Hush by Jude Sierra Read Free Book Online
Authors: Jude Sierra
himself feel most alive when he runs; he can think of nothing more than the count of his breaths and the big sky above him. And when he gets home, he feels awake and incredible, strong and steady. It’s almost what he felt with Wren, but safer because he understands it.
* * *
“You gonna ask her out?” Nate says, as his pen taps his notebook rapidly. It’s been a long day for him, Cam can tell. His blond hair, always shaggily disheveled, is in a particularly telling state of disarray. His hazel eyes are by far his most expressive feature; at this moment, they express tired curiosity.
“What?” Cam breaks out of his fog.
“You’ve been staring at her for a good five minutes,” Nate says, tilting his head toward the girl a few tables over that Cam has indeed been staring at. The café tables in their dorm quad cafeteria are unusually empty. “Not really being subtle about it.”
“Uh.” Cam bites his lip. His fingers trace the grooves of the table. It’s a dark wood, real wood, sealed so it shines, but textured by use over time. He’s not eating anymore, and is instead trying to study while Nate eats. “It’s not like that.” And it’s not. Well, sort of. But not. He’s just wondering. She isn’t beautiful, but her looks are interesting. Compelling. She’s sitting with friends, and her laughter is bright; it’s what drew his attention.
“What’s it like, then?” Nate prods.
Cam looks up at his friend—how much he can tell him? Can he explain how he’s wandered classes and streets, examining faces and bodies and trying to figure out where his desires land? He certainly can’t expose more—how often he’s watched for even a glimpse of Wren; his attempts to search out Wren’s last name through late-night library research; how keenly his body calls for more. Wren’s kiss was a flame touched to a fuse, and Cam has spent the time since then on the edge of ignition.
“I don’t know,” Cam says finally, miserably. Confessing this—exposing this—makes him feel small and somehow also confined in his body.
Nate gives him a long look. He does this sometimes, as if Cam is a puzzle he’s trying to put together. Cam has gotten good at ignoring it, for the most part. He looks down and blindly highlights some portion of text, hoping Nate will get the message and drop it. Cam is in no position to say anything; to him, the world is just one big puzzle. More often than not, he finds himself staring at all the pieces, baffled as to what picture they’re supposed to make.
* * *
“Cameron,” a familiar voice sings through the phone. He double checks the number: it’s not one he recognizes.
“Peyton,” he says. “Hey! You’re lucky I answered.”
“You should always answer strange numbers, because there’s always a chance it will be me,” she responds easily. She does have a point.
“Where are you?” Cam lies on his bed; there’s an automatic smile on his face, a sort of sighing through his body he gets whenever she calls. No matter where they are, they always have a connection; he goes through his days always aware that she’s somewhere. But it’s comforting to hear her voice; it pulls him back into himself.
“Arizona,” Peyton says.
“ Arizona ,” he says, surprised. “What the hell is in Arizona? I can’t think of anything exciting enough to bring you there.”
“You’d be surprised,” she says, laughing, “at the things that call me.” Cam closes his eyes.
“I miss you,” he says.
“Hey,” Peyton responds softly, worry in her voice. “Are you okay?” It’s uncharacteristic of him to be open like this. When they’re together, he rarely has to say what he’s feeling, but it’s been a long time since he’s seen her. It’s hard to catch her, nomad that she is. Cam doesn’t always mind, because he understands how much she needs this sort of life, flitting from one brief stop to another, changing anything she must to suit whatever calls
* * *
“You gonna ask her out?” Nate says, as his pen taps his notebook rapidly. It’s been a long day for him, Cam can tell. His blond hair, always shaggily disheveled, is in a particularly telling state of disarray. His hazel eyes are by far his most expressive feature; at this moment, they express tired curiosity.
“What?” Cam breaks out of his fog.
“You’ve been staring at her for a good five minutes,” Nate says, tilting his head toward the girl a few tables over that Cam has indeed been staring at. The café tables in their dorm quad cafeteria are unusually empty. “Not really being subtle about it.”
“Uh.” Cam bites his lip. His fingers trace the grooves of the table. It’s a dark wood, real wood, sealed so it shines, but textured by use over time. He’s not eating anymore, and is instead trying to study while Nate eats. “It’s not like that.” And it’s not. Well, sort of. But not. He’s just wondering. She isn’t beautiful, but her looks are interesting. Compelling. She’s sitting with friends, and her laughter is bright; it’s what drew his attention.
“What’s it like, then?” Nate prods.
Cam looks up at his friend—how much he can tell him? Can he explain how he’s wandered classes and streets, examining faces and bodies and trying to figure out where his desires land? He certainly can’t expose more—how often he’s watched for even a glimpse of Wren; his attempts to search out Wren’s last name through late-night library research; how keenly his body calls for more. Wren’s kiss was a flame touched to a fuse, and Cam has spent the time since then on the edge of ignition.
“I don’t know,” Cam says finally, miserably. Confessing this—exposing this—makes him feel small and somehow also confined in his body.
Nate gives him a long look. He does this sometimes, as if Cam is a puzzle he’s trying to put together. Cam has gotten good at ignoring it, for the most part. He looks down and blindly highlights some portion of text, hoping Nate will get the message and drop it. Cam is in no position to say anything; to him, the world is just one big puzzle. More often than not, he finds himself staring at all the pieces, baffled as to what picture they’re supposed to make.
* * *
“Cameron,” a familiar voice sings through the phone. He double checks the number: it’s not one he recognizes.
“Peyton,” he says. “Hey! You’re lucky I answered.”
“You should always answer strange numbers, because there’s always a chance it will be me,” she responds easily. She does have a point.
“Where are you?” Cam lies on his bed; there’s an automatic smile on his face, a sort of sighing through his body he gets whenever she calls. No matter where they are, they always have a connection; he goes through his days always aware that she’s somewhere. But it’s comforting to hear her voice; it pulls him back into himself.
“Arizona,” Peyton says.
“ Arizona ,” he says, surprised. “What the hell is in Arizona? I can’t think of anything exciting enough to bring you there.”
“You’d be surprised,” she says, laughing, “at the things that call me.” Cam closes his eyes.
“I miss you,” he says.
“Hey,” Peyton responds softly, worry in her voice. “Are you okay?” It’s uncharacteristic of him to be open like this. When they’re together, he rarely has to say what he’s feeling, but it’s been a long time since he’s seen her. It’s hard to catch her, nomad that she is. Cam doesn’t always mind, because he understands how much she needs this sort of life, flitting from one brief stop to another, changing anything she must to suit whatever calls