Our Sick Obsessions | 10: Shower

The following two days passed with little event. To Cameron, it was somewhat alarming, not because things felt normal, but because they should’ve, but didn’t. Max avoided the subject of Ash altogether. There were no more texts, no slipping away and disappearing for an hour or two. Plus, Max didn’t seem sad anymore. But that was the problem. He wasn’t sad anymore. In fact, he was happier than ever. All the while, though, he still regarded Cameron with a twinge of contempt.
          On the night of the 29^th, when Max suggested they have sex, Cameron got the sudden vibe that the tables had turned. He’d been the one to stay up all night this time. The hours passed with him wondering what had changed. His own bout of hate sex with Ash hadn’t been that good; the b*****d had even left before giving him a go. That didn’t worry him. But since returning on the evening of the 28^th, Max had been acting a lot different. He’d taken him to Switzerland in the hopes of fixing his crumbling psyche. Now, it’d shattered.
          He couldn’t call what Max displayed “confidence”, but it was certainly disguised as that. Almost like he saw himself as better than him. Like he was studying him, trying to find some weakness. Cameron didn’t like it. At this rate, he’d almost say he liked it better when Max was miserable. There was something heavy weighing on his heart now.
          He didn’t want to say he was afraid of Max, because he didn’t think he was. But something about this abrupt transformation made him nervous. The Aussie had spent all of the 29^th with an eye on him. Until offering sex, he’d said virtually nothing. They’d had dinner together, and Max actually ordered himself a drink. He smiled at the waiter and ordered, freely. Cameron had said nothing at all. Max ordered for him. It was all very strange. Cameron felt like an introvert again�"like all his hard work to convert to extroversion had been for naught. Whereas Max had never seemed so extroverted.
          “Cameron,” he’d asked, tone dry, “how’s writing going?”
          Cameron had only stared at him.
          “Cat got your tongue?”
          Still, he hadn’t answered. Max’s response had been to smirk and start eating. Feeling lost, Cameron had picked up his glass and proceeded to wonder where his Max had gone.
          That night, Max had still screamed. Cameron took solace in that much and held him until he quieted. But upon waking up in the morning, he was again different. Now, he was lounging on the bed, skimming through a book. He wasn’t reading it; he turned the pages too fast for that.
          Cameron, meanwhile, sat on the furthest yellow chair from the bed. He tried to seem casual, but the way he stared at nothing must’ve been giving it away.
          “Did I f**k up?” he asked.
          “Yep,” Max responded, matter-of-fact. He flipped past another set of pages.
          “How?”
          No answer this time. Something about the silence only unnerved him further. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have to admit he felt like prey. But Max wouldn’t attack him . . . Would he? Now, anything seemed fair game. Who knew what he might do? Because he was stronger, he knew Max knew a direct murder wouldn’t work. Hence why he was biding his time. He was waiting for an opportunity to get the jump on him. This didn’t worry him, either. It was a surprise to Cameron, discovering that his concern wasn’t that Max might kill him. It was that Max might kill him without thinking it through. He’d f**k up somewhere and get himself caught and arrested, or he’d turn himself in afterward.
          So, if it was at all possible, he had to find a way to fix things between them. He missed his Max. He wanted him back. But how to pull him out?
          Cameron had an idea. A risky idea, but an idea nonetheless. It was time for a power play. Time to show that he was still well in control of their lives.
          From his blazer, he pulled out his cellphone. “I’m going out into the hallway to make a phone call,” he said.
          “Why out there?” Max asked. “Make it here. I won’t listen.” He would.
          “No, I’d prefer to make it in private.”
          Max glared at him. Their eyes locked in a momentary power struggle. Then, Max looked back down at his book. “Fine. Do what you want.”
          Cameron stood up from his chair. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he headed for the door. There was no reply, so he opened it, closed it behind himself. Once out in the hall, he took a deep breath. He felt confident that Max would lean against the door to listen in. So, rather than stand in front of it, he stepped to the other side of the hall and turned to face it. Finally, he brought his attention to his phone. Toward the bottom of his contact list (among which he still had August), he found a number he hadn’t called in years. Now, he tried to call it. What were the odds of them changing their number? They hardly knew how to work a phone to begin with.
          After a few rings, his grandmother answered: “Hello?”
          “Hi, Dottie. It’s Cameron.”
          “Cameron! How good to hear from you again!”
          “Yeah.” He decided to get straight to the point, not feeling up to faking small talk. “Listen, I wanted to know if you and Chandler would mind having Max and I over for dinner tonight.”
          “Oh, not at all, dear! We’d love to!”
          “Great, thanks . . .”
          “Any dietary restrictions I should know about? Dairy, meat?”
          “No, we’re not, uh, picky.”
          “Good, good! I’ll prepare a nice big meal with beef and�"any preference of sides, dear?”
          He didn’t care. Dinner wasn’t his primary concern. “Anything’s fine, Dottie. Do whatever.”
          “You know how indecisive I am.”
          “Ask Chandler.”
          “Oh, that man’s not useful for anything. ‘I don’t know’ this and ‘I don’t care’ that.”
          “You don’t need to overthink it. Make whatever you want.”
          The old woman sighed. “Well, when should we be expecting you two?”
          “Um, five? No, six. Let’s make it six.”
          “Why not five?”
          “I’m coming at six.”
          “All right, if you’d prefer.”
          Silence for a beat, as Cameron considered his next move.
          “Cameron?”
          “Hmm?”
          “It’s not that I don’t appreciate you wanting to spend time with us”�"that wasn’t his reason, but he didn’t say so�"“but . . . Why now? Is something the matter?”
          Cameron paused, then confessed, “No, I mean . . . Max has been acting a little bit unusual lately, that’s all. I think he’s stressed out.”
          “Oh, poor thing.”
          “So, I thought I’d try to, uh, give him a break. You know, make him feel welcome in the family rather than take him out to some fancy restaurant.”
          “That’s a great idea,” Dottie assured. “Very thoughtful of you.”
          “You think?”
          “Absolutely. We’ll make him feel right at home, dear, don’t you worry. Should I try to make something Australian, then?”
          “Why would you do that?”
          “Well, he didn’t talk much, but I thought I heard an Australian accent in his voice.”
          “Um . . .” Cameron thought about it. Would Max appreciate an attempt, or would he take it as an insult? At this point, it was hard to tell. “I don’t know, Dottie.”
          “Does he not like Australian cuisine?”
          “I’m . . . not sure.”
          She scoffed in mild amusement. “You’ve been dating for two years and don’t know what kind of food he likes?”
          “I’ve never . . . uh, asked. He eats whatever I eat, usually.”
          “Tut, tut. I’ll make something Australian.”
          “No, don’t. Do something . . . Swiss. British. American, I don’t know. Anything but Australian.” Australian was too big a risk. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate Max with a botched attempt at his home country’s cooking.
          “Well, I’d better go shopping for ingredients. I love you, dear.”
          “Right,” he mumbled. “Thanks.”
          “Bye for now.”
          “Yeah.”
          He hung up. Then, for a minute or two, he remained there, leaning against the wall. There was a temptation to walk off down the hall, to call Max and give him the news without having to see him again until six. But if he left the Aussie alone any longer, it could give him a chance to slink away with Ash. So, he swallowed his uncertainty and returned his phone to his pocket. In doing so, he pulled out the keycard, using it to open the door. When it swung open, he saw Max standing a step away. The sight almost got a jolt out of him. As he closed the door behind himself, he said nothing, waiting for the Aussie to speak first.
          “So, who was that?” Max asked.
          “How much did you hear?” Cameron inquired back.
          “Enough.”
          “Then I shouldn’t need to tell you that we’re having dinner at my grandparents’ house at six.”
          Max said nothing for a beat, giving away that he’d not heard anything through the door. “Why not here?”
          “I thought you’d appreciate a smaller gathering.”
          “With two people I don’t know? Being forced to talk to them?”
          “You don’t have to say anything.”
          “Kind of rude not to, don’t you think?”
          “Who cares? They’ll be dead in a few years, anyway.” Cameron pushed past, returning to his chair.
          “Hey, Cameron?”
          “Yes?”
          The Aussie leaned against the wall, looking at him. “What do you think when you hear about parents who outlive their children?”
          The writer sat down. The question seemed more like a warning than anything. “Nothing. I guess it’s kind of strange. You might get a better answer from Dottie and Chandler, though.”
          “Why’s that?”
          Cameron looked at him. “Because they outlived theirs.”
          It took the Aussie a beat to process this. “You never told me your mother was dead.”
          A bitter laugh. “I’m the son of Desdemona and Othello,” he explained. “Except Othello didn’t feel any grief.”
          For the next seven hours, they went back to saying little to nothing to each other. Max checked his phone a few times as it dinged, but as far as Cameron could tell, never sent any texts himself. At 5:30 PM, Max was the one who suggested they get ready. Before he knew it, they were in a taxi again, driving toward his grandparents’ place. During the drive, Max finally sent a text.
          They arrived at 5:55. Cameron knocked on the door, with Max hovering a step back. Dottie welcomed them inside. Ten minutes later, all four of them sat around the dining table. Max had taken the seat closest to the wall, furthest away from Cameron and his grandparents. Dottie was across from him, with Cameron and Chandler across from each other in front of her. There two like seats in front of Max, the table meant to seat six. Yet the Aussie had moved himself to the most inconvenient seat. This was unlike him, but not unexpected at this point.
          Dottie had wound up making a pot roast: baked beef roast with mashed potatoes and vegetables on the side.
          “So, Cameron,” Chandler began as he shook out some pepper onto his roast. “What’ve you been doing with yourself since we last heard from you?”
          Assuming he was referring to the years rather than days, Cameron answered, “Not much since I graduated from college.”
          “Ah, that much we did hear.”
          “Oh. So, you’re still in touch with him, then?”
          Chandler shrugged. “He tells us things, sometimes.”
          Whether he realized they were talking about him or not, Max chimed in, “You know, I’ve never met Cameron’s father. What’s he like?”
          Everyone else at the table froze, including Cameron himself. Max, meanwhile, cheerily used his knife to cut at his beef.
          Chandler was the first to regain his composure. With an awkward laugh, he shook out a little bit more pepper. “I suppose Cameron’s never told you, then.”
          “Never told me what?”
          Dottie contributed, “Derrick’s a bit of a . . . taboo subject in this house.”
          Max looked at Cameron�"watched the way he seemed to shrink a bit with that comment. This pleased him, but he didn’t say so. He speared a piece of meat on his fork, then ate it. Once he’d swallowed, he said, “This is delicious.”
          The rest of the meal was a quiet affair, at least for Cameron. First, he noticed that Max hardly acknowledged him. Then, the Aussie wouldn’t stop staring at him. At some point, his knife disappeared from the table altogether. Cameron harbored no doubt that he’d hidden it in his sleeve for later.
          Once dinner was finished, Cameron proposed to his grandparents: “Max and I might stay the night. How’s the guest room?”
          Dottie perked up. “Well, I’ve been using it as a storage room, but if you don’t mind walking around boxes . . .”
          “That’s fine. Isn’t it, Max?”
          The Aussie continued to eye him. “Yeah.”
          Cameron glanced at the dishes as Dottie dutifully scooped them away. “Dottie, I’d be more than willing to help you wash up.”
          “Oh, that’s fine, dear. You and your boyfriend had better see if the guest room is to your liking. The bed’s kind of . . . small.”
          “Still the queen bed, right?”
          “That’d be it.”
          “It’ll be fine. I’m going to take a shower first, so Max can�"”
          “A shower? I’ll join you,” Max chirped.
          Dottie and Chandler shot each other a glance, but said nothing. At the same time, Cameron glanced at Max. He’d always offered, but they’d never actually bathed together. His pleasure to do so now struck him as a bad sign, though.
          “Really?” he asked. “I mean, if you want. I don’t mind.”
          “Is that . . . efficient?” Dottie inquired.
          The writer whipped his gaze onto her. “What’s that supposed to mean? People shower together all the time.”
          She shook her head, but couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she replied: “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
          Max watched this tense exchange and felt a nervous shiver, but he smothered it. Tempted as he was to inform them that he wasn’t gay, he knew after Ash that was likely untrue. When Cameron turned to look at him again, he lowered his hand under the table.
          Has he noticed? He must’ve. I saw him look for the knife.
          “Let’s go, Max.”
          The Aussie nodded. In his fist, he balled up the end of his sleeve, to prevent the knife from falling out. They went upstairs together. At the top of the staircase, Cameron gestured to the door straight ahead.
          “This is the bathroom,” he revealed. “Guest room should be”�"pivoted to the right, pointed at the first door of the upstairs hall�"“there. Man, I haven’t been up here in years.”
          Max said nothing. He followed the writer into the bathroom, which was a tad cramped. The shower was part of a bathtub that wouldn’t fit them both unless they scissored their legs. Standing and showering seemed impractical for two people; possible, but not efficient.
          Hmm. Seems that wasn’t as much of a homophobic remark as we thought.
          As Cameron moved toward the bathtub and started the water, Max sat down on the lid of the toilet seat. “I know you don’t like the water too hot when you take a bath,” he observed, “but does that carry over into showers?”
          “Why? How do you like it?” Max droned.
          “Scalding,” Cameron answered. “But I’ll deal with warm.” He pulled a tab above the faucet, starting the showerhead. Then, he continued fiddling with the temperature.
          As he did this, Max bent his hand and inched the knife up to clutch its grip. Its silver blade now poked out from his sleeve, but because he had his back to him, Cameron was unaware of it. The Aussie stared at him.
          This is it. With this, I’ll be free. Stacey, August, Val . . . I’ll avenge everyone that Cameron’s killed in one fell swoop.
          Being as quiet as he could, Max stood. If Cameron noticed, he didn’t show it.
          “Kill him, Max.” The sound of Stacey’s voice urging him in his head led him to raise the knife. The others joined her.
          “Kill him, Max.”
          “Kill him, Max.”
          Max’s nervous trembling stopped. Murder was all that was on his mind. He felt tempted to whisper Cameron’s name, to make him turn to face him as he stabbed him to death.
          “Kill him, Max.”
          But that’d open too many risks. He felt himself smile a little. Literally stabbing Cameron in the back seemed only fitting. After all, it looked like he trusted him, since he hadn’t already turned to stop him. He held the knife tighter.
          Kill him, Max.
          When he swung downward with the knife, the writer dodged. At the instant Max realized he’d been played, he lunged at him. Grabbing his sweater, he pinned the Aussie to the wall. Before he could stab the writer in the gut, he slapped him across the face hard. Then, gripping his shoulders, he shook him.
          “Max, snap out of it!” he ordered.
          Stunned by the reversal, Max gazed at Cameron. For the first time that night, he looked him in the eyes and recognized their color. For the first time that night, he looked at him and recalled that he was the man he’d unwittingly fallen in love with. Their positioning reminded him of the first night they’d met. He’d tried to run, only for Cameron to pin him against a stairwell wall like how he pinned him to the bathroom wall now. The fear and excitement of that night flooded back to him all at once.
          “Cameron,” the name tumbled from his lips on a mere breath. Feeling something in his hand, he looked down and saw the knife. Only then did he recall what he’d been about to do. Like it burned him, he let go of the blade, allowing it to fall to the floor.
          Oh, God. I almost . . . What’s happened to me?
          He looked back at Cameron and felt his nose burn for a moment, tears starting to form. “Cameron, I . . . I’m sorry! I-I don’t know what’s happening to me . . . !” Lowering his head, he shook it. “It’s like there’s another me�"a different person�"and he took over my body! I don’t know why I did any of that!” When Cameron released his shoulders, he crumpled to his knees in front of him.
          “I’m scared, Cameron. I’m so scared of myself. I remember everything from the past three days, but I had no control over anything I did! I’m going crazy . . . !”
          “Max.”
          “C’mon, hit me already. Try to drown me again. I need to be punished, don’t I? But I know I’m gonna try to do it again, and�"”
          “Max.” Cameron got down onto his knees, too. Pitiful, the Aussie looked up at him again.
          “Who were you cheating on me with?”
          Cameron didn’t look as taken aback by the question as he’d expected. Instead, he answered, honest: “It was Ash.”
          This made Max recoil a bit. “What?”
          “And I wasn’t cheating on you. It was a show of dominance, nothing more. His idea.”
          Max shook his head. “No. No, why . . . Why should I believe that?”
          “Because I don’t like lying. Especially not to you.”
          He gazed at Cameron for a long pause. Believing a psychopath was naïve, if not dangerous. But the firm expression on his face and the sincerity of his tone made Max feel that he couldn’t be lying. Cameron wouldn’t lie to him, he liked him too much for that. All the little things, things he’d hardly noticed, finally started to occur to him.
          He brought me to Zürich to make me feel better. He introduced me to his grandparents�"to his family, in part. When I called him for help, he came running to find me and searched all night. He kept offering to hold me, because I told him I liked it. He kept wanting to know what happened to me, if I was okay. And when he noticed I was acting weird, he brought me here, to have dinner with his family . . .
          There were tears in his eyes now as he met Cameron’s stare. From one, the water spilled down his cheek. Then, the other followed suit a few seconds later.
          He loves me, doesn’t he? He doesn’t realize it, or doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but . . . he loves me.
          Max bit his lower lip and sniffled. “Cameron . . . I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a”�"he wasn’t able to finish, because Cameron kissed him. Without any hesitation, he threw his arms around his shoulders and kissed him back. Even if he couldn’t get Cameron to confess his feelings in words, being with him would be enough. Because the longer they were together, the more he confessed in actions.