Could I… could I do that now?
With no hesitation, I reach for my phone, where it’s still nestled in my pocket. I don’t meander over his contact; instead, I hit call before I can chicken out.
Atticus answers on the second ring.
“Cameron,” he greets, his voice calm and collected as always.
“H-hey,” I reply.
It’s silent for a moment, as if he’s waiting for something, before he finally speaks again. “What’s going on?”
Oh shit. Can he hear it in my voice? Can he sense from miles away that I’m a coward who lets his mother’s boy toy beat on him?
I’m nauseous once again.
“N-nothing,” I insist.
Before I can continue, Atticus interrupts me.
“Don’tlieto me, Cameron,” he commands. “You know I hate it.”
“Sorry,” I whisper, feeling my eyes grow wet.
I’ve already fucked up at home, and now I’m angering Atticus. I simply can’t win.
“What’s happened?” he presses.
I could lie again. I could try to make it convincing. But I’m tired, and the way he offered me surrender—though I’m certain he originally meant sexually—sits so heavily on my chest, begging me to take the out.
“I just… I ran into some trouble. I got… I’m a little hurt. And I’m on Fifth Avenue alone, just… I feel a little lost, is all,” I admit, my voice cracking slightly as I speak.
Weak. Pathetic. I’m certain that Dad is rolling in his grave on the other side of town.
“I’m coming to get you. Don’t move,” Atticus says steadily, and the line goes dead.
Part of me lights up, so relieved not to be alone right now that I could scream. But the rest of me? I feel like the idiot Mom insists I am.
I should have just called Cassie. She would have put me up for the night, soothed me, listened. But instead, I called the one person I’ve been trying to resist, only to probably embarrass myself when he arrives.
And when hedoesarrive? I will certainly crack. I will crumble in his hands just as he wants me to, and I’ll let him do whatever he wants with me. Because I want it; because it’s so dangerously beautiful to be weak with him.
I sit on the curb, cradling my stomach with my arm as I consider any out I could possibly have. If I want to continue as I have been, I need to stayawayfrom Atticus Chastain. Continue to watch him from afar and—what did he say?
Pine, and long, and daydream.
But do Iwantto continue as I have been? Slaving away for a mother who doesn’t appreciate me, withering away slowly?
As I ponder this, sitting on these thoughts while nursing my undoubtedly bruised stomach, time passes.
Slow, yet far too quickly.
Then, Atticus’s BMW is pulling up to the curb a few feet away and he’s jumping out of the driver’s seat in his signature black slacks and white button-up.
His normally calm and assessing gaze is frantic and startled, spotting me immediately as he approaches with quick, large steps.
“Cameron,” he calls, and something in his tone makes my heart stutter. “Are you alright?”
I stand to greet him. “Yeah, I’m fine, I…” My voice trails off as his eyes land on my cheek, widening slightly before they narrow.
