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That ishow I met Jamie, the feisty little redhead, with a heart of gold. This girl has been my absolute rock. She took me in, helped me get a job, fed me, bought me clothes, like I said, she saved my life.
Emotionally I feel much stronger too, I haven’t had an attack for almost 3 months now. Although we’ve grown close, I haven’t shared much with her, and I feel bad about that. But I don’t want to put her in any more danger than she already is just by knowing me and having me here is even more of a danger to her, so the quicker I can move out the better.
I’m ready to leave with 5 minutes to spare, and I head down the stairs meeting Jamie in the kitchen.
“How do I look? Scrub up pretty well, don’t you think?” I ask, giving her a little twirl. I have on a black pencil skirt, that fits snug to my flared hips and accentuates my hourglass figure. I’ve paired it with a simple white bell-sleeved blouse and a pair of black kitten heels. No time or inclination for straighteners, I’ve put my unruly, long dark curls into a neat chignon at the nape of my neck.
“You know, you don’t look half bad, Cam,” she says, with a smirk on her face, “If I was a college guy trying to study in the library, I’d absolutely do you,” she snickers, before clutching her sides, unable to hold it in anymore. I walk over to her, slapping her good-naturedly before picking up the coffee she obviously prepared for me.
We pull up to a stunning glass building, and as I step from the car, I strain my neck to take in the whole building. A ‘holy shit’ whispers from my lips as the doorman greets me, opening the door and permitting me entry.
The lobby is vast but light and welcoming despite the plain decor. Directly in front of me is a half-moon reception desk behind which a stunning blonde sits with one of those fancy headsets on. I scan the rest of the floor as I approach the desk. To the left is a bank of lifts and on the right are several doors, all closed, with little plaques denoting the purpose of each room. As I near the desk, the blonde lifts her head and smiles wide, almost blinding me with her perfectly straight and bleached to within an inch of their life teeth. Her hair is in a high ponytail that falls down to the middle of her back, and she’s wearing a pant suit that probably cost more than my current wardrobe.
“Good morning, how may I help you today,” she asks, still smiling wide. Her jaw must be locked in place having to smile like that all damn day.
“Hi. I have an appointment with Miss Hudson at 11am.” She looks me up and down, assessing me, before bringing her eyes back to me. She thinks I didn’t catch the slight sneer on her face, but I did. I return the gesture, scanning her attire, scrutinising her. I glance at her name badge and store that information for later.
“Of course. Please take a seat and I’ll let Miss Hudson know that…” she trails off, clearly waiting for me to fill in my name. I give it to her. “Yes, thank you, Miss Moore, she’ll be with you shortly. Have a good day.” I don’t miss the fact she almost chokes on those words. Jeez, what’s her fucking problem? I really hope the rest of the women in this place aren’t super bitches like Chantelle here.
I take a seat at the small waiting area just behind and to the right of the reception desk. I watch people come and go for a couple of minutes then look to the small coffee table and the magazines there, picking one up and flicking through the pages.
Suddenly feeling eyes on me, I look up and glance around, seeing nothing obvious for the strange feeling. Just to the left of me something catches my attention, looking over I see the back of a man talking to a woman. As I begin to drop my gaze, the man turns more this way. He’s broad, easily topping 6’, and wearing a pair of snug black jeans and a black t-shirt, with a pair of light tan, almost grey, Chelsea boots. I can’t see his face clearly, but he has short, dark hair, shorn sides and slicked back on top. I can just make out part of a tattoo on the left side of his neck, but he’s too far away for me to see exactly what it is. Possibly wings of some sort.
A voice to my right makes me jump, dropping the magazine I was holding. Looking over I see an older woman smiling warmly at me.
“I’m sorry, Miss Moore,” I wave her apology away, and try not to look like I was staring at some guy in the foyer. “Would you like to follow me, and we can get started.” I nod, placing the magazine back on the table as I stand. I risk a glance back to the man and woman, only they are no longer there.
The interview takes over an hour, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief when I finally exit the building. I spot Jamie over the road leaning against the car, parked in a ‘no parking’ bay, not a huge surprise. I roll my eyes at her as I get to the other side of the road.
“You honestly don’t give a shit, do you?” I mock, shaking my head. She’s almost bursting at the seams to ask how it went, and whilst I’d love nothing more than to leave her hanging, I put her out of her misery as I round the car. “Yes, I got the job, and I start Monday. Salary was better than I expected too. Are we going to grab lunch, ‘cause I’m starving, and this hangover is still kicking my arse.” I look up when she doesn’t answer, she’s looking at something up the road, “Jamie!” She’s still looking down the street. I follow her line of sight and see a guy in his late 50s, just as he greets a woman, pulling her into him and kissing her cheek. Looking back to Jamie, I see a deep frown on her face, “Jamie, who is that? Do you know them?”
“Yeah, I know him. It’s my dad, but that is most definitely not my mother!”
Three
Camryn
After Jamie dropped that bombshell she didn’t fancy going for lunch, and to be fair, I don’t blame her. We headed back to the house, ordered pizza and decided this shit required alcohol in the form of gin, lots of gin.
From what Jamie has told me, her parents are happily married, now I don’t know much about that, but I sure as shit know that kissing another woman in the street doesn’t equate to happily married. We watch classic 80’s movies all day, eat junk and drink gin until we pass out.
I wake Sunday morning to an incessant pounding on the front door. It’s at this point I realise that I’m on the sofa, with one leg on the floor, and the other thrown over the back. Not exactly ladylike but hot if you’re getting your freak on, and I store that little nugget away for another time. Then it hits, that’s the first time I’ve thought about sex since…The banging starts again.
“For fuck’s sake!” I grumble, “I’m coming, keep your fucking pants on!” I shout, as I stumble off the sofa and stub my toe en-route to the door. I pull the door open, holding my sore toe in one hand and trying to keep my balance, pretty sure I look like a hot mess.
Outside the door, the guy’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open “Ah, sorry…err, but are you…erm,” he quickly looks to the parcel in his hands, then back to me, “Miss Moore?”
“Wow! I look that bad, huh?” I snort a laugh.
“Oh, no. I…uhm, no you look just fine.” His cheeks blaze, and he drops his eyes to the floor.
“Sorry that was kinda mean. I’m just messing with you. To answer your question, yes, I’m Miss Moore. I take it that’s for me?” I say, pointing at the parcel. I take him in and notice that he doesn’t look like our usual deliver guy, he’s much younger, hence the blushing. Poor guy. He’s not wearing any sort of uniform either, which is a little strange, but before I get a chance to question it any further, he thrusts the parcel at me. I manage to hold onto it and watch completely dumbstruck as he spins so fast, I’m surprised he doesn’t give himself whiplash, stumbles down the drive and books it up the road. “Well, that was fucking weird,” I mumble to myself, looking down at the parcel in my hands. Then it hits me that it’s Sunday. There are no deliveries on Sundays!
I shut the door and carry the parcel into the living room, placing it on the coffee table. Jamie is still passed out on the floor. How the hell she slept through that racket; I don’t know. I sit and look at the package. It’s about the size of a book, but it has the hair on my arms standing on end and fear flooding through me.Please don’t let it be from him.If it is, how the fuck did he find me?
Before the fear takes complete control, I grab it and rip the paper off, immediately dropping it to the floor when I see what it is.It can’t be. It can’t be, no, no, no!
It’s a copy of one of my favourite books,Rebel at Raleigh High, I have—had the whole series back home. He hated me reading, but it was my escape. I needed it to keep me sane. This is the one and only book he took any interest in, and not for anything other than he liked one of the characters. And it wasn’t the hero.
