Page 28 of Every Silent Lie
“It’s practically a bed.”
I laugh, giving him grabbing hands, and he rolls his eyes, coming to me and falling onto the velvet fabric. “See,” I say, rolling over into his side. “And it’ll last until we’re old, wrinkly, and still in love.”
“I’m sure it will.”
I snuggle into his chest and sigh.
* * *
“Camryn?”
I look to my left, finding Mr. Percival holding up a shoebox full of mini hanging gnomes. “You can help decorate it if you like.”
“I have to go.” Pivoting, I make my escape, stopping when I see one of the gnomes, his trousers pulled down over his arse, pissing up a wall.
“Make sure you clean that cheek!”
“I will.” I leave, collecting my kicked-off shoes from the floor and my bag from the stairs, hurrying to my apartment and closing the door behind me.
I don’t know no Camryn.
I’m sure it will.
The urge to open the door again and head to a bar overcomes me, and I push the back of my head into the wood, gritting my teeth. “No,” I say to myself, gazing around the soulless space as I shrug out of my coat. I hold it up and see half of Mr. Percival’s tree is littering it, and a quick feel of my hair confirms a head full of needles too. Dropping my shoes to the floor, along with my coat, I pad across the wooden floor, heading for my bathroom. I need to feel . . . I don’t know. Something other than this suffocating solitude.
Dim light glows down on me as I stand in front of the mirror, stripping out of my clothes until I’m naked. I sweep my hair back over my ears, my gaze falling to my breasts. It’s been a while since I’ve seen them. Or felt them. Many men have over the past two years, but never me. I reach for one and cup it, the flesh spilling over my hold, and I start to massage, watching as my nipple slowly hardens until it’s a small bullet, the areola perfectly round and dark against my olive skin. I tilt my head as I massage the other, thinking how they’re not as high as they once were. Not as pert. They’re useless now. Except for pleasure. Not mine, but men’s. A handful for them, just enough. Soft skin, nicely shaped nipples that point in the right direction. My gaze moves up and meets my reflection. What are these thoughts?
Toxic.
I drop my breasts, look away from myself, and step into the shower, hoping the pounding water beats away the torment in my mind. It doesn’t. As I soap my body, I see my mother. When I wash my hair, I hear my soon-to-be ex-husband telling me he’s leaving. Closing my eyes, I see my perfect life playing out in the darkness, a reel of snapshots flickering through my mind. My wonderful father. A mother who knows me. A husband who loved me unconditionally. Until he didn’t. My fingers clench at my hair as I stand under the spray, my gaze dropped, watching the soap slide down my wet body and gather around the drain. The building tears are from the soap that has gotten into my eyes. I don’t cry anymore.
Turning my face up, I let the water run into them, rinsing them clean. It's then I hear something in the distance and shut off the shower, listening as I reach for a towel and pat my face. It comes again, this time louder now the water isn’t raining down around me. Knocking. “Shit.” I make a rushed, half-baked attempt of drying myself, my thoughts going to Mr. Percival and what mess he may have got himself into now. “Coming,” I call, leaving my hair sopping wet, pulling on my robe and hurrying to the door as I tie the belt. Wet strands stick to my neck, the cool hallway air hitting my damp legs. I gather up my coat and shoes and shove them on the table before I swing the door open.
My breath catches at the back of my throat.
“Dec?” I murmur, tugging my robe in. “What are you doing here?”
Standing on the threshold, dishevelled but glorious, his stormy eyes search mine. “I needed to see you.” His voice is low, tinged with something I can’t quite pin. Urgency? Concern? His eyes darken more as they settle on my cheek, and he steps closer, his broad frame filling the doorway. “What the hell happened to your face?”
“It’s nothing.” I blink, my fingers unconsciously touching the cut on my cheek. The sharp sting catches me off guard, and I pull my hand away to find a little blood.
“What happened, Camryn?”
“Just an accident. Really, it’s fine.”
“Camryn.” His voice softens, but the intensity in his gaze doesn’t waver, and I shift under his scrutiny, acutely aware of the robe wrapped around me and the water trickling down my back from my drenched hair. Dec reaches out, his fingers hovering near my cheek. “Talk to me.”
I move back a pace. Talk. Sounds easy, doesn’t it? “You shouldn’t have come.” I don’t want him to see this place. Judge me. Wonder why the hell I live in such stark solitude.
“You didn’t answer my messages, and I—” He lets out a rough breath, undoing the space I’ve just put between us, his hand resting on my cheek. “I’ve been worried.”
My heart thuds, my resolve cracking under his touch. It isn’t fair how easily he can dismantle my walls, how just his presence filling this small, desolate apartment suddenly makes it bearable.
“I was just in the shower,” I murmur, unsure why I feel the need to explain. It’s quite obvious. “I haven’t checked my phone.”
His thumb brushes near the cut, as gentle as a feather. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing, just a scratch.” My words are sure, though my voice betrays me. Yes, it’s just a scratch, but how it came to be marring my cheek isn’t nothing.
