrassment and frustration. “Every time someone calls me dumb or stupid or a dunce or an idiot for something I do or say, I start to believe it just a little bit more. It slowly becomes a part of who I am. So if it comes out that there’s actually something wrong with me? Well, it just…solidifieseverything they’ve said.”
His voice cracks a little bit on the final few words, and for the first time, I see a side of my roommate I never knew existed. Gone is the mask of the charming, happy-go-lucky golden retriever, the playboy of the hockey team, the guy who’s alwayswearing a smile.
In his place is a person who is just as self-conscious as the rest of us.
Just as embarrassed and insecure by his shortcomings, despite that this one is something far out of his control.
And for some reason, I can’t stop myself from reaching over and placing my hand on his arm. His gaze drops to where I’m touching him, remaining there briefly, before lifting back to meet mine.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, okay?”
“Says the one with a perfectly normal brain.”
“Plenty of people who have perfectlynormal”—I raise my free hand to do airquotes around the word—“brains do and say stupid shit. But being dyslexic has nothing to do with your decision-making.”
He murmurs a clipped, “Right,” and paired with the way he pulls away from me and crosses his arms over his chest, it’s obvious he doesn’t believe me. Then again, I haven’t really given him any reason to when I’ve torn him down right along with everyone else.
“I’m serious. Like, scientifically, those are two different parts of the brain.” Grabbing my phone, I quickly pull up the search bar in Google and start typing. “If you don’t believe me, I can easily find some articles for you to read about—”
I cut myself off, realizing the words I just said, and silently curse myself for being so tactless.Because, yeah, let’s give medical articles to someone who struggles with reading on his best days.
That’s surely the right move to raise his self-esteem; brilliant fucking idea, Logan.
Camden’s lips pull inward and he shakes his head before murmuring, “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.” After glancing at the smart watch on his wrist, he adds, “And looks likewe’re out of time anyway.”
In a rushed move, he reaches over to grab his phone and the notebooks on my side of the table, shoving all of it in his bag before I can so much as blink. It’s so fast, I can’t even make a coherent thought before he’s out of his chair, hauling his bag onto his shoulder, and heading for the door.
“Camden—”
“Sorry for making you waste your time when, clearly, I’m a lost cause,” he says, his hand on the handle. “Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me staring after him all over again.
Having the smallest amount of hope that Camden will change his mind, I still keep the study room booked for the following night. Of course, when the entire block of time ticks by without a sign of him, I gather my things and head back home, a sense of defeat and guilt warring in my head.
I can’t quite put a finger on why I care so much.
Yeah, sure, I need him to keep his end of the deal for the whole fake boyfriendlie, but deep down, I know it has nothing to do with that. It’s something about the look on his face last night. It’s like it thawed this part of me that’s remained cold and impervious toward him, forcing me to realize he’s more than just the arrogant jock I’ve made him out to be.
He’s a human, and he’s struggling with something most people take for granted.
My mind lingers on him for most of the evening, wondering if he’ll at least take some of the advice I offered, even if he won’t take my help. Part of me hopes that’s the reason he’s nowhere to be seen when I get back to the townhouse, his car missing from the driveway far longer than normal.
It’s only when I run directly into his shirtless form at the bathroom door close to ten at night that I realize he’s finally home.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, keeping his gaze toward the floor as he ducks around me. “I thought you were asleep.”
He doesn’t stop, just continues down the hall toward his room, leaving me to stare at his retreating form until I finally find my voice again.
“I waited for you. In the library, I mean.”
The statement causes him to pause, his muscled back going rigid before he turns to look at me. I can tell he’s doing his best to mask his emotions, but is struggling regardless, when a single, raspy word leaves him.
“Why?”
“Because we had a deal.”
He clears his throat and runs his fingers through his blond hair before tossing his hand up between us. “Yeah, we should probably just call that, you know. It’s a lost cause, right? No need to put you through the misery of helping me with school. Plus, I’m pretty sure my reputation is beyond repair in the eyes of the NHL anyway.” He offers a wry smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not like that matters if I’m ineligible to play.”
