Page 74 of Chasing Clouds

I DON’T KNOW why she’s here.

I mean, I do—Jack called her—but why she came and is sticking around, I don’t know.

For the last three days, she’s been waiting on me hand and foot, and I haven’t said one word to her. What is there to say?

Mostly, I’ve been sleeping. The doctor said I probably would the first week, which is fine with me. Keeps me from moving, and keeps her off my mind.

The concussion, although not severe, was enough to jar my timeline of events a bit. It’s made it hard for me to focus on anything for too long of a period, and I’ve had a difficult time with balance, which means every time I go to get up, she jumps to help me, and I hate it.

I also hate how she keeps looking at me. At first it was with pity, and I get that I look terrible, but she needed to knock it off with the doe eyes. As of this morning, she’s shifted to annoyed. I understand I’m not being very nice to her, but I didn’t ask for this or her, and she certainly doesn’t deserve pleasantness.

Wrinkling my forehead, I feel the skin pull, and it hurts. I have six staples in my head just past my hairline, road rash covers the side of my face, shoulder, and left arm, and then there are these damn breaks. If I’m lying flat on my back, I don’t feel any pain, but the second I breathe too deep or try to move my upper body or arm, it all burns and stings, hurting like hell. Breaking a collarbone is no joke.

Needing to get out of my bed, I’ve wandered to the couch, and I’ve been glaring at Camille as she moves around my condo, trying to keep herself busy. I don’t want her here, but that doesn’t change the fact that she is. Currently, she’s in the kitchen making me a protein shake, and the blender is so loud I feel like a knife is being rammed into my head.

I’ve never broken a bone before, not even a stress fracture. I take very good care of my body, and now I feel completely out of control. All I’m thinking about is how I need to work out, but I can hardly move. My muscles are revolting from the need to be used, exercised, and it’s put me even more on edge than I already am.

The blender cuts off and Camille pours the shake into a cup. I track her with me eyes as she walks over and hands it to me. She’s wearing low-slung pajama pants with donuts on them and a tank top that matches. She looks comfortable—too comfortable for my liking.

I take a sip of the shake, peering at her over the rim of the glass, and then place it on the end table to my right.

She glances at the cup, then at me, and her lips press into a thin line. Crossing her arms over her chest, she turns her head and looks out the large sliding glass doors leading to the balcony.

“Can I get you anything else?” She’s attempting to pull off politeness, but she’s straight-up irritated. Well, that makes two of us, sweetheart.

“Camille, just go home. I’m fine, and I can take care of myself.” My voice is thick and rough due to a terrible combination of medication, pain, and nonuse.

Her eyes come back to mine and she frowns.

“Oh, so he can speak. I was starting to wonder if you’d lost your voice along with your manners.”

“Excuse me?” I narrow my eyes at her and both of my hands—the one in the sling and the one resting on the couch—ball up into fists.

“You heard me.” She leans forward into my space. “For days, you’ve ignored me, not once have you said thank you, and quite frankly, I don’t understand. What is wrong with you? Why are you acting this way?”

Is she joking? She must be, because otherwise, along with being a liar, she’s become narcissistic—or maybe she always was.

Using my good hand as leverage, I scoot to the edge of the couch, forcing her to move back. “What’s wrong with me is that I want to be alone. I don’t want you here.” My voice is loud. I sound like a dick, and I don’t care.

“Why not?” She drops her arms and starts pacing back and forth in front of me. “You didn’t mind me here before. I mean, forgive me for being confused, but you aren’t telling me anything.”

“That’s because I don’t want to talk to you. Why is that so hard to understand?”

She takes another step back and props her hands on her hips. Her blonde hair is piled up on top of her head, and pieces of it have fallen loose. She blows one off her face and frowns again.

“Are you trying to pick a fight with me? Is that what you need right now? Because I don’t want to fight with you.” She shakes her head and stands her ground.

“What I need is for you to leave.” I slowly stand up without flinching or swaying and glare down at her. Her head tips back as she stares up at me and her cheeks turn pink.

I have to admit, I’m surprised she’s still standing here. I’ve already told her several times that I basically want nothing to do with her, and instead of withdrawing and leaving like she would have when I first met her, she’s calling me out on my bad behavior.

“Leave,” she mumbles to herself, the initial annoyance slipping, leaving something like bewilderment and hurt in its place. Whatever—she’s hurt me more than anyone ever has. This is why I don’t do relationships. None of this is worth it.

“Reid.” She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. The pink in her cheeks runs down her neck and flushes the top of her chest. She drops her head, runs a hand over the messy pile of her hair, and then looks back at me with discontentment in her eyes. “You’ve strung me along for weeks since you left Savannah, and now after these last couple of days, you’re just going to blow me off? I think . . .” She looks around the condo like she’s looking for an answer, and then she finds her way back to me. “I think it’s time we had that conversation.” She crosses her arms once again. It’s a protective move, and it’s confrontational.

“What conversation?”

“You know, the one where you tell me nothing has to be decided today. Well, I think it does. Not to put you on the spot after all you’ve been through, but apparently you’ve already made up your mind, and I need to hear you say it. So, time’s up. Go ahead.” She throws her hand up in the air in front of me in a the floor’s all yours gesture then tucks it back in. “Tell me what happens next between us.”