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When my feet hit the pebbles on the beach ten minutes later, Camden is by the shore roaring out into the expanse of the ocean. He’s standing in the water, oblivious to the rising tide. Nothing appears to penetrate the depths of his hurt. Not the bitterly cold waves. Not the harsh wind that batters against him. Not the icy rain that has begun to fall or the thunder that rolls overhead. He feels nothing other than the raging, burning agony of losing his sister, and I feel every single bit of it as though it’s my own. It breaks my last resolve to keep myself emotionally separated from him.
When I move towards him, I step over the line I drew in the sand all those months ago.
In this moment I choose to be more for him. I vow to save him from the King, from Crown, from his fucking crew, from himself. I walk towards him making a promise to protect him, just like I’m trying to do for everyone else.
“Camden…” I begin.
He doesn’t hear, or at least if he does he doesn’t acknowledge me. Still he roars. The hoarseness of his voice pitted with tears and years of fucking pain. So, I wait.
I wait whilst he breaks.
I wait whilst he strips himself down to the core, until he’s nothing but an organ bleeding his pain into the ocean that crashes at his feet.
When his shoulders drop and his head slumps, I go to him.
“Camden…” I murmur, touching him with hesitant fingers expecting him to lash out. When he doesn’t move, I step closer resting my palm on his back. The freezing water seeps into my trainers, covering my ankles, but I remain where I am.
“I can’t do it anymore,” he mutters, his voice full of anguish.
“Do what, Camden?”
“Fight.”
“Then don’t. Let it go.”
I press myself against his back and slide my arms around his waist, resting my head between his shoulder blades. It’s an impulsive move, one that surprises me. But I don’t let him go. I hold him close as the thumping of his heart beats wildly in my ear loud enough to block out the thunder rumbling in the distance.
“I can’t be weak, Asia. I’ll be crucified. My mum will suffer.”
“Letting it out, letting everything go every now and then isn’t being weak. How can you find the strength to keep fighting if you’re filled to the brim with this kind of pain? You’re not a fucking machine, Camden.”
“Why are you doing this? I’m not worth the trouble, Asia.”
“Everyone needs someone. That someone you need is me…”
Camden’s hands cover my own, gripping tightly. “And what do youneed, Asia? I know you being with me isn’t just about keeping your enemies close. I believed your story because it was easier than facing the truth, easier to make you mine. At least on the surface I could pretend that was true. I know now for certain that you’re not. I saw the fear in your eyes when you thought I was going to kill Ford. I glimpsed the real feelings you have for him. There’s so much more to all of this. So, what the fuck do you want from me? What is this really all about?”
“So many things, Camden.Everything.” I sigh, drawing my hands away. He turns around to face me, rivulets of rain running down his face, or maybe they’re tears. I can’t tell.
“I saw the fear on your face when I hit Ford and it made me so fucking mad, Asia. I knew you cared about him, but I didn’t realise just how much until now. Isawit. How can you want him? He killed my sister.”
“He didn’t stab her with the knife. He didn’t do that, Camden.”
He tries to shrug himself out of my hold, but I grip onto his arms tighter, my fingers digging into his skin.
“Don’t do that, don’t make excuses for him.”
“I’m not. But he was akid, bound by loyalty and controlled by an adult just like you are. How many things have you done because the King forced you, coerced you? How many times have you turned your back on the boy you were, on Bling, because the King threatened your mother’s life over and over again?”
“It’s not the same. He loves his sister. He’d do anything for her. I hate the fucking King. I hate what he makes me do.”
“Love is just as powerful a motivation as hate, Camden. Maybe more so. We do stupid things for the ones we love.”
“Are you talking from experience…?”
“Yes.”
“What has love motivated you to do?” He watches me closely, waiting.
