Chapter 41
Camila
Moonlight streams through the open curtains of the cabin. I’ve been tossing and turning since we went to bed; sleep has been evading me.
Xander took it upon himself to even bring Sid’s bed with us, which is currently where Obsidian is curled up, sleeping peacefully.
Xander’s heart beats beneath my ear, and I realise it’s a sound that I never want to stop listening to.
I tilt my head to look at him. The moonlight highlights the sharpest parts of his face; his eyebrows are relaxed.
He looks peaceful. His chest rises and falls steadily.
He’s sleeping like someone who’s been deprived of sleep for years, and maybe he has been.
Sighing, I unpeel myself from him. His arm falls to the bed as I twist. I tap my phone screen on the bedside table, and it lights up, displaying three-fifteen in the morning.
I haven’t been able to stop replaying that horrifying night since being reminded of it during the film.
And it’s killing me to keep everything inside.
Somewhere along the way, I’ve found comfort in Xander.
A safe space. And I wonder if telling him would ease some of the torment inside me.
But then I remember that ugly fucking scar, and every thought I have of telling him vanishes.
Xander and I have good sex. Really fucking good.
‘Good’ probably isn’t even the word to describe it.
But every time it’s over, I relive those nights of misery again.
It’s not healthy, and it’s not fair on Xander.
What if he thinks I'm using him for my own selfish reasons when I tell him what happened?
I sit up in bed, pulling my knees up to my chest and hugging my arms around my legs.
Flashes of Luke, the sounds of zippers coming undone, the knife entering my flesh—all these memories cloud my thoughts, and my eyes begin to sting.
I run my finger over the thin scar on the side of my thigh, shivering.
Bringing my forehead to my knees, I press in hard, trying to rid those thoughts from my head, but it’s useless. My mind is stuck in an endless loop of reliving those events.
“Angel?” Xander’s gravelly voice cuts through the fog.
I gasp, whipping my head up.
“What are you doing awake?” he asks, pushing himself up, tattooed arms rippling in the streaks of moonlight.
He presses himself against the headboard; the weight of the movement dips my side of the mattress down with him.
“I can’t sleep,” I whisper.
“I can tell,” he chuckles lightly, placing his hand on my knee. It’s a comforting touch.
I breathe deeply, letting it out through my mouth.
I’m preparing myself to tell him. I want to tell him. I need to tell him. I'm tired of feeling guilty every time we have sex.
He rubs his hand up and down my knee.
A lump starts building in my throat before I even attempt to say anything. Fuck, I hate this. I hate Luke. I hate what he did to me. I hate what he made me.
“What is it?” Xander cuts through my thoughts again.
I squeeze my eyes, fisting my hands on my thighs.
I swallow. “I need you to make me forget, Xander.”
He shifts. I don’t make eye contact, but I see him in the corner of my vision. He moves to kneel in front of me on the bed, sitting back on his heels. “Forget what?”
I swallow again, my throat suddenly dry.
This is so fucked up.
“Look at me, Angel.”
I don’t. I keep my eyes fixed on the panelled wall in front of us. He takes my face in his hands, his face coming into view but blurred.
“What do you need from me?”
I purse my lips; my heart pounds with anxiety.
“I need… fuck—” My voice breaks, a single tear breaking free and soaking into Xander’s finger. “Luke, he…”
“Take your time.” His voice is all soft and comforting. And I hate that. It makes telling him more difficult. He won’t be so understanding when he finds out.
I take in another deep breath, trying to get my erratic heartbeat and thoughts under control. Xander stays in place, hands resting on my knees.
“He raped me.”
Deep breath.
“Him and his friends,” I choke out.
Xander’s hands flex on my knees. I move my face away from him, shame gripping me in a chokehold.
“Every year on my birthday,” I finish.
The bed trembles beneath me, and I can practically smell the anger wafting from Xander.
My face is still turned sideways when he grabs my chin with a shaky hand and, as gently as he can manage, guides my face towards him.
His eyes are a blazing inferno of rage, almost glowing in the darkness.
He doesn’t need to say anything for me to know the thoughts in his head.
My stomach churns as I realise the truth of the last seven years of my life has come to light.
“I haven’t told anyone before,” I whisper shakily.
Xander’s lips are set in a straight line, his jaw ticks, and his eyes stay fixed on mine.
Unfolding myself from my ball of comfort and his grip, I turn my leg, gripping the flesh and turning my thigh to show him the disgusting scar.
I place my finger next to it as his eyes cast down to where it is. My cheeks are red hot, and I feel like I’m about to pass out looking at the faded, shiny skin.
“H-h-he sta-stabbed me when I tried to get away.”
Xander’s throat bobs, his jaw doing an insane amount of clenching as the mattress still trembles beneath us.
Gently moving my finger away from the mark as he places it down on the bed, he lowers his head to my thigh and places a gentle kiss on my scar.
Tears roll down my cheeks as my torso vibrates with nerves, and my hand finds its way into his hair.
After a few seconds, he straightens and holds my gaze.
“You do not have to be ashamed with me. Do you understand?” His voice is stern and slow. As if he’s struggling to get his anger under control.
“Xander, I need you with me right now.” My chin quivers as I try to bring him back to reality.
I try to sit up, but Xander’s grip on my legs prevents me from doing so.
“Xander.”
He blinks, as if his soul has re-entered his body.
I blow out a breath. “The night I escaped… he almost killed me. He chased me through the forest—him and his friends—and they almost—” My throat tightens, and I can’t finish. The collar of my t-shirt is soaked with the rate the tears are flowing down my face.
Xander shakes his head, his hand wrapping at the back of my neck. His face inches closer, and he presses his lips to mine.
“I promise you I will take down anyone who has ever harmed you.” His quiet, shaky voice fans over my face.
I search his eyes, and I almost see the promise shining in them.
“Anything you need is my burden. You don’t have to carry it alone. We will get through this.”
I grab his face, placing my mouth to his because words escape me.
“We will get through this.”
His tongue swipes at my bottom lip, and I part my lips for him. Spreading my legs, he settles between them, his mouth working mine with a fervour. He hikes my leg up over his hip and pulls me up to sit on top of him.
“What do you need, Camila?” he breathes out. But he already knows. He just needs me to give him my consent.
But I know in my gut this is wrong. Isn’t it?
My core shouldn’t be heating up at the thought of this.
"I'm damaged, Xander. I'm sorry for putting this all on you."
“You’re not damaged, Camila. You’re healing.”
I sob into our kiss, tears now free-flowing.
“I will do it for you,” he continues in between kisses.
My legs are wrapped around his waist. His length grows beneath me, not helping my predicament. His mouth moves down to my neck.
“You do not have to be ashamed. Do you hear me?”
I moan as he sucks my collarbone, surely leaving a bruise behind. His hands travel to my ass, gripping the muscles there.
“Make me forget what they did,” I pant, my voice a squeak.
He pulls away, one of his hands snaking to the bottom of my neck, holding me still. His eyes soften.
As his pupils blow open, the blue of his iris almost entirely vanishes.
The Devil.
My Devil.
The one that would do anything for me. The one I’ve been denying all this time.
But I don’t want to deny him anymore.
“We need a safe word,” he whispers.
“Green,” I breathe.
His features slacken, as if he just found the answer to life.
“Why?”
“It’s what I was wearing the first time we met.” I smile.
He lifts me off him and climbs off the bed.
“Twenty,” he starts, backing away to the corner of the room.
It takes a second for me to realise what he’s doing.
“Nineteen.”
I kick off the bed, my feet landing on the plush carpet.
“Eighteen.”
I back away towards the door, focus fixed on him.
Adrenaline rushes through my body, making my knees tremble.
“Seventeen.”
I reach the door, pulling it open.
“Sixteen.”
With one last look at him, I dash out of the room, through the wooden corridors, and down the stairs.
Fifteen.
Finding my trainers, I slide them on, not pausing to tie my shoelaces.
Fourteen.
I fumble with the key in the keyhole, unlocking it and shoving the door open. The cold autumn air whips at my skin, making me shiver in just my oversized t-shirt and pants.
“Shit,” I gulp.
Thirteen.
I glance towards the stairs. Xander’s menacing shadow appears on the wall by the top of the staircase.
His deep voice comes into earshot. “Twelve.”
My heart is barrelling out of my chest, but I grab at the handle and run out of the house, slamming the door behind me.
Eleven.
The lodge’s warm outside lights fade out as my feet thump on the damp ground and darkness envelops me.
Ten.
I have no idea where I’m going. It’s completely pitch black. The image of Luke chasing after me flashes in my mind, but I growl, erasing it.
I’m safe with Xander.
Nine.
Twigs crunch under my feet as my feet carry me further into the forest.
Eight.
“Fuck. I can’t see shit,” I murmur, slowing down.
Seven.
I stop and take a second to catch my breath before holding my hands out in front of me and blindly searching for a tree to hide behind.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.