When You Are Just a Memory

The tattoo on the back of Cameron Kirk's neck was the initials of his ex-girlfriend's name.

The reason he noticed me in the crowd was because I looked somewhat like her.

1

The rain had been especially heavy these past few days. When Cameron returned home, the rainwater dripped steadily off the umbrella.

As usual, I had already prepared a dry towel.

He lowered his head, his starry eyes staring at me unblinkingly.

"Did you miss me?"

I rubbed through his short black hair with the towel, my eyes involuntarily flicking over the small tattoo on the back of his neck.

It was a tiny thing, barely noticeable, like an ink blot on a clean page.

Cameron had always been the model student, the kind who would never do something like get a tattoo.

"Maybe you should get it removed sometime," I said, gesturing to it.

He paused for a moment, his finger lightly brushing the spot, his eyes holding a trace of emotion.

"Sure." His tone was casual, like it didn't matter at all.

"So, did you miss me?" He turned the question back on me.

"No," I answered honestly, even though I knew it would annoy him.

He just smiled, his eyes curving into a crescent moon, and kissed my forehead before casually draping the towel over his shoulder and heading into the bathroom.

I stood there watching him leave, his old classmate's words from earlier that day still echoing in my mind.

Cameron's ex-girlfriend had once tried to take her own life because of him.

2

"What are you thinking about?"

A warm, humid breath enveloped me as Cameron gently nibbled on my earlobe.

"Are you a dog or something?" I teased, but the sound of the blow dryer drowned out my voice.

Cameron, still shirtless, raised an eyebrow and looked at me with a smug grin.

I couldn't help but glance back at the tattoo, and after a brief pause, I asked, "When did you get it?"

Though the blow dryer was loud, I could tell he heard me. He looked over but didn't answer.

I repeated the question, a little louder this time.

He turned off the dryer, walked over to the couch, grabbed his T-shirt, and muttered something vague.

"Do your parents care about my tattoo? If they do, I can get it removed this weekend."

Sure, Cameron and I were already talking about meeting each other's parents, maybe even marriage someday, but that wasn't what I was asking about.

"You're acting strange today," he said. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his lemon-scented shampoo filling the air, masking the faint scent of tobacco on his skin.

I hated cigarette smoke, so he never smoked around me.

We stayed quiet for a moment, and I was the one to break free.

I loved the depth of his gaze – dark and intense, like something you could lose yourself in. I could see myself reflected in them. Then, he leaned down and kissed me.

Our breaths mingled, and for a moment, everything felt thick with unspoken longing.

But then the sound of his phone ringing broke the silence.

It was his phone, ringing over and over. He didn't even glance at it, just silenced it and pushed me back onto the couch, trying to pick up where we left off.

The phone rang again.

"You should answer it," I said, worried it might be something important.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, kissed me on the chin, and grabbed the phone.

Sometimes, I swear, women just knew.

The moment he picked up, I knew – whoever was on the other end, they were important to him. Even though his face went cold, and I saw a look of disdain that I'd never seen before.

The person on the other end seemed to be talking non-stop. Cameron stayed silent, listening intently, before finally muttering a cold "Leave me alone."

He hung up the phone, lowered his gaze, and the silence that followed felt heavy.

"Get some rest," he said quietly, ruffling my hair before heading for the balcony.

He was going outside to smoke.

I didn't think he knew, but I stood by the glass door, watching him for a long time.

The glow of his cigarette flickered in the dark as he leaned against the railing, tall and slender.

The city lights twinkled in the distance, and I could tell his pack of cigarettes was almost empty. With a sigh, I turned back toward the bedroom.

Not long after, he came in.

He leaned down close to me, and I opened my eyes to find him there, his face softened by the warm light of the bedside lamp. His amber eyes were like the glow of sunset.

"Still awake?"

His voice was a little rougher than usual, deeper, almost seductive.

"You smell like smoke, Cameron."

"Does it bother you?"

He wrinkled his nose and pulled away slightly, giving me space.

I nodded, and he just sat there, looking down at me quietly.

"Do you want me to stay tonight?"

It was a strange question – something he wouldn't normally ask.

I tried to tell myself that it was just because he was worried I might mind the smell of smoke.

But deep down, another thought was gnawing at me, making me feel uneasy.

Tentatively, I said, "No."

A long silence followed.

"Okay," he said, his voice soft but controlled.

I couldn't quite read the emotion in his voice, but it left me with a strange emptiness inside.

Without hesitation, he turned off the light, and the room fell into complete darkness. I felt like my heart sank with each step he took.

When he reached the door, he paused.

And when he closed the door behind him, it took the last trace of light with him.

3

The next morning, nothing felt out of the ordinary.

The only thing that was slightly different was that I, who usually loved to sleep in, was up early, while Cameron, who had just returned from his morning run, hadn't brought breakfast.

In a daze, I realized that he seemed to just now notice me. He paused for a moment, then ruffled my hair.

"Why are you up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep." I looked up at him.

He still had the morning dew on him, his eyes dropping to meet mine with a clear, focused gaze.

"What do you want to eat?"

"Toast."

"With scrambled eggs, I suppose?"

Yes, everything seemed normal – he even pinched my cheek when he went to the kitchen – but I couldn't shake the growing sense of dread inside me.

His phone kept vibrating on the table.

I was about to call him, but when I saw the screen, I froze.

My memory wasn't the best, but something about that number seemed familiar – it was the same one from yesterday.

The kitchen door had been shut, probably to block the smell of the cooking oil. I stole a glance before I picked up the phone.

"Cameron, you hanging up on me?"

The voice on the other end was sweet but dripping with arrogance, a tone that instantly made me freeze.