Chapter 3

Thursday, December 10, 2020

Opening the front door, she waited with her hand on the doorknob. She ground her teeth as Sean appeared in the dining room. He carried a sandwich and two cans of Diet Coke, just as he had yesterday. He nodded, acknowledging her anger.

“He sent another $500.”

“What?” she blurted, stupefied. She’d stashed the first $500 Visa card safely away in her closet upstairs. Now he’d sent another $500 card? “No!” she protested desperately. “This has got to stop! What am I gonna do with $1000?”

Sean shrugged. “‘m just as baffled as you are. This guy’s rich, or off his rocker, Cam.” He ushered her in, and closed the door behind her. She just stared at him, flustered.

“Want to know something coincidental?”

She nodded numbly.

“You wore the same clothes yesterday that you wore two weeks ago. I checked against the set-up pictures we took in your bedroom, before you, you know...”

She hadn’t objected to his keeping two pictures of her fully clothed. She hadn’t liked it, hadn’t believed his justification for keeping them—he thought it wise to have a record of what she wore that day, in case they ever needed to refer back—but no harm, no foul, as he said.

She gazed at him sourly. “Wondered maybe if I wore the same underwear, too, maybe even the same socks? You’re lame-o sick, Sean. You know that, don’t you?” She brushed past him, deflecting the can of Diet Coke in his hand. “You keep this $500. I want nothing to do with it.”

Upstairs, she unceremoniously dropped her backpack on the floor and kicked off her sneakers. Angry and distraught, she wondered if she had indeed worn the same underwear she had that first afternoon. It was possible, of course. Her underwear collection was pretty extensive, but she generally wore the same bra two or three days in a row if it fit her well, which not many of her bra’s did. She wore the beige bra Tuesday and Wednesday. She wore the blue one Monday. Tomorrow she’d wear the black lace bra from Forever 21, because it was Friday, and boys paid more attention to what you wore on Fridays.

Sean had followed her upstairs. Irritated, she returned to the door to slam it in his face but he held out her can of Diet Coke as a peace offering.

“I think this is bullshit too. I’m sorry I ever got you into this, Cam.”

She crossed her arms and stared at him. “You kept those 10 pictures of me, didn’t you, Sean.”

His eyes flared wide. “No! I told you I wouldn’t!” He grew red-faced and angry. “We were in Truce-mode then. I don’t lie to you in Truce-mode, Cam. I deleted that archive the next day, just like I said I would. I didn’t unzip it either, and look at you! Wanna check my phone?”

Cam looked away, blinking. She hadn’t known he considered the photo session and directly afterward to be in Truce-mode. They didn’t end it officially, but neither did they spend hours in Truce-mode. She had just assumed it lapsed when she agreed to take the pictures and followed him upstairs to her bedroom.

“Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t—Sean, wait!” she cried as he whirled and crossed to his bedroom and banged open the door. “I didn’t know! I—” That’s all she got out before he slammed the door behind him.