There is a teenage boy at the Bar, staring doubtfully at the level one Spanish textbook that appeared along with the Coke he asked for
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She didn't hear the conversation, but she saw it. She saw the mannerisms, the way each held himself, the way it ended. Which is why, after a period of time, Cam follows Cal out.
She knows that way of staring, too, but doesn't say anything as she sits down near him. Near, probably a little too close for a North American sense of personal space, but as far as she is used to, she's giving him space.
Cam flushes, long hands curling into fists. But she doesn't say anything, not for a long, long time, not until the angry words have been turned down into a simmer.
And he stops himself just in time, because he can't tell Cam that he met her future self. Because Camille told him things he shouldn't know yet, and the best way to keep away from that until Cam decides it's time for him to know is to avoid the subject altogether.
". . . he was, he was from the future, I think. I don't know when. I didn't ask. A long ways away."
There are a couple things he didn't ask. Wanted to ask. Couldn't.
Cal stares ahead in silence for a few minutes, trembling.
"I thought I was Bound to get away from him," he says at last. "I, the Bar showed up just when I found out that he - and I thought it was so I wouldn't have to see him." His voice breaks on the second-to-last word, from anger and fear.
She knows that way of staring, too, but doesn't say anything as she sits down near him. Near, probably a little too close for a North American sense of personal space, but as far as she is used to, she's giving him space.
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"He say you're stupid? Can't do anything?"
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"You saw?" he whispers.
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"Si. Didn't hear."
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Then Cal says, quietly,
"He's my uncle."
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Well, fuck, she might have said in English.
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And he stops himself just in time, because he can't tell Cam that he met her future self. Because Camille told him things he shouldn't know yet, and the best way to keep away from that until Cam decides it's time for him to know is to avoid the subject altogether.
". . . he was, he was from the future, I think. I don't know when. I didn't ask. A long ways away."
There are a couple things he didn't ask. Wanted to ask. Couldn't.
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"How are you?"
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Cal looks back over the water, blinking hard.
"It was supposed to be safe here," he whispers.
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"I know."
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Abruptly, Cal grabs a rock, chucks it violently at the water.
"Why is he here?"
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Because of many things she can't, and won't, say. Cal knows, and it never helps. No, not ever.
"I'm sorry."
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"I thought I was Bound to get away from him," he says at last. "I, the Bar showed up just when I found out that he - and I thought it was so I wouldn't have to see him." His voice breaks on the second-to-last word, from anger and fear.
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He can't even say it.
(did you ever try?)
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(but maybe not)
"Don't want to know."
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