Waiting for Vaughn to come home feels like torture nowadays.

For the last two nights, I'd fallen asleep again while waiting for him until past midnight. And when I opened my eyes, he'd always been too tired to talk so that I had no chance to ask him about Camila.

In fact, a part of me feels afraid to ask him about her. Like I'm going to lose him the moment I decide to do so.

But now, I know that I have to. Communication is a crucial point in a relationship. Most relationships are broken because of poor or lack of communication. We have to trust each other.

I'm too caught up in my thoughts that I'm startled the moment Vaughn enters my bedroom. As always, he looks tired and seems to be in a sour mood.

2 AM. He's half an hour early compared to yesterday.

Before I can open my mouth to speak, he already strides toward the bathroom, and not long after that, I hear the sound of water. I sigh, hugging my knees on my bed, waiting for him to finish taking a shower.

I watch as he finally steps out of the bathroom and changes into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, making me frown.

Before, he always liked to remain topless when he slept with me. Correction. He loved that both of us were sleeping naked to each other, wrapped in each other's embrace -- which usually led to another lovemaking session at night.

I step down from the bed, approaching him. "Vaughn," comes my whisper, making him turn around with a look that catches me off guard. He's expressionless, even a bit cold. He seems distant, not warm like he used to be. "I know that you're going through something hard right now, and it pains me that you keep it to yourself. Why won't you let me help you, Vaughn? You can always talk to me." I lean to touch his cheek, but surprisingly, he brushes my hand off, as if it burns his skin. A sudden sharp pain strikes my heart.

"There's nothing you can do to help me, Mel," he says. "Just go to bed. I told you not to wait for me." He walks toward the bed without looking at me.

I swallow a lump in my throat. So, I'm such a useless girl here. All this time, he's been helping me, and here I am, unable to do anything.

He sinks into the bed and stares at the ceiling, letting out a long sigh. Slowly, I climb onto the bed and lie down beside him.

"Can I ask you something?" I ask, bracing myself.

He doesn't answer. And stupidly, I take that as a yes.

"About your ex-girlfriend--"

"I don't talk about my ex, Mel. Not anymore," he cuts off.

I'm at loss for words. Who is this guy? He used to open up to me about his past and was comfortable about it. That time, I didn't have any doubt when I looked into his eyes. But now, my doubts and insecurities resurface, because he treats me like a stranger. What is it that could make him become such a different person?

Just when I turn to face him, he lies on his side toward the other side. And now as I watch him sleep, I face the same thing again.

His back.

My chest tightens. He doesn't even want to look at me.

No more kisses. No more touches. Not even a smile nor a goodnight wish.

No more Vaughn who misses me and can't wait to hold me. No more.

I close my eyes to sleep, and when I do, a tear rolls down my cheek.

Stacey's giggles fill my ear as the two of us step out of the bar tonight.

Earlier, she asked me to have our girls' time, and I accepted. She recommended the bar, saying it was pretty cool, with nice drinks and a nice band playing inside. We spent our time there chattering about almost everything, laughing at each other's jokes.

I'm grateful that we did have a great time. A friend like her is exactly whom I need when I don't feel like being at home alone. But then, even though she has spilled all her secrets about her new love interest, I still haven't told her anything about Vaughn. I feel bad for her, but Vaughn and I have made a promise not to tell anybody about us.

"Call me." Stacey winks before she waves goodbye, making me laugh.

"Not sure." I stuck out my tongue. "I'll have to make sure that I won't be interrupting your quality time with your new prince charming," I joke, making her snort.

Shaking my head, I laugh and turn around to walk along the pavement. My car is parked not far from the bar, and I'm about to take out the keys from my pocket when I suddenly stop in my track.

Vaughn stands in front of another bar, talking to a middle-aged woman. My curiosity kicks inside me, and I walk closer to them.

Then, from their conversation, I figure out that he's talking to the owner of the bar.

"I'm sorry, Vaughn, but Camila has never come here again for months," the woman says, a hint of sympathy in her tone. "We really miss her as well, and the customers do too. This place is not the same without her. We always knew from the start that her performance was the one that brought the light into this place." She pats his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "I don't know what happened between you two, but I sincerely wish that both of you can overcome whatever the problem is and make it through." With that said, she heads back into the bar.

Vaughn looks stunned as he watches the woman trudge back into her place. He rakes his fingers through his hair, making it even messier, and I can hear him curse, "Shit."

The same frustration I've witnessed before skates all over his face. When he whirls around, he finds me, and I jerk back.

Fuck. I'm caught.

From the look on his face, he clearly wasn't expecting me here. The initial shock on his expression then suddenly changes into a menacing look. "What the hell are you doing here, Mel?"

And now I'm even more startled than I already was. Hearing his harsh tone makes my stomach drop.

"Are you following me?" he snaps, almost making me jump.

"No, I did not!" I defend myself.

Following him? No, I wasn't planning on following him.

"I was at another bar here with Stacey," I say. "If you had received my text, you would have known that."

Now, he looks lost. Right. I see that he hasn't even paid any attention to what's happening to me.

"What about you?" I glare at him. "What are you doing here?"

He's keeping secrets from me, and I don't like it one bit.

Vaughn snaps his head toward the sky and squeezes his eyes shut in frustration, furiously kicking a rock on the asphalt. I watch as he starts losing his composure again.

"It's about her, right?" I ask, my voice shaking. "It's always about her." I can't believe that I'm saying this. Maybe I'm really going to lose him with the way I'm behaving right now. "Camila," the last word is a whisper coming from my mouth.

He shifts his attention back to me at the mentioning of her name, and then he scrutinizes me.

"You're looking for her--"

"Goddammit, Mel," he barks, cutting me off. "Can't you just stop fussing about this? I have to do something, and I don't need you to barge into this." His voice is firm, filled with implacable authority.

I feel my heart shatter after hearing his words. He's pushing me away. The lump in my throat is getting bigger and bigger. "Do you still care about her?"

Vaughn stares at me. It seems hard for him to answer that question. God, why does he take so long just to answer a simple question?

"You can't just expect someone to push something away like that," he says, his voice unwavering, unlike mine. "I get that she's my past. But I cared about her. I still care about her. You can't just expect me to not care--"

"I wasn't asking you not to care," I shout.

No, I don't expect him to do that. How can I force him to feel that way toward a missing person? In fact, I also care about her. About her wellbeing.

"But Vaughn, can't you at least tell me what the hell has happened here?" I ask him, desperately.

Am I not worth it for him to tell the truth? To tell about whatever it is he's burying deep inside his heart? To share his pain, his misery?

He keeps staring at me while I'm shaking with all the emotions inside me.

"Melanie," he says, and my heart beats twice. It even feels like ages since he whispered my name that the feeling is just so overwhelming. "Can't you just trust me on this?"

And that question makes me freeze. How am I supposed to answer that?

Trusting him.

Isn't that what I've been doing all this time? Isn't that why I've let myself fall deeper into this mess? Hoping that he'll catch me.

My heart wants to scream the opposite thing. It begs me not to listen to him, to take good care of it, to protect it, to prevent it from getting broken into pieces.

But my lips part as I whisper the words, "Of course." My tears threaten to fall as I see his eyes soften. I wish to see more of those eyes from now on. "I trust you."