Secret Lucidity(92)
I would expect her to be freaking out right now, but instead, she remains calm as she tilts her head back and looks up at me while I examine her disturbing failed attempt at death.
“Why?”
“Because trying to get over you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
My chest caves in immense guilt for what I’ve put her through, and I close my eyes when I kiss the scar.
“I’m a lot stronger now,” she says. “I’m not perfect, but I’ve learned how to cope better.”
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most.”
“It isn’t your fault.” She lays her hand back down on my chest, but no matter how many times she tries to convince me, I will forever bear the weight of responsibility for what happened to us.
It’s something I doubt I will ever be able to let go of. Knowing that this girl wanted to die so badly that she slit her wrist is a violent punch to my soul. I hate that she had no one to turn to, no one who was looking after her. That she was left alone in her misery. All anyone had to do was look at her to know she wasn’t strong enough on her own. She wore her pain on the outside for all to see even though she thought she hid it so well.
I shift to my side and face her. “I promise you, you will never have to suffer alone again.”
“I have no reason to suffer. This is all I ever wanted. You were all I ever wanted.”
Her gentle voice cuts through the solid bone of my rib cage to remedy my heart, and I refuse to let any more time come between us.
“Come to Chicago with me.”
“Chicago?”
“It’s where I live now,” I tell her.
“I thought you couldn’t leave Oklahoma?”
“I had to petition the courts. I’ve been living there for the past nine months.”
“Why Chicago?”
“It’s where I work. I’m partners with an old buddy of mine, and we own a small business acquisitions firm.”
“So you’re flipping businesses now?”
I nod. “We have several projects going on in Chicago, which is why I needed to move there.” I run my hand over the bare skin of her hip, and pull her in closer. “Come with me though. Don’t make me leave here without you.”
“David, I can’t just leave. I have graduation in a couple weeks, and my mother will be flying into town.”
“Your mom?” I question, remembering her as a lousy drunk who treated Cam like a piece of shit. “What’s going on with the two of you?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “It’s complicated. She went to rehab a couple years back and has been trying to make more of an effort, but so much damage had already been done. We don’t talk often, but she really wanted to be here when I graduated.”
And it’s now that I realize how much we have to learn about each other when I ask, “What are you getting your degree in?”
“Strategic Communications. I’ll also be getting a minor in Public Relations.”
“What is it you’re wanting to do?”
“I’d like to go into sports or some sort of entertainment outlet.”
“Look at me,” I state, and she does. “I’ll stay here until you graduate. Let’s take these next two weeks for us, but when I get on that plane to go back to Chicago, I want you coming with me.”
Her eyes brighten.
“I love you, Cam. And I will do whatever it takes not to lose you again.” I roll her onto her back and stare down into eyes that are no longer forbidden. “Tell me you’ll come with me.”
Her smile grows, and I can’t even explain the shift in my heart when she beams, “Yes. I’ll go with you.”
She pulls me down to her and kisses me, wrapping her legs around my waist, and my body instantly reacts. Her hips lift up to me, aching for closeness, and when I give it to her, she says, “You were always the one thing that felt like home to me, and even though I found a way to exist without you, a part of me has always been lost—” I move inside her and she grabs on to my shoulders as she takes in a breath of air. And when she releases it, two words tumble out, “until now.”
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“Your story is not over yet.”
I often find myself wondering if I have always been like this, if I ever existed without being afflicted with this craving. When I think back, I reach static before finding a time where I was free. Maybe I’ve never been free. Maybe I was born with some sort of displacement. A wiring gone wrong.
I was six years old when I saw my first set of tits.
I woke up in the middle of the night, thirsty for a drink of water, when I walked into the living room and saw my babysitter naked from the waist up while kissing her boyfriend. I didn’t understand at the time exactly what I was seeing, but I knew I liked it. Not in a sexual way, but the visual intrigued me.