Chapter 39
Camila
Agentle sway wakes me from my slumber. I feel like I’ve slept for sixteen days.
My head is pounding, and my eyes don’t want to open. Letting out a croaky groan, I turn in bed. My right arm is completely dead; I must have slept on it for said sixteen days.
A low hum of Stand By Me carries through the bedroom as my body continues swaying.
Is there an earthquake I’m unaware of?
“I love this song,” I grumble.
“I know.”
My eyes ping open at the sound of Xander’s voice. Black leather is the first thing I see. Realising I’m in a car, I scramble to sit up. Xander’s eyes study me in the mirror, his eyebrows pulling in at the middle.
“Are you okay?”
My breaths come in rapid as I try to remember what happened last night.
The party. Nova. Penelope. Xander fucking me into oblivion on his desk. The studio. The cheque.
The cheque.
My eyes narrow on him. Whipping my head towards the window, I see that we’re surrounded by miles of empty fields and trees.
“Where are we going?” I demand, arms folding across my chest. I’m dressed in a jumper and leggings, but I don’t remember changing into them. “Did you undress me?”
His eyes flicker back to the road as he drives. He nods once.
“Where are we going?” I repeat. His chest rises and falls steadily. I’ve seen Xander in many forms—quiet Xander is not one of them. The air in the vehicle gets tense, something unspoken hovering above us as if a storm cloud is about to break.
“Xander.” I say his name slowly, like approaching a frightened dog.
He doesn’t say anything.
“About the cheque… I’m sorry. I’m grate—”
“You don’t have to apologise. I’m the one that needs to apologise.” My eyes ping to him, while he keeps his gaze focused on the empty country lane. I squint my eyes.
I didn’t mean to react the way I did last night. Everything was overwhelming. I’m not used to this life, and I’m especially not used to a man giving me everything I could possibly dream of. But it feels constricting. Claustrophobic.
Xander may as well chuck me in a basement and lock the door with the chains he used in his bedroom the night of the storm.
The most annoying thing about it is that I see him. I see beneath his exterior and his actions. Because underneath that cold, hard exterior is probably a boy that was never loved correctly.
Loved.
I keep telling myself that Xander isn’t Luke. But every time Xander tries to do something for me, it brings back those sick feelings of being trapped.
Maybe I’m just not capable of love. Maybe I am just good for my body after all.
As if loved isn’t a scary word in itself. Because I’m slowly realising that the thing that causes those fluttering feelings in my stomach to erupt whenever he’s around might be something stronger than ‘like’.
I watch as his muscles ripple with movement as he drives us to wherever it is we’re going. The whole time, I sit silent, and so does Xander.
Finally, he takes a left into what looks like a long path covered with arches of trees. The road continues on for a few minutes before the trees give way and reveal a huge, beautiful oak lodge. Black-rimmed floor-to-ceiling windows span around it, leaving only accents of the dark wood.
I sit up straight in the seat, the leather groaning beneath me. To the left is a small lake with water lilies floating across it. The orange and brown of the autumnal trees makes the scene look like it’s straight out of a film.
The car stops, and Xander turns off the engine. “Happy birthday.”
A lump constricts my throat as I whip my wide gaze to him.
I blink away from him, twiddling my hands in my lap.
How do you tell the man you’re involved with that your mother was murdered on your sixteenth birthday?
That your ex and his mates raped you every single year on your birthday, while singing the traditional song and laughing about it.
All the while you’re detached from your body from the amount of drugs they’ve forced in you.
How do I tell him that I almost died escaping him two years ago on the day of my birthday?
How do I tell him things that I’ve never told anyone before? Because it’s easier to keep it all in and block it out instead of resurfacing those memories.
But maybe this is my chance to refabricate my birthday.
My limbs grow heavy, and my eyes blur the sight of my restless hands.
Xander’s gentle hand reaches out towards the chin tucked into my chest and lifts it, but I keep my eyes cast downwards.
“Look at me,” he demands softly. And like a moth to a flame, I do.
I swallow past the lump in my throat as I focus myself on him.
On the rough stubble of his chin that scratches every time he kisses me.
The eyes that admire me like I’m the only thing that matters.
The neatly styled hair that ends up messy when I run my fingers through it.
“What the fuck did he do to you?”
The silence stretches between us before he sighs in defeat and clenches his jaw. He nods to himself as if confirming something. Then his hand leaves my chin, and he exits the car.
I blow out a breath, clearing my brain of the unpleasant thoughts that were quickly manifesting.
A tiny meow fills the silent car. I gasp, looking over to the passenger seat to see Obsidian yawning and gracefully stretching on the leather.
My door is pulled open, and Xander ducks his head inside, sliding his arms under my legs and round my back. He picks me up like I weigh nothing and carries me towards the lodge.
Besides myself, I giggle. A smile appears on his face, displaying that dimple that I so rarely see. But then again, I never smile either.
“You brought Sid?”
Xander rolls his eyes, but his mouth twitches at the corner.
“What is this?” I ask as he pushes a key into the door and places me down.
I step into the warm lodge. Cosy and decorated with various woodland ornaments. The bottom floor is an open-plan kitchen and sitting room. To the side is a small toilet and polished wooden stairs leading upstairs. It’s simple, rustic, and lavish at the same time.
“Wow,” I whisper, taking it all in.
“I bought this lodge long ago, when…” He coughs lightly. “I thought this would bring me peace. It did the complete opposite. It’s surrounded by everything I used to dislike.”
“Trees?” I laugh.
He goes rigid for a moment, but it’s quickly gone as he leads me into the middle of the sitting room. “Yeah.”
“Not a nature guy, huh?”
“Not until recently,” he replies blandly, eyes glued to mine. “I have to get our bags in from the car.”
“Don’t forget Sid!” I call after him.
He leaves to go back out into the cool air, leaving me alone inside.
I walk up to the long shelf under the TV, where there are a few pictures of a little boy with a bowl haircut cuddled into a man that looks exactly like Xander.
Running my finger along the shelf, not a single speck of dust picks up on my finger.
It’s pretty clean considering he hasn’t been here for years.
I lift up the frame and study the little boy and man who must be his dad.
As if on cue, Xander returns with two bags and dumps them on the floor.
He turns, revealing Sid sitting in the crook of his arm.
I wasn’t expecting Xander to carry him in.
He spots me with the frame in hand, but there’s no expression on his face. He slowly approaches, gaze fixed on the picture I’m holding as he gently pulls it into his own hands. His thumb brushes over the frame.
“Your dad?” I ask. He nods in response, jaw clenched shut. “You look exactly like him,” I whisper.
His eyes water, and his mouth opens and closes a few times. I take the photo from him, placing it back in its rightful spot.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
I know that feeling. The only difference is I don’t have any photos left of my mum. I had nothing after Luke burnt down my family home.
“He killed himself a year after my mother left,” he says, his voice strained.
“I’m sorry.”
His gaze stays on the photo as he continues.
“He was always on my side when my mother abused me.” He pauses, pulling in a breath.
“At the time, I thought he was just too sad about my mother. I was too. I was a kid. Now?” He laughs sarcastically.
“Now I wonder. Why? Why did he leave me after protecting me all those years?”
I stand in front of him and wrap my arms around his waist, the lump in my throat growing as I feel his body relax and his arms wrap around me.
I peel myself away from him, wiping away a stray tear before picking up another picture with two young boys. One is Xander, but I don’t recognise the other with a shaved head.
“Who’s this?” I ask, looking for a change in subject.
A genuine laugh leaves him as he takes the picture from me. “That’s Jac.”
“No way.” My mouth widens into a grin as I study the picture. “Why is he bald?”
“There was a girl, and he saw her talking to a guy with a shaved head at school. Well, the next day, he comes in, and all his hair is gone.”
We laugh as Xander reminisces on his friendship with Jacques.
It’s natural. Too natural.
And as he gives me a tour of the cosy lodge, I feel the weight from last night lifting.
“You even brought me a coat?” I gasp as I weave my hands through my black leather jacket.
“It’s freezing outside,” he comments, threading his eyebrows together.
Right.
That day on Luke’s motorbike comes to mind. The day my mum…
Not right now.
Xander zips up my jacket for me, blue eyes studying me with sadness.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he starts, his hands cupping my face like they always do. “Camila, I—” He blows out a breath. This is hard for him. But I need to hear him. “I didn’t mean to cause you to break down.”
Don’t I know that. Both of us have been through our own suffering, and I see him.
I’m learning to see why he is the way he is, and that’s why he deserves some grace—because I know I would want the same from him.
He’s so patient with me, so understanding; it’s only right that I give him the same grace.