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“Why? I promised you that one day I’d design your building, and I’m keeping that promise. Besides, you want me here. I know you do.”
“Fuck the promises, Dean! They don’t mean a damn thing anymore. Those were broken a long time ago.” She paces around the room with her hands on her hips. “I’m tired. I feel trapped and lost and like I’m losing my mind.” She inhales, her eyes finding mine from across the room.
With such sadness in her bright green eyes, she turns away from me to keep me from seeing the tears I know are now falling. I can hear the sadness in her voice.
Camille stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, one hand on the glass and the other on her stomach. “I’m tired of loving you. I’m so fucking sick of it. I don’t want to love you anymore, and I don’t know how to stop. How fucked up is it that when Declan touches me, I picture you? For years, I’ve pictured you every single time I’ve closed my eyes. He’s my husband, and I wish that it was your mouth on my body and your dick inside me instead of his.” She chokes on a sob. “It’s been eleven years since I’ve seen you, and after all that’s happened, I’m still hopelessly in love with you. I’ve never stopped loving you, even after you left me. I went back to the lighthouse so many times hoping that I’d find you there.” She sighs, now placing both hands on the window. "I'm so tired of worrying about Declan. Every single time he gets out of bed or stirs in the middle of the night, I worry about what he's doing. When I'm here, I feel guilty for not being home with him because I need to watch him and make sure he's not overdosing. Every time I go home, I worry that I'll find him on the floor with a needle in his arm." She sniffles. "Most of all, I'm tired of being treated like I'm a fragile bomb. My family walks on eggshells around me, careful not to upset me because they fear I'll explode." The irony is, sheisexploding. She's having a breakdown, and all I can do is shut the fuck up and let her say everything she needs to.
Camille has built up emotions that she's been bottling up for so long, and now she's letting her feelings detonate.
“Sometimes, I look out this window and wonder what it would be like to jump out. I bet it would be so freeing to just fall. I picture it often; will it be like going to sleep and never waking up? Or will I regret it halfway down?” Before I can even blink, I cross the room and wrap her in my arms. “I’m falling, Dean, and no one can save me,” she whispers, and I hug her body tighter.
The woman in my arms is not the carefree, happy girl I left behind eleven years ago. I don't know what she's been through, but it's clear that life hasn't been on her side, and she's experienced things I can't even fathom. I have a gut feeling that there's more damage that’s been done to Camille aside from losing a child.
“You are not going anywhere, Camille. I’ve got you. I’m here now, and I have you. I see you. I’m here.” I turn her to face me, her tears now dry and her face void of emotion. “You jump, I jump. We’re in this together.” I press my forehead against hers.
“I never stopped loving you, Camille. Every second of every day, you’ve been on my mind. It doesn’t matter how many years have passed between us. It’s you. It always has been and always will be.” Every word I say is the truth. She’s been my heartbeat since the first day I laid eyes on her… eighteen years ago.
“Get me out of here, please. I can’t be here right now.” She inhales deeply through her nose, then exhales slowly through her mouth.
“Let’s go, Cam.” I take her hand and lead her over to her desk. I find her purse and carry it, leading her out of the office after she puts her shoes back on.
Within minutes, we’re outside in the parking garage, and I’m putting her into the passenger seat of my car.
She needs me now more than ever, and I’m never letting her go again.
Within twenty minutes, we’re at my hotel, and I turn my car over to the valet. She hasn’t said a word the entire drive, but neither have I.
Camille doesn't like to be vulnerable; she never has. In the twenty minutes we've been in the car, I can already see her slipping her mask gently back into place.
I lead Camille to my hotel room, and once we’re inside, I secure the locks, then lead her into the living room of my suite.
“Take a bath or a shower, and I’ll order us some lunch. Try and relax, then we’ll talk some more,” I instruct, helping her out of her dress. She nods like a robot, entirely on auto pilot.
I pick up the room phone to order room service as I watch her movements. She picks up her purse and reaches inside to retrieve a pill bottle, then I watch her disappear into the bathroom.
Camille steps out of the bathroom several minutes later, wearing the white guest bathrobe, her damp hair flowing down her back.
She looks at me shyly, her fingers nervously playing with each other. I wave her over to me, and she comes to me without hesitation. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I pretty much ordered one of everything.” I gesture to both carts of food from room service. She reaches for the wine bottle and pours herself a glass, then takes a strawberry.
Camille sits on the coffee table in front of me, and I sit on the couch as her eyes lock on mine. She looks so much better than she did there in her office. Her color has returned, and the haunted look is gone from her eyes.
“I’m sorry about earlier. I just get sad and overwhelmed sometimes.”
“How often do you think about hurting yourself?” The question makes her cringe, but I need to know.
“Not often,” she whispers, looking down at her wine glass. “Sometimes, I just want to feel something. I worry if I don't feel something soon, then I'll forever be emotionless, yet at the same time, I’m scared to feel.” She closes her eyes. “I don't ever want to feel like I did today.”
“What pills did you take?” I ask, referring to the bottle she pulled from her purse before she entered the bathroom. She looks away from me and shrugs a shoulder.
“My therapist gave them to me after I moved back here. They’re the only thing that helps me through the day. I don’t have to feel when I take them.” Her voice is so soft and sad, breaking me apart.
What happened to the girl who was once so happy and full of life? Where did she go?
"They'll kick in soon, and then I'll feel better. I won't feel so sad." She looks at me with hopeful eyes. "My family doesn't know, so please don't mention it."
"Why haven't you told them? Cam, baby, if you're feeling sad or depressed, you need to talk to your family, too." I reach forward, taking her hands in mine.
She shakes her head. "No, I can't. They'll think I'm crazy, and I don't want them to think I'm weak."
