“Please,” I said, pushing myself to the edge of the bed. “Please leave.”

Cam pulled his hand back. “Avery, talk to me.”

I shook my head, lip trembling.

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Avery—”

“Leave!” I jumped from the bed, stumbling back a step. “Just leave.”

Cam froze for a second, as if he was about to say something else, but then he pushed off the bed. He backed toward the door as a deep shudder started working its way through my body. With his hand on the door knob, he stopped.

“Avery, we can talk—”

“Leave.” My voice broke. “Please.”

His shoulders stiffened and then he did as I asked. Cam left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

I didn’t go to astronomy class on Monday or Tuesday. I just couldn’t bring myself to face Cam. Not after I’d seen the look on his face when he realized what the scar on my wrist was from. Not after having to pretend like everything was okay in front of his mom and dad before we left. Even though I’d only known them for a short period, I thought they were wonderful and hated the fact that I was leaving knowing the likelihood of ever seeing them again was low. Not after the tense, never-ending ride home Friday morning or when Cam had followed me up to my apartment and tried to talk to me.

And definitely not after he tried to come over Sunday morning with eggs and I didn’t answer the door.

I spent most of the weekend in bed, my eyes aching so badly from the nonstop sob-fest that I didn’t think was truly over. I’d avoided my phone. Brit texted. Jacob texted.

Cam had texted.

Cam had also tried to stop by Sunday night, Monday night and Tuesday night. Every time he did it was like a punch to the stomach.

I just couldn’t face him, because that look on his face had been as bad as the one on my mother’s.

It had been around five months after the Halloween party when I had decided I couldn’t take it anymore. The onslaught of emails, texts, phone calls, and Facebook messages had been bad, but at school, in real life? In the hallways, the bathrooms, the cafeteria, and the classrooms, people didn’t just whisper about what they heard happened when Blaine and I went into his bedroom. They openly talked about it in front of me. Called me every combination of lying whore you could come up with. The teachers didn’t stop it, neither did the staff.

So me and that picture frame that used to hold the photo of me and my best friend—the same girl who’d called me a slut that very day in the crowded hall at school—had gotten friendly.