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Chapter One
Cameron
I promise myself every year not to wait until the last minute to buy presents.
I vowed last year to do like my friends and family do, and buy them months before December. Instead, here I am rushing around, trying to find the last two perfect presents for my sisters.
They’re the ones I struggle with the most because they never share anything, probably happy to see me running around like a headless chicken to find something different every year.
Next year I’m buying a Costa card, one for each, so they can spend their Saturdays there at my expense.
I’ve always thought buying presents in advance was a ridiculous thing to do, but right now, it doesn’t seem that stupid.
Once again, I join the swarm of people filling the streets of London. I can’t believe it’s bloody December already. The temperature outside is minus seven, but I’m sweating like I’m in a sex marathon.
Wishful thinking.
It’s been months since I’ve seen some action, and swiping left or right doesn’t seem funny anymore.
Maybe I caught that settle-down virus that’s going around throughout my friends, and the one I’m trying to avoid like leeches at a summer camp.
Been there, done that, and my heart hasn’t recovered yet.
I push away the memories of my idiotic, crazy, and heartbreaking love to concentrate on the presents. There’s no point in dwelling on the feelings of having been left behind, and especially not for something I can’t change. He made the choice for both of us, so I don’t have regrets.
I swat away those thoughts like I would swat a fly and concentrate on what’s happening around me.
The first thing I’m going to do once I’m at home is take a shower. A long one, to wash off the sweat, the smell, and the frustration. I can’t blame anyone but myself, but I’m still going to be grumpy.
I spot a gorgeous bag that would be an amazing gift for my sister Melanie, and sprint to get my hands on it before someone else beats me to it. I go to snatch it, but a chubby hand with long red nails precedes me, and I don’t even have time to say anything before the unladylike woman brings it to her chest and shoots me a glance that would have killed an elephant.
I bring my hands up in surrender, and with a scoff she turns on her heels and walks away.
Crap! That was scary.
I slowly retreat, as if I’m in a war zone, glancing around, afraid she’ll be back to smack me with that bag. When I’m far enough away, I turn around and rush out of the store, just to be one hundred percent sure she doesn’t appear out of nowhere and take her revenge on me.
Bloody hell! That bag was perfect.
I enter the next shop and then the next, and by the time I’m done, I’m hungry and dripping with sweat. But I have a wonderful bag, better than the previous one that nearly cost me my life, and a multicoloured jacket that my unconventional sister is going to love. I’m walking on a cloud because I know I’ll be the best brother ever. It doesn’t matter if I’m the only one they have.
I’m not in the mood to stop for dinner anywhere and have to deal with people rushing around, but I can’t be bothered cooking. Not because I’m bad at cooking and could poison myself, but because I’ve had the day from hell—I need to do some food shopping.
I walk briskly, dancing around the people flooding the pavement, and humming my favourite Christmas song while I dodge the crowd. I’m glad when I’m far enough from the chaos that I can take a breath and just enjoy the Christmas atmosphere, instead of feeling suffocated by it.
The lights make the night as bright as the day, and the small places selling Christmas treats make the street smell like roasted chestnuts and mulled wine.
My attention is so focused on everything around me that I nearly fall flat on my face when I stumble over something. I put my hands out in front of me just to avoid possible damage to my head. I’m not sure how I manage to stay on my feet, but I’m glad, as it would have ruined my glamorous image. My light green trousers and red jacket would have been ruined if I’d ended up on the rain-wet pavement.
When I get my wits back, I look down to investigate whatever almost sent me flying. I glance down to see a leg coming out from under a bunch of dirty blankets and what looks like a sleeping bag. But what’s worrisome is the fact that whoever is buried underneath them is not moving, and didn’t even made a noise from the impact.
Is he dead?
Just the thought makes me shudder and makes my stomach revolt.
“Hey mate,” I call hesitantly.
A grunt comes from the man, and it’s not the usual one someone makes when forced to answer. This one is full of pain, as if moving is a great effort, and every single part of his body is hurting.
