The days had passed by far too quickly. It felt as if we'd just arrived in the Bahamas, when in fact, we were back where we'd started—in Nassau, preparing to catch our return flight in the morning.

The kitchen in the airy villa felt strangely familiar, especially after switching between different hotels the previous nights. The mixer slowed with a soft purr, and Cameron poured an orange drink into a tall glass filled with crushed ice. Both Chris and I stared, mesmerized and thirsty after yet another day at sea. It was our last night, and I wanted to cherish it.

Cameron seemed to read my thoughts. "Here you go." He handed me the glass, and I almost flinched as our fingers brushed with the lightest of touches. "You want one too?" he asked Chris, seemingly unaffected by the accidental caress.

I stirred the drink with the black straw, curling my fingers around the cold crystal to stop them from burning. He shouldn't affect me, but he did. In fact, I registered every single movement he made, drawn closer to him by invisible threads.

Chris stole the drink from my hands and placed his lips around the straw, disregarding my narrowed eyes. "This is awesome. Whatever it is, I'll have one."

Cameron chuckled and returned to the mixer. "I'll let you guess what it is."

The two continued to banter back and forth while I took a seat by the table and tried to forget about the way Cameron made me feel. The tension was clearly one-sided as Cameron showed nothing beyond the ordinary.

It was comforting to hear them talk with each other as if nothing were wrong—as if they had relaxed as well. They didn't seem as adamant on including me in their conversation, and they didn't look at me every ten seconds to make sure I remained alive. They didn't hover which was a huge change from how it had been at the start of the week.

Dante sauntered in through the patio door, his dark hair still dripping with salty water. "What's going on?" he asked, tilting his head as Chris lashed another mock insult at Cameron.

The mixer whirled alive and killed any other attempts at conversation. When he was done, Cameron emptied the orange slush into another tall glass which Chris stole without as much as a thank you.

Chris grinned at his boyfriend as he approached and gave Dante a swift kiss. "Cameron is spoiling us."

Dante pulled out the thin straw and threw it on the table behind him. Ignoring Chris' affronted frown, he took a long gulp and smacked his lips when done.

"Add some vodka and this would be even better." Without waiting for a reply Dante crossed the room and opened the freezer to pull out a clear bottle.

"When did you get that?" Chris trailed after him and grabbed the liquor, squinting at the label. Someone was eager for a stronger drink. I wasn't about to oppose the idea—the fruity drink would be even better with some fire in it.

I joined Chris and bumped against his shoulder.

"You sure?" he asked me, eyeing my glass.

"I'm not a child, Chris. Yes, I want a drink."

To my exasperation, Chris looked at Cameron for support.

"No heat stroke today?" Cameron asked, walking closer as if he was about to check my temperature. For a fraction of a second, I longed for the touch only to wave off the errant craving.

"No. I've learned my lesson. I'm feeling fine."

"Might want to take it easy with the alcohol, though," he warned. I'd been sensitive to the heat ever since I had taken that awfully long stroll through the city, but I had slowly got better each day.

I let out an annoyed sigh. "Yes, Dad."

Dante chuckled, Chris looked surprised, and Cameron winced. The combination of all three lured out a smile that stretched across my face. That seemed to release the building tension, and soon we were all more or less laughing. It had been easier to laugh lately. Each day I awoke with new energy and strength, and I almost felt ready to head back and face Gabriel.

Still wearing a far too pleased grin, Chris nudged me. "You deserve a drink." He poured me a shot worth of vodka, chuckling when he happened to pour a tad too much. "Oops."

For some reason, that warmed my heart. Perhaps it was possible to reach a new normal after everything that had happened.

We clinked our glasses just as music blasted from the speakers inside the villa, taking us both off guard. Dante stood by the stereo, grooving to the beat and scrolling through what must have been a playlist. I didn't recognize the song, but it didn't matter. I felt like dancing no matter what.

Chris flicked his straw and flashed me a relieved smile. Carefully, he placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed in reassurance. "It's really nice to see you smile freely again." He made it sound like he meant every word.

I didn't know how to respond, but I smiled wider. Slowly, I was returning to my old self—at least for now. I felt light, almost weightless, like nothing could keep me stuck on the ground. Or at least that sensation held until Chris hugged me tightly.

"It's great to have you back" He was speaking with a rare softness, close to my ear so the others couldn't hear what he said.

The music built in the background, begging me to forget my worries—demanding my attention and urging me to dance.

"Yeah."

He leaned back, creating some space between us. "Let's drown all our troubles and dance the whole night."

I couldn't help but laugh. We were reckless, but we were still young—who could blame us? If there was ever a time to let loose and not care so much about our past and our future, it was this night.

Cameron kept making drinks, all of us kept drinking, and soon we were all pretty much acting beyond our usual limits. We ordered pizza, which tasted weird compared to what we'd had in the States—we sang along to stupid songs that Dante had picked, and we danced as if the room was crowded.

Dante cut the music around midnight, swaying where he stood. "We should head to a club."

Cameron pointed at Chris. "You won't be able to touch loverboy, here. Besides, we're leaving tomorrow."

"Fucking hell," Dante swore and pulled Chris into his arms. They were unstable enough to somehow crash into the sofa.

"They're drunk," I said, realizing that Cameron stood a lot closer than mere seconds ago. I looked up into his mesmerizing eyes, again struck by his seriously long eyelashes.

He smiled. "So are you."

"What are you gonna do about it?" I challenged, not really knowing what I was after.

"Offer you water." He grinned.

"Water's for losers."

Cameron chuckled while I tried to smother a hiccup. "I shouldn't be encouraging this behavior. You're slurring."

I placed my hands on his shoulders, knowing that I shouldn't. "Maybe not."

"See, you're definitely drunk. I should be more responsible than this."

"Is it because I'm a student?" I asked.

He frowned, almost looking pained.

"Yes, you're my student, Adam, and in a few days, you'll be sitting at the back of class while I stand in front." He took a swig of his drink, averting his eyes. "And if anyone finds out I've been with you on this trip, I'll be in a serious trouble."

His words brought me back to a reality I didn't want to face. Gabriel might be waiting for me at home, and here I was, thinking about someone else. Even if I'd slowly come to realize that I wanted to leave Gabriel for what he had done, he still deserved to hear it from me. "And I have to face my boyfriend."

This time, it was Cameron's turn to stiffen. "Please don't say that. Don't call him your boyfriend."

"We never broke up. You just took me away."

He closed his eyes, leaving me a free-card to study him in detail. His eyebrows were furrowed and a few freckles had appeared on his nose, lured out by the sun. He was handsome in that classic way that could have been considered a bit boring if it wasn't for his carefree personality—chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, clean-shaven. But, he didn't look carefree, not with his eyes shut and his lips drawn into a line.

His eyes met mine, darker than usual. "I don't want to tell you what to do, but I really want to hear you say the words."

"What words?"

"That you're leaving him."

I felt cornered, out of options. They wanted everything all at once, and I wasn't sure if I had it in me to give all the answers straight away. What if he had changed? What if he realized how badly he behaved and wanted me back?

I tried to push those questions aside. My friends wanted me to heal, and it was starting to happen.

"Please, Cameron. I really don't want to think about him."

His frown deepened, but it vanished and made way for a smile that never reached his eyes. "I won't force you into anything. But, remember, you don't deserve getting hurt, not any of it. You're..." he trailed away.

"I won't let him hurt me. I promise." That much was true. I hated the pain and everything that came with it.

"Good. Then we won't talk about him unless you want to," Cameron said, carefully removing my hands from his shoulders. It was the right thing to do, of course, but it still stung of rejection.

* * * *

I was drunk. I could feel it as the warm breeze touched my face and left me swaying. I felt it as I watched the stars and lost concept of time. Staring across the dark sea, I tried to remember every detail of the world we would leave behind. Ripples reflecting the faint moonlight urged me to wave goodbye to the treacherous bubble I had created. The plane would leave not long after first light, flying us back to the world that waited for us.

Breathing in the faint scent of salt, I closed my eyes. The sea lapped against my bare feet, grounding me when nothing else did. Come tomorrow, my feeble grip on this uncomplicated life would shatter. Just because I had fled my problems didn't mean they had ceased to exist. Cameron's simple rejection had been a startling reminder.

It had almost been too easy to take a step back and see my relationship with Gabriel for what it was, but with each passing hour, I also realized that all I had done was to leave someone behind who needed me more than ever. At least, he deserved a chance to explain himself. My theories only reached so far.

"Not really looking forward to leaving this place," Cameron said, coming up behind me.

I tensed, not ready for another reminder of how silly my stupid crush was—a crush I wasn't supposed to have in the first place. Without turning my head, I made some sort of sound in reply—a neutral one that he could interpret in a number of ways.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

I could feel my defenses rise around my conflicted heart, afraid of feeling anything at all.

"What do you want to know?"

The reply was instant. "I want to know how you're really doing."

A bird cawed in the distance as if mocking the words I held on my tongue. Lies. False confessions. How would those lies ever help me? The truth was that they wouldn't.

"I'm thinking about Gabriel." It wasn't the reply he sought, but I hoped he would understand.

This time, Cameron's voice was hesitant, careful in a way that made it all worse. "Do you want to tell me about him?"

I thought about all the times I had longed to talk about my complicated relationship, but here I was, feeling uncertain. Did I want Cameron to know? Maybe it was for the best. It would be easier if he understood, then he could judge for himself.

"We knew each other as kids."

"You've told me, remember?"

I nodded, feeling strangely sobered by Cameron's presence. "We lived close, went to the same school, shared secrets...even though he was always destined to become the popular guy who would leave me behind. I seemed to know that before we started school."

I thought back to that first day. The teacher had arranged the seating plan and that had been enough to split us up for years to come. It was odd how easily our friendship became less important, but not entirely surprising considering how different our interests were.

"We didn't really talk for almost six years after that. I found other friends, but I always felt that something was missing—like a part of me chipped away that first day of school in a classroom filled with nervous children."

I curled my toes in the sand, trying to grip the wet sludge without success. A pointless attempt to regain a hold of my world.

"I thought I had lost him as a friend forever even when we lived across the street from each other. Then when we started junior high..." I paused, remembering the first shove, the first words from a bully's mouth. "I got in trouble after just a week. I was small, scrawny, an easy target."

"Bullies?" Cameron asked. "I remember you telling me about them"

"Yes, several of them. It went on for months until, one day, Gabriel saw what was going on. He kicked their asses, and I don't think I've ever felt that amount of gratitude. I thought he had saved my life, literally."

I almost waited for Cameron to say something, waiting to hear a word of understanding. To me, it made sense that I fell in love with Gabriel after that day—that he became my protector and deserved my devotion.

"From that day on, he never really left my side until he threw me out of our apartment. Or perhaps I never left his. I'm not sure."

I sighed at the thought and saw Cameron stir beside me. A few seconds passed before he spoke.

"Why did he throw you out?"

A sad chuckle slipped past. In hindsight, it was ironic. "He threw me out because I told him about my feelings." It was even more ironic considering how he must have known about those emotions before I'd voiced them. He wasn't blind, after all.

Sounds from the moving sea filled the silence between us. Seconds ticked by, but neither of us spoke. I was waiting for Cameron, and perhaps he was waiting for me.

"This doesn't make sense," he said, at last.

"It doesn't."

"You mean he hasn't told you the reason?"

"No, not really."

His eyebrows furrowed. "So, what do you think happened?"

"I guess it took him by surprise." I was stunned at my casual tone. My feelings didn't match, not by a mile.

I gazed at the stars emerging on the dark canvas above. One by one, they slipped out of hiding. If only it were that easy to coax out Gabriel from his prison. I knew he was afraid of coming out, and I had a feeling it played an important role in his behavior.

"He never abused you before you became a couple?"

"No."

"What changed?" he asked, as if he thought I had the answer.

I scoffed. "I can't be sure. It has to be something because I refuse to believe that I've known him all my life without knowing this part of him."

Cameron stared across the dark water. "You want to know what I think?"

I was almost afraid to reply. When the silence stretched, Cameron continued without my permission. "I think it's absolutely possible not to know of violent tendencies like that. I mean, consider how common domestic violence is, and how surprised people are when they realize their neighbor, friend or family member have been hitting their partner for thirty-odd years. I'm not sure there has to be a rational cause for his behavior."

It wasn't the answer I wanted. There had to be something more than fear of coming out of the closet. Right? It made no sense at all, otherwise.

"Look, maybe there is something wrong," Cameron continued, "but you have to think about your safety first. Don't go back to him, don't even talk to him. I know his kind, and—"

"You don't know him, Cameron," I interrupted. When the last syllable left, I felt like biting into my tongue. I wasn't fair, but neither was he. First the rejection, now this.

His hands rose in a gesture of resignation, but I watched it in fear, frozen in an instant. I didn't relax until his hands fell entirely. I don't have to be afraid, I told myself. This is Cameron. Cameron not Gabriel.

He continued as if he hadn't seen my reaction. "Fine. I don't know him, but I do know how dangerous it will be for you when we get back. We'll all keep an eye on you—"

"You have no right to do that." I shook my head. "I can take care of myself."

This time, it was Cameron's turn to scoff. "And see how that turned out."

Rage boiled within me, trying to replace the complete defeat I felt.

He must have heard my emotions roaring through the silence. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it like that."

"Then what did you mean?" I bit back, again worried that my words would cause him to slip and fall into anger.

He winced. "You hear the result of frustration. It's not easy, you know. And hearing you say that you're basically giving him another chance—"

"I never said that," I interjected.

That seemed to deflate him enough to pause our heated argument. Both of us relaxed our stances, shifting on our feet until we stared out across the sea, once more. My fear slowly settled beneath rationality. We shouldn't have had this discussion while we were drunk.

"Please let us be there for you when we get back," he said.

"Fine." The word was forced out with reluctance, but I was done with this conversation. It took too much without giving anything back in return.

His hand landed on my shoulder. "I want you safe."

The touch lured me into the bubble again, a simple nudge reminding me of how happy I had been these past few days in Cameron's company. He stood so close, offering comfort and steady reassurance. He cared. He wanted me safe. If only it wasn't so complicated.

"I'm sorry for pushing you," he said.

"It's all right." I had more words on my tongue, dangerous admissions that confused me even as I heard them loud in my thoughts. He truly cared about me. As if I mattered. How could I be angry and resentful when he tried to comfort me? Nonetheless, it was a dangerous path to follow. The force of gravitation bent around us, and I was afraid to lose the fight against it. I couldn't. Not yet. I had to face Gabriel and tell him it was over. He deserved that much from me at least.