Chapter 35
Shay-Lee
“Y eah, I know.” I paused to tuck my phone between my shoulder and ear so I’d be able to multitask while speaking to Vito and wash some bell peppers in the sink. “I know I need to cast my models.”
“And yet, you are my only designer who did not submit the list, Bello. Just because I love you does not mean you can push it,” Vito scolded me, but despite the amusement in his colorful voice, I knew he was serious.
The Renieri summer fashion show was only a few months away, and I needed to meet my deadlines. Somehow, despite all the shit that had happened in the past couple of months, which included Camilo’s return, Soren getting shot, Jordan and I breaking up, and, of course, me finally being with my man again, I still had it in me to design my collection.
“I just feel like having models walking down a runway isn’t it,” I told Vito, who sighed over the line.
“Bello, please, I’m begging you—”
“Don’t worry!” I turned off the tap and dried my hands with a towel before grabbing my phone and turning to face the room. “I promise to figure it out soon.”
The line went quiet for a moment before he muttered something in Italian that included Maria’s name.
“Fine, you have another week to decide on your models, but it better be good.”
Pleased that I’d gotten a bit more time, I smiled. “Thank you.”
We ended the call shortly after, and thank God for that since my ear was hurting from all the listening. I placed my phone on the counter and was ready to go back to preparing our salad when I received a text message. I checked it out and saw it was from Blaire, who texted me that she had time at noon tomorrow in case I needed it. And by I , I meant Camilo .
Almost a month had passed since that awful night—a month in which he refused to even bring up the subject. Camilo had no memory of what had happened, but when I told him about the gun, he was mortified. While he did get rid of the gun, he refused to do anything else about the matter, let alone meet with a therapist, which I knew he had to see.
I obviously told Blaire about everything that took place that night, including my concerns that Camilo might be struggling with more than just bad dreams. Afterward, I told Camilo that I’d spoken to her, thinking it would encourage him to open up. Instead, it had the opposite effect. He’d gotten so angry that I’d talked to a professional about him that he dashed out of the house without so much as acknowledging my worries. Later on that day, when he’d returned home, he rejected any idea of meeting anyone, and when I told him my suspicion that he might be suffering from PTSD, he looked at me like I was dead-ass crazy.
My heart clenched, and my skin grew colder just remembering his expression. I took a break from cutting my salad to breathe some air. Putting the knife back on the cutting board, I crouched down and closed my eyes .
“PTSD?” he hissed, his eyes going wild. “The fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you and the clear issues you have, Camilo—”
“I don’t have any issues,” he shouted, cutting into my words. “And the fact you talked about it, about me, with a complete stranger… what the fuck, Shay-Lee?”
“Blaire isn’t a stranger. She’s my therapist.”
His eyes widened as irritation crossed his face. “I don’t need fucking therapy.”
“Oh, fuck off. We both know that’s bullshit,” I snarled while holding his stare. “You and I are both fucked-up to the core, and pretending we’re not is like pretending the sun won’t rise tomorrow, you moron.” I huffed, took another breath, then met his shocked stare again. “But that’s okay, you know?” I offered him a slight smile. “It’s okay to be broken. And it’s also okay to try and fix the cracks… But the only way to do it is by treating it.”
“Treat what?” he hissed.
“What makes us hurt.”
My eyes latched on to his as silence followed my words. It was in that moment that his anger turned into pain, even sorrow. Sorrow I could almost touch until he tore his gaze away from me and looked aside.
“Camilo—”
“No,” he snapped and turned his back to me. “We’re not talking about this again.” He grabbed his helmet from the counter and began walking toward the door when I followed him.
“Please, just listen to me.”
“I said no, Shay-Lee.”
That conversation ended with him leaving the house, and any attempt to bring up the subject since then ended pretty much the same way, with him getting pissed off and running away.
Running away from what?
Watching him suffer hurt me, not only because I loved this man more than I loved myself but because I knew his suffering. I’d lived it . I’d also run away from my demons for years, but treatment helped. Sure, I was still hurting, and I’d forever hurt no matter what I did, but at least now I knew what made me run away from facing my trauma, and in my case, it was accepting I was a victim. Why? Because admitting that meant admitting all the horrors my father did to me. It was acknowledging that he never loved me, and that hurt. That hurt because why didn’t he love me like a parent should love his child? What did I do wrong? And while I knew it was all his fault, I couldn’t help but forever subject myself to being the cause. But for a change, those last few weeks weren’t about me but Camilo and the thing he was running away from.
He kept saying he was fine, and that made me furious because his way of being fine was by lying about it. He’d hardly slept in those last few weeks. He thought I didn’t notice, but I did. I noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the exhaustion in his movements, his short temper, and lack of concentration. The other day, I had to repeat the same question three times before he heard me. He blamed it all on his new job, but I wasn’t an idiot. Working a ten-hour shift in some factory, lifting boxes, and sorting supplies might be hard, but not enough to make him doze off in the middle of a sentence as he did this morning. He was two blinks away from collapsing or, even worse, falling asleep at the wheel, and I was starting to get sick of it. I was sick of our life always going to shit the second things seemed to be good.
A low meow pulled me out of my thoughts, and I glanced down to see Toro rubbing his fur against my ankle— that damn cat . Despite liking the furry goofball, I still stood by my statement of not liking pets. Not to mention that if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have gotten a stray from the street. But leave it to Camilo and his mush of a heart to give in to such a sad story.
“You’re hungry?” I asked after lifting Toro into my arms. He answered with another purr, so I walked with him toward his empty food bowl. I’d just finished feeding him when the house door opened, and Camilo walked in .
“Hey,” I greeted him with a smile.
Camilo placed his helmet on the counter before walking to me. Putting his hand on the small of my back, he pulled me close and kissed the top of my head.
“I missed you,” he whispered.
I chuckled as he breathed me in while running his fingers through my hair.
“How was work?”
“Shitty.” He let go of me only to glance at the mess I’d created in our kitchen. “Were you cooking again?”
“Only a salad.”
He let out a soft snort before taking off his jacket and tossing it on one of the barstools. My eyes latched on the dark cloth before returning to Camilo’s wide back. He was so tall and handsome, the perfect build for a male model… right ?
“I’m going to hit the shower. I swear to God, I smell like wet cardboard,” he complained with a deep yawn. “Fucking hate this stupid job.” And as he scratched his jaw, which was more structured than the Pantheon in Rome, a thought occurred to me.
“Hey, why don’t you model for me?” I asked.
Camilo turned to face me with a frown. “Huh?”
“I need to find models for my show,” I began explaining while walking toward him. “And no one is more perfect than you.” I cupped his handsome face in my palms, only for him to brush my hand away.
“Perfect? Did you see the amount of scars I have?” he tried joking when my eyes zoomed in on a scar on his chin.
Like it was the most natural thing to do, I brushed my finger over that scar before moving it to the one he had on the side of his jaw, then up to the one cutting through his right brow. I loved how the texture of his skin changed. How some scars were deeper than others, while others were more subtle. Either way—
“I think you’re perfect, Camilo.”
A soft smile took over his lips before he wrapped his arms around me. “Well, you’re one to say.” He kissed my head. “No one is more perfect than you.”
“Then you’ll do it? You’ll model for me?” I asked, my head shoved into his chest.
“Sure. Why not?”
“Thank you.” I snuggled closer to his warm body when another idea popped into my head.
“We can maybe think of some cool choreography. You know, a dance routine instead of a boring catwalk.”
He pulled back. “For real?” His tired eyes almost gleamed with excitement as he looked at me.
“Yeah.” I bit on my bottom lip while trying to think it through. To be honest, I liked this idea more by the minute. “But first, why don’t you go and shower? You really do smell like wet cardboard.”
“Told you so,” he laughed while breaking the hug.
I watched him walking toward the bathroom, but right before stepping in, he turned to look at me. “Will I get paid for selling my body?” He winked, and I rolled my eyes.
“You’re such a ho .”
He let out another laugh before getting inside the bathroom, and it almost felt like everything was okay until I heard the door closing behind him, and once again, I remembered this was all a distraction—a way of pushing him and myself away from our real issues. But maybe everything really was fine, and this was just a phase? I looked back at the mess I’d left on the counter, then decided to go and finish our dinner. It seemed like tonight was going well, and knowing us, I didn’t want to ruin it with heavy talks.
“First, you cook us dinner. Now this?” Camilo grinned as he made himself more comfortable on the couch while I moved to sit on the floor between his legs.
“Please,” I huffed, my fingers working on unzipping his pants. “With you letting me stay here for free, the least I can do is repay you by being a good house-boyfriend.” I licked my lips at the sight of the bulge in his dark sweatpants. “Besides, not being much of a cook, I can only rely on my other capabilities .” I smirked while glancing up to meet his amused stare.
Shaking his head, he moved a hand over his face before sinking deeper into the couch and spreading his legs a bit wider. “You’re naughty tonight, aren’t you, kitten?”
“You know I can’t help it…” I said and pulled down his sweatpants to free his cock, which nearly slapped my cheek in the process. Lucky me.
Licking my lips at the sight of the flushed crown of his cock, I pressed my thumb to the tip, just to get a reaction from Camilo, before I pulled the foreskin back to reveal his glorious cock. Enjoying the sounds of his breaths turning heavier with his growing arousal, I parted my lips and took him in. With my eyes closed, I used my tongue at the same time as I massaged his balls in my palm.
“Don’t you just love having a mouth full of cock?” he teased, his words both humiliating and arousing at the same time.
I did, in fact, want to suck Camilo’s cock tonight. But more importantly, I wanted to make him feel good, and I knew how much he loved my mouth. And from the way he was fisting my hair and encouraging me to go faster, I knew he was having a great time. Ready to deep-throat the fuck out of him, I breathed through my nose and relaxed my throat. Prepared to be choked by his dick, I noticed something was off. For some reason, it didn’t feel like he was getting harder, as he usually would at this stage. Instead, his cock was slowly getting softer. So, I tried harder. Using my tongue, I drew a path along his shaft before licking down his length and then up to his crown. I then took him in again and sucked him slow and deep , for no use. His dick stopped responding, and by now, all I had was a sore jaw and a limp sausage in my mouth. Understanding it was pointless, I pulled back and frowned at his lack of erection.
“What the fuck?” were the first words that spilled out of my mouth. It might have been harsh, but at that moment, my ego was hurt.
Camilo tsked before he tucked himself back in his sweatpants. “That shit happens sometimes,” he said, then got up.
Still on the floor, I half turned to face him. “Not to us, it doesn’t,” I snarled before getting up to my feet.
“Fuck off, Shay-Lee. So I lost my hard-on, big fucking deal,” he grunted with his back to me while he filled himself a glass of water in the sink.
“It is a big fucking deal.” With my ego still hurt, I took a deep breath and fixed my hair into a tight knot. “You never get soft, I mean— shit . You fucked me when you were down with the flu. Remember that?” He didn’t turn to look at me, so I went on. “You were burning with fever, and you were still able to fuck me six ways to Sunday, asshole.”
He shook his head before slamming his glass on the counter. “I’m just tired, okay?”
“Yeah, I know!” I snapped, and he turned to see the distress in my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I held my hands close to my chest and moved toward him. “I know you’re tired. That’s the whole fucking problem, Camilo.”
His jaw twitched before he looked aside. “It’s ’cause of work.”
“It’s because you don’t sleep.” I stepped closer to him. “It’s because you’re afraid to sleep.” I placed my hands on his chest. “Tell me what keeps you up at night, Camilo?”
He kept his lips sealed as if it was a secret he wasn’t willing to share.
“Please.” My fingers trembled as I reached to touch his jaw.
He dared to look me in the eyes, and the moment he did, my heart broke with all the pain he was holding in.
“Please, just let me help you.”
“You can’t.” He pushed my hand and moved away.
“So what am I supposed to do?” I asked, my eyes locked on his empty glass. “Just stand by and watch you dissolve into nothing?” I slowly turned to face him, tears already burning in my eyes. “Because I won’t.”
His eyes latched on to mine as a scared expression overtook his face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
I was just about to say something stupid like, “Then I’ll break up with you,” when a thought occurred to me.
I grabbed his helmet from the counter and tossed it at him.
He caught it.
“Shay-Lee?”
“Come. I want to take you somewhere.”