9. Camille
— ? —
Camille
Moving in together turns out to be an exercise in discovery.
Not the big things. We already know we’re compatible in the ways that matter, already know we can talk for hours without running out of things to say, already know that the chemistry between us is combustible in the best possible way.
It’s the little things that surprise us.
Like the fact that Nathan is physically incapable of putting a new toilet paper roll on the holder. He’ll set the new roll on top of the empty cardboard tube like that’s somehow an acceptable solution. I find it infuriating and also inexplicably endearing.
Or the fact that I apparently hog all the blankets in my sleep, which Nathan finds hilarious because I run cold and am constantly complaining about being chilly during the day.
“You’re a blanket thief and a hypocrite,” he tells me one morning, bare-chested and shivering because I’ve cocooned myself in approximately seventeen layers of comforter.
“I’m retaining body heat. It’s science.”
“It’s larceny.” But he’s grinning as he says it, already climbing back into bed to warm himself against me.
Some discoveries are harder.
Nathan has nightmares. Not often, but when they come, they’re brutal. He’ll thrash and moan and sometimes call out names I don’t recognize. The first time it happens, I’m terrified. I shake him awake and he comes to gasping, eyes wild, reaching for me like I’m an anchor.
“Sorry,” he manages, voice rough. “Sorry, I should have warned you-”
“Don’t apologize. What do you need?”
He’s quiet for a moment, his breathing slowly evening out. “Just... stay close. Talk to me. About anything.”
So I do. I tell him about the time I accidentally set fire to a toaster in college. About my first event planning disaster, when the ice sculpture melted all over the buffet. About the recurring dream I have where I show up to important meetings completely naked.
By the time I’ve finished the ice sculpture story, his breathing has normalized and there’s a faint smile on his face.
“A swan?” he asks.
“A very anatomically incorrect swan. It was supposed to be elegant. It looked like a melting duck with scoliosis.”
He laughs, a real laugh that chases away the shadows. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” I curl closer to him, pressing my lips to his shoulder. “Do you want to tell me what the nightmare was about?”
A long pause. Then: “A patient I lost. Seven years ago. Kid, eighteen years old, motorcycle accident. I did everything right, but it wasn’t enough.”
“What was his name?”
“Marcus.” He says it quietly, like a prayer. “His name was Marcus. And sometimes, when I close my eyes, I’m back in that OR watching him slip away and knowing there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”
I don’t offer platitudes. Don’t tell him it wasn’t his fault or that he did his best. I just hold him, stroke his hair, let him feel that he’s not alone with the ghosts.
Eventually, he falls asleep in my arms.
***
My own broken pieces come out gradually.
The way I flinch when Nathan raises his voice, even in joy, like at the football game we watch together, when his team scores and he shouts and I physically recoil before I can stop myself.
“Hey.” His voice goes soft immediately. “Hey, I’m sorry. Did I scare you?”
“No, it’s not - it’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Camille.”
The gentle way he says my name undoes me.
“Jared used to yell,” I admit quietly. “Not at me, exactly. Just... in my direction. When things didn’t go his way. He’d never hit me or anything, but he’d get loud and I’d get small, and eventually I learned to anticipate it. To make myself as invisible as possible before it started.”
Nathan’s jaw tightens. For a moment, murder flickers behind his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says carefully. “I’ll be more aware. I don’t want you to ever feel like you need to be small around me.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I know. But your safety matters to me. Your comfort matters to me. If there’s anything I do that makes you feel like you’re back there, in that marriage, I want to know about it. Okay?”
I nod, something warm expanding in my chest.
This. This is what real love looks like. Not grand gestures or expensive gifts or performative romance. Just two people paying attention. Adjusting. Trying to be better for each other every single day.
***
Three weeks into living together, something has shifted between us.
The frantic, desperate coupling of our early days has given way to something more cautious.
We still sleep tangled together, still kiss goodnight, still wake up wanting.
But Nathan has been holding back. I can feel it.
Like he’s waiting for permission. Like he’s afraid that now that we’re building something real, something domestic, I might spook.
We haven’t made love since I officially moved in. Not because we don’t want to - God knows we want to. The chemistry between us is a living thing, crackling in every accidental touch, every lingering glance, every night we fall asleep tangled together and wake up hard and wanting.
But we’ve been careful. Slow. Building a foundation that’s about more than just physical attraction.
Tonight, though, the tension reaches a breaking point.
Nathan is reading on the couch while I sketch. I’ve started drawing again, finally, after three years of Jared’s dismissive comments killing my desire to create. The scratch of pencil on paper is meditative, soothing.
I look up to find Nathan watching me instead of his book.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re beautiful when you create.” His voice is low, rough around the edges. “Your whole face changes. Like you’re somewhere else entirely.”
“Nathan-”
“I know we’re taking it slow.” He sets down the book, turning to face me fully. “I know you need time to figure out who you are after everything that happened. But I need you to hear me on this.”
“What?”
“I’m staying. For all of it.” His gray eyes bore into mine. “However long this takes, whatever you need - I’m here. And I’ll keep being here. Even if all we ever do is sleep next to each other and watch terrible reality TV.”
The words crack something open in my chest.
“What if that’s not all I want?”
He goes still. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m tired of being careful.” I set down my sketchpad and move toward him, watching his pupils dilate as I get closer. “I’m tired of treating myself like I’m fragile. Like I might break if you touch me wrong.”
“Camille-”
“I don’t want careful anymore, Nathan.” I’m straddling his lap now, my knees bracketing his hips, my hands on his shoulders. “I want to feel alive. I want to feel wanted. I want-”
His mouth captures mine before I can finish.
The kiss starts desperate, years of waiting and three weeks of restraint exploding between us. His hands grip my hips, pulling me tighter against the hardness I can feel through his jeans. Mine fist in his hair, angling his head so I can kiss him deeper.
“Bedroom,” he manages against my lips. “Now.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. Just lifts me like I weigh nothing, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me down the hall.
***
We don’t make it to the bed the first time.
He pins me against the wall just inside the bedroom door, grinding against me while his mouth devours my neck, my collarbone, the sensitive spot behind my ear that makes me whimper.
“So long.” The words come out rough, ragged. “I’ve imagined this for so long.”
“Stop imagining.” My fingers scramble at his shirt. “Start doing.”
Clothes come off in a frenzy of desperation, his shirt, my tank top, his jeans, my shorts, underwear discarded somewhere between the wall and the floor. And then there’s nothing between us, just skin on skin, his body hard and hot against mine.
“Bed,” I gasp. “Now.”
“I’ve got you.”
He carries me to the bed and drops me onto the mattress, coming down over me with his whole body. The bare heat of him drags against my inner thigh - nothing between us, just like before - and makes me clench around nothing.
“Nathan. Please.”
He crawls over me, positioning himself at my entrance. For one suspended moment, our eyes meet.
“Tell me you want this,” he says.
“I want this.” No hesitation. No doubt. “I want you.”
He pushes inside me.
The stretch is exquisite. He’s big, bigger than I expected, and my body takes a moment to adjust. He holds himself still, jaw clenched with the effort of restraint, giving me time.
“Okay?” he grits out.
“More than okay.” I roll my hips, taking him deeper. “Move, Nathan. Please.”
He moves.
What follows is nothing like sex with Jared.
Where Jared was perfunctory - efficient, goal-oriented, treating my pleasure as a box to check rather than a gift to give - Nathan is revelatory.
He learns my body like a surgeon learns anatomy, cataloging every response, every gasp, every place that makes me arch off the bed.
When his fingers find my clit, circling in perfect counterpoint to every thrust, I shatter apart with his name on my lips.
He goes still over me a heartbeat later, his groan muffled against my shoulder as he finally lets go.
After, we lie tangled together in sweaty sheets, trying to remember how to breathe.
“Remind me why we waited three weeks,” he says, staring at the ceiling.
“No idea.” A breathless laugh escapes me. “Worst decision we ever made.”
He tucks me into his side, his lips brushing my temple. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” The words come easily now. Naturally. Like they’ve always been true.
“Also,” he adds, “I think we broke the lamp.”
I glance over. Sure enough, the bedside lamp is on the floor, its shade crumpled at an unfortunate angle.
“Worth it.”
“Absolutely worth it.”
***
We fall asleep wrapped around each other, and when my phone buzzes sometime around 2 AM, I almost ignore it.
But something makes me reach for it. Some instinct I can’t name.
A text from an unknown number. I open it.
My blood runs cold.
It’s a photo of Nathan and me leaving the courthouse together after the divorce hearing, his arm around my waist, both of us smiling.
The caption reads: Moving on fast, aren’t we? Wait until I tell everyone how long this has REALLY been going on. -J