Page 69 of The Art of Drowning

Damien nodded, then slipped out of the room. Sam and I stood there, not moving, barely even breathing until the front door clicked shut.

“I get that you’re mad⁠—”

Sam cut me off. “You don’t get anything. So let me tell you how this is going to go. Damien won’t be coming around anymore, and you won’t be going near him. Damien is my friend, and if you want it to stay that way, you’ll respect that. If you so much as look at him, he’ll have nothing and no one. You think he’s really going to follow you to college? You think you’re going to have this happy little fantasy where you, what, live across campus from each other or maybe one year you’ll share a dorm room. And maybe he’ll find out what a piece of shit you are, but he won’t ever leave you because you’re all he has. He’ll resent the fuck out of you, Callum.”

There was a pause as the weight of his words sank into my bones.

I could live with a lot, but I couldn’t live with being the reason Damien was miserable. I could handle Sam hating me, but I didn’t want Sam to hate him too.

“Stay away from him, Callum. I mean it.”

Sam turned and left the room, and I stood there, reeling, not knowing what to do.

I didn’t want to let go of Damien, but if things between us didn’t work out, Sam was right. Damien would have no one. He’d always struggled to make friends, but part of me wondered if he hadn’t bothered because he’d had Sam.

Fucking Sam.

I fucking hated him.

If I let go of Damien, I’d be crushed, but I’d only lose Damien. Sam was already lost to me. He’d decided to hate me a long time ago, and I’d never understood why. It hadn’t been important enough to me to investigate.

If I kept Damien, he still had to stay here and finish school, and he’d be alone.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuck.

My knees gave out, and I sank down to the floor. I grabbed my hoodie that I’d discarded earlier and buried my face in it, biting down on the fabric to keep myself from screaming as my heart tore itself in half.

I didn’t know what to do.

Well, I did. But I hated it.

And I hated Sam.

And maybe even myself.

THIRTY-FOUR

damien

NOW

Crudinski was a stupid name for a cat, but the little fur face seemed to know that his owner needed some extra snuggles because he appeared out of nowhere and curled up in Callum’s lap. Callum stroked his fur and the longer the cat stayed and the louder he purred, the calmer Callum became.

“I always knew he hated me,” Callum said. “But I was never able to figure out why. Why did he hate me? It was like a switch flipped. But if it’s true, why didn’t they just tell me?”

Callum leaned into my side, and I held him a little tighter.

“If it’s true, they probably didn’t tell you because of Sam. He seemed to enjoy being a bit of a dick to people. He got off on controlling people.”

“I’m going to have to talk to my parents, aren’t I?”

“Probably.”

Callum sighed. “I don’t want to. I don’t want any of this.” He paused, his body freezing as he realized what he said and how it sounded. “Except you. You’re the only good thing that has come out of all of this.”

I knew exactly how he felt. I kissed the top of his head, but stayed quiet. Sometimes Callum just needed to talk to work through things. He didn’t need input, just steady support. At least, that’s what he used to need. Maybe as an adult, he needed more from me?