The Disappearing Girl

by Heather Topham Wood

  “Oh, Kayla,” Brittany said with an emphatic shake of her head. “Cam doesn’t think you’re crazy. He sees what we all do: You’re grieving and need to talk to someone to work through it.”

  “I should’ve told you, but I didn’t want to say it out loud, like if I talked about it, then it would be true and things were really over between us.” As we talked, I was scanning the bar, trying to find him. Even if we were falling apart, I was eager to see him again. My body craved him like a drug.

  “Cam is heartbroken, Kayla. If you don’t want things to be over, they won’t be. Cam is a fantastic guy and he’s only trying to help you,” Danielle said. Once she stepped aside, I was able to narrow in on Cameron. My friends had been blocking my view while they reamed me out.

  His body was angled away from me and I doubted he’d caught sight of me yet. Several empty tumblers and shot glasses were littered in front of him, and I cringed. Obviously, he’d been drinking for a while, and I wasn’t sure how it would affect his willingness to talk to me. He was with two friends from work, and although they seemed to like me, I wasn’t sure I’d be a welcome sight after hurting their friend.

  While I remained unseen, I studied him. Intoxication didn’t diminish his handsomeness. His white, button-down shirt enhanced his tanned skin and the sleeves were tight around the swell of his biceps. He had done his usual haphazard hairstyle with his hair spiked in the front. He achieved sexiness effortlessly. Liquid heat churned in my belly merely from being close to him.

  “Go and make nice with him. You know you want to,” Brittany whispered in my ear. After a sidelong look at her, I was relieved to see her anger at me had dissipated and she had a teasing grin. Brittany was right; we’d been through a lot together, and I understood how important it was to keep our friendship intact.

  Pete and Chad’s eyes widened at my approach. It took a second too long for Cameron to detect my presence. Our conversation could be pointless, since the amount he’d clearly had to drink would likely make him forget anything I said. Instead of a greeting, Cameron’s mouth turned down. His eyes tore away from my face and he instead faced his friends. “I’m leaving. I’ll call you guys later.”

  Without preamble, he shot to his feet and elbowed past me. I swallowed hard and followed on his heels. Once he made it outside, I caught up to him and dug my nails into his arm to stop him. His feet stayed planted, but he refused to look at me.

  “You have every right to be pissed at me,” I said. “The way I acted at your house … The way I’ve been acting … has been unfair to you. I obviously have a problem; and instead of dealing with it, I ran away from you. I’m not the best at confrontation.”

  Finally, he pivoted to face me. “Why are you here? Is it to torture me some more?”

  “Cameron, I never … I would never do anything to deliberately hurt you. These past few months with you have meant everything to me. You’ve been so good to me and I care about you so much—”

  “Just stop it,” he snarled as he hunched down to lean close to my face. “Stop trying to let me down easy. I told you I love you and you ran away from my house like it was on fire. Then, all I get is a text saying you need space. I should’ve seen this coming. I seem to have that effect on people. You’re not the first person I cared about that left me.” He swayed on his feet and I placed my hands on his elbows to steady him. I could hear the pain behind his words, and I understood there were mysteries about Cameron I had yet to uncover. I wanted to ask him about the person who left him, but it would have to wait for another time.

  “I messed up and I’m ready to take responsibility for the way I’ve been acting,” I said. “I made an appointment with a counselor. My first session is tomorrow.”

  The hard line of his jaw relaxed and I could see his eyes grow tender. He understood what a monumental step it was for me. I had closed myself off from everyone I cared about, and it was a big deal for me to agree to talk about my problems with a therapist. He blinked rapidly and I wished I could be inside his head, be privy to what he was thinking.

  “That’s good. I’m happy for you,” he said and stepped back. My hands dropped to my sides. He bit his lip, and I wondered what he was trying to prevent himself from saying.

  “I feel sick over what happened last time I saw you. It’s what made me realize I need to deal with my problems.” I willed him to hear the pleading in my voice. I knew I was lost, and he was one of the few things preventing me from dissolving completely.

  “Kayla …” he started uncertainly.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk? I can’t stand how we left things.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good time right now. I drank way too much and I’ll probably end up saying things I’ll want to take back once I’m sober,” he said, and he moved to leave.

  “Cameron, you’re too drunk to drive. Let me at least bring you home,” I offered. “I can call Danielle to swing by and pick me up after they leave the bar. She’s the designated driver for the night.”

  His expression was uncertain, but he couldn’t argue with my logic. Cameron wasn’t reckless with his body the way I was. Silently, he handed me his keys and led me to his car. My nerves made my hands unsteady as I opened the car door and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  The silence was oppressive inside the Mustang. Although I sensed Cameron’s eyes on me as I drove, I kept my gaze fixed on the road. We were always at ease with each other, and it felt uncomfortable to sit there and not talk to or touch him. The drive to his building felt as if it took ages.

  When I pulled up, I turned off the ignition and angled my body toward him. His eyes had closed, and the soft sound of his regulated breathing let me know he had fallen asleep. My fingers reached out and stroked his cheek tenderly. The movement disturbed his sleep and his hand shot out and held my fingers in place. Without a second’s hesitation, I crossed the space between us and landed on his lap. I settled my knees on the outside of his thighs to be face-to-face with him.

  “I’ve missed you,” I said hoarsely.

  His fingers grazed my cheek before passing over my lips. His eyes settled on my mouth and I felt a familiar burning deep inside.

  “I thought you were lost to me. I put myself out there and felt like such an asshole when I realized you didn’t feel the same way.”

  “I would never be lost to you,” I whispered. I crushed my mouth against his and he parted his lips in anticipation. Each nerve ending tingled as I rocked my hips back and forth over him as we kissed. I was overcome with desire and I wanted to possess him completely in that moment.

  My body hummed as he slipped his tongue down the nape of my neck. His hands cupped my breasts and I arched back to clue him in on how wild he was driving me. His palms dipped inside of the top of my dress and stroked my nipples through the cotton of my bra, “Cameron …” I moaned.

  I fumbled for the buckle of his pants before pulling aside my underwear. I was ready for him and primed to explode if I didn’t feel him inside me soon. After some fumbling for a condom in his wallet, he was ready for me. Once we joined, I was overcome by the feeling that I belonged with him. I gripped the back of his head and we both finished in a dizzying rush.

  We didn’t move right away. Instead, his hands surrounded me and I rested comfortably against his chest. It had been a departure from the past times we were intimate. My feelings of inadequacy led to quickies under the cloak of darkness or the reassurance of the blanket covering my body. For once, what I looked like never crossed my mind after our lips came together.

  “I love you,” he said reverently and I felt his lips brush against the top of my head. “I know you’re not ready to tell me you love me, too. But it’s okay. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

  I snuggled closer to him and I wished I could stay in his arms forever, savor the sensations he brought on when we physically connected. I wanted to borrow his strength—he was the one steady thing in my chaotic universe. If the world outside his car windows disappea
red, it wouldn’t matter as long as I had him and his love.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to wait for you?” Cameron asked.

  After driving me back to the campus in the morning, Cameron walked me to the front of the health services building. Luckily, I’d left some clothes at his apartment and didn’t have to rush back to the dorm to change first.

  Sated from being with him again, I’d slept comfortably in his arms without worrying about my appointment. But since I’d been up, I’d been a ball of anxiety about what I was going to say during the session.

  “No, I think I’ll give you the day off from my craziness.” But my joke fell flat, and I saw the worry lines crease his brow. He looked conflicted as he gazed past me at the few students that walked around the campus.

  “Kayla, you’re not crazy. You’re not the first person to go through a rough patch in their life.”

  The tension in his body hinted that he wasn’t speaking hypothetically. Brittany’s accusations weren’t without merit—I’d been self-involved. I never imagined Cameron could relate to the torment I was in. In my head, I had built him up to epic proportions. He was the perfect guy with the perfect life. The thought that he had his own demons stopped me in my tracks.

  “Have you gone through a rough patch?” I asked cautiously.

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leaned back onto his heels. “I guess. I don’t know if you’d call it a rough patch, but I had a falling out with my mom and we don’t talk anymore.”

  “What? I met your mom, she seems great. Was this recently?”

  “I consider Maggie my real mother, and I’ve called her Mom since I was fourteen and she married my dad. My real mother has a drug problem, and she checked out of being a parent when I was nine. She was in and out of rehab until she relapsed and took off for good when I was eleven.

  “We didn’t hear from her for years and, honestly, I figured she was dead. Have you ever seen those composite sketches in the newspapers when they find a body? I would always study them to see if it was her—”

  Horrified, I stopped him. “That’s awful. I can’t imagine how you must have felt not knowing what happened to her.”

  He nodded stiffly and I sensed his need to get through the story. He wanted to share a piece of himself with me, but talking about his mom was likely dredging up agonizing memories. “A few years ago, she started sending me letters, wanting to be involved in my life again. Nine years of no communication, and all of a sudden she wants to be welcomed with open arms. After I refused to write or call her, she started contacting my dad to see if he could convince me to get in touch with her.”

  “Cameron, I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

  “I’m fine with it, Kayla. I remember what it was like growing up with her and I can’t forgive her for a lot of the crap she did. She’d leave me and my sister alone for hours to score drugs, bring junkies into the house when my dad wasn’t around, steal our stuff to get money she needed for her habit—the list could go on and on. Scarlett is in touch with her, but she was a lot younger and doesn’t remember things the way I do.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I feel like such an idiot. I’ve been caught up in my own stuff. I didn’t guess you had problems, too. At your house, Scarlett told me you were hurt before, so I assumed it was an ex-girlfriend she was talking about.”

  I almost wished for his sake it were an ex-girlfriend. Exes could be forgotten about, erased completely from our lives. But I was well aware of how difficult it was to obliterate a mother’s poisonous influence from a psyche.

  “Okay, I’m supposed to make you feel better, not lay my crap on you before you go into your appointment.” He snatched a kiss before straightening up. “I’ll be by later and we’ll pick up your car from the bar.”

  I grabbed his elbow before he could slip away. “I’m sorry about your mom. If you ever want to talk about things, I’m a good listener.”

  “I know, but I swear I’m not torn up over it. I just thought it was important for you to hear you’re not the only one with a crappy mother.” His tone and expression didn’t match up, and it was obvious he had a hard time talking about his mom. After another quick kiss, he walked back toward his car.

  I was pensive as I watched him go. Each day I was with Cameron, he managed to surprise me. His confession hadn’t lessened his appeal; instead, it made me feel drawn to him even more. He’d obviously been through a lot and still managed to survive. He gave me faith I could do the same.

  The waiting room of health services was mostly empty. Only a handful of students sat slumped in the plastic chairs, and I didn’t spot anyone I recognized. I checked in with the receptionist, and she handed me a stack of paperwork to fill out. I breezed through the sheets, answering the questions as vaguely as possible. The staff wouldn’t refuse to see me if I didn’t reveal my deepest and darkest secrets on a medical form.

  After a while, a bespectacled man who looked about ten years my senior came to the door and called my name. His black hair was slicked back, he had a medium build, and he stood only a couple of inches taller than me. He introduced himself as Parker and explained he was one of the therapists working for the health services department. My stomach flipped as I followed him into a small office. There was no way I’d comfortably divulge my body image demons with a man not much older than me. How would he be able to understand my daily struggle to not be fat? How could I confess my darkest secrets, like the way I ate naked in front of my mirror some nights so the sight of my fat would stop me from overeating?

  The room had a small desk and an office chair near the far wall with two additional chairs set on the opposite side of the desk. There were four cherry-wood bookshelves overflowing with large textbooks and a few miscellaneous knickknacks. I didn’t see any personal photos or mementos, and I guessed it was a shared office space.

  Parker’s smile was noncommittal as we sat across from each other. He adjusted his black glasses and looked over the forms I’d filled out. Then he asked, “What brings you here today, Kayla?”

  I fidgeted in my seat and played with the dangles on my bracelet for a few seconds before answering. “My friends and boyfriend are worried about me. I guess I’ve been acting a little depressed lately.” He leaned back in his chair and studied me. Since I was new to therapy, I wasn’t sure if this was a technique to get me to continue talking. But if it was, I obliged. “My dad died almost two years ago and it seems to have all of a sudden hit me hard.”

  “How have you been feeling lately?”

  Like I’m drowning, I thought silently. “I’m sad a lot, probably more sad than I was right after he died.”

  He picked up a pen and drummed it steadily on the desk. “People grieve differently, and there’s no exact time frame for how long it takes to get over a loss. You may have been in survival mode after losing your dad, and you suppressed the pain.”

  “I guess that makes sense. After he died, I was more worried about my sister than dealing with what it meant to live without him. My mother is …” Explaining my mother would be like teaching a child about nuclear fusion; there was no way to put into a few words what she was like. More importantly, I couldn’t detail how she made me feel. “My mother is selfish. Don’t get me wrong, she was devastated over losing my dad, but instead of turning to my sister and me for comfort, she became hardened and lashed out at us every chance she got. Maybe it’s because my sister and I look so much like our dad and we were a painful reminder of what she lost. We had to learn how to cope on our own.”

  “How are you coping now?”

  The question was almost laughable. “I don’t know, probably not well. I feel like part of me died with my father and maybe I’m only half existing in this world.” I was surprised by the honesty of my answer. Actually, I couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to Parker. It was as if I had all this stuff bottled up inside and finally found an outlet to get it o
ut.

  “Have you found yourself retreating because of this feeling?”

  “I guess I’ve checked out lately. Things that used to be important to me don’t seem to matter as much. My grades have taken a nosedive, and I wonder if I should even bother coming back next year to finish my degree. I used to have fun going out with my friends, but now I don’t have any motivation to be social.

  “But what makes me mad is that everyone around me thinks I have a choice. I don’t want to be this way. I fight against these depressed feelings each day, but I’m losing.” I was losing so much more than fat in the past months. I was losing my identity and becoming someone unrecognizable in the mirror.

  He put his pen down and leaned slightly back in his chair. “What made you decide you needed help dealing with your emotions?”

  “I’ve been dating someone since February. Cameron makes me feel like, if I just allowed myself to get over my crap, I could be really happy with him. He has all the same qualities I admired in my dad; he’s smart, thoughtful, and funny. But because of all of the doubts in my head, I can’t give myself fully to him. And I want to. I want to so badly I hate myself for not being the girl he deserves.” My fingers nervously twisted the hem of my shirt as I spoke. The embarrassment I had expected over confessing my inadequacies was nonexistent.

  We talked for the full hour about my family and Cameron. Time flew by as I divulged information about my crumbling relationships. Parker took a few notes, but mostly he asked me questions to prompt me to talk. I was candid—to a point. I had resolved beforehand to not talk about my diet, and I kept that promise. I had an irrational fear if I confessed how far I was willing to go to stay skinny Parker would try to have me committed for my own safety. I’d taken my Pro-Ana friends’ advice very seriously: Never let anyone know the truth about how I was able to stay thin.

  Since the semester was drawing to a close, Parker recommended I see him once a week until summer break. It would only mean two more sessions, but he said I could continue therapy with another counselor back home. He also wanted me to learn how to cope with my grief. He gave me some information on bereavement groups I could attend, saying talking about my loss with others could help me heal. When I admitted I hadn’t visited my father’s gravesite since his funeral, he suggested I find a way to learn how to accept he was gone. I could go to the cemetery, or maybe write my father a letter to express how I’d been feeling.