Romance Story

. 11-13

by Arcadia 17 min read 4.8 (1,100 views)

emotional slow burn sensual music intimate novel younger woman contemporary

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Author's note:

You definitely will need to have read the previous parts first, FYI. Enjoy (:

~~~

Chapter 11

[vibe track:... -... ]

"Hi I'm Jessica with Hearth and Home Home Products. I'm calling because our records indicate you recently purchased a Hearth and Home home product for your home. May I ask you a few questions about your experience with your Hearth and Home home product?"

Cameron had the script committed to memory after her first day. That was...three years ago now? Four? She wasn't sure. She didn't want to think about it. About

anything

. Which was hard, because there wasn't much else to do here.

It was something she needed to pay the bills. Obviously. That's why everyone was here, in their little cubicles, repeating the same inane lines over and over and over and

over

Maybe 1 in 80 got to the next step in the conversation tree. Women tended to get more responses though, even Cameron, who made no effort to change her normal voice -- which she wouldn't say was particularly filled with feminine charm.

It was hard for her mind

not

to wander here. She didn't like that. When her mind wandered, it tended to wander into dark places. To all the nights that didn't happen over the years. But today...it was like it was 10 times worse.

She just couldn't stop reliving them. The crack of her finger bones as they slammed into that asshole's face. The finality in the bang of a car door. A warm blanket on a shivering cold night. The voicemail from the hospital she would never delete. A stranger's arms around her after she said the words out loud so she could hear it, to make it real.

The day dragged along, each call adding up to only seconds, piling into minutes. Hardly ever finally equaling an hour, it seemed.

During a break, she ate some chips out of the vending machine. It was raining outside, she noticed. She couldn't hear it, not even the sound of raindrops on the roof. She couldn't hear anything in here.

As far as shitty jobs went, this one was fine. She'd chosen it because they didn't care what she wore or what she looked like. Today she was in old, ratty sweatpants and a T-shirt. She couldn't remember what the shirt was. She didn't feel like looking down to check. Didn't matter. She had on her Converse, one of only two pairs of shoes she owned. The others were from when she was little. They were in a box in her closet. They didn't fit anymore.

Quarterly performance reviews were kind of annoying when they rolled around, but even her bosses took this place about as seriously as she did.

Everyone knows why they're here,

she thought as she walked back to her cubicle. She didn't recognize any of the faces. Definitely not their names. She'd never looked before.

Who had even done her last performance review?

Tyson? Or...was that the guy before him? Did he leave? Wait...or is my manager a woman?

Cameron didn't remember. There was only one thought she wanted in her head.

***

Mercifully, time slipped away from her. When she looked up, it was 8. Time to go.

Rain continued to come down outside. The calendar said September, but no one had told the weather. It was still hot, even in the rain.

Cameron slipped on her hoodie and pulled up the hood. She hated the way the fabric felt against her when it was hot and rainy. Like it was sticking to her, trapping her inside.

After she collapsed inside the Shitmobile, she still left the hood up. No rain to stick to her in here.

Well...

She looked up. Okay, it

was

raining a little in here, but just leaking at the seams.

Join the club.

Cameron didn't turn on music. She just sat in the seat, listening to the pitter patter of the rain on the top of her shitty car.

After a while, she lit a cigarette and took a drag, sighing.

Shitty car. Shitty job. All my shit is shit. A shitty mattress. Some shit in a shitty closet in a shitty apartment. And that's...that's it. A shitty life for a shitty piece of shit person.

She took another drag. The street looked like a painting -- red taillights, stoplights, and streetlights reflecting in the puddles made by a lazy rain.

If I died tomorrow, could Kendra afford to bury me? Probably not. She'd probably be just like me -- make juuuust a bit too much money to qualify for the county to pay for the burial, but not enough to actually do it on her own. Who knew this shitty job made me so rich.

Cameron cracked her window, letting out some of the smoke. She closed her eyes, focusing on the crisp hiss of the rain hitting the pavement.

Gram would miss me. She'd pay to bury me. Spring for a headstone, too, I bet. What would it say?

The cigarette was almost gone now. How long had she been sitting here?

I can't go back to the apartment. I...can't. I can't look at that shitty mattress, and that shitty closet full of shitty shit. And I can't stand the way Kendra looks at me when she thinks I'm not looking. I can't.

She ran her hand over her face, then tossed the stub of the cigarette out into a puddle.

Maybe she'd just stay here. She had no idea where she was going to go otherwise. Wouldn't be the first time she'd spent a night in the Shitmobile. Maybe she'd park somewhere out of the city, where no one would bother her. Or maybe that meant people would be

likely to bother her.

Scrolling aimlessly through Reddit didn't give her any answers, so she scrolled aimlessly through her contacts for a while instead before coming to a reluctant stop.

Cameron sighed and rested her head against the cool window, hovering a thumb over the virtual keyboard on her phone.

~~~

Chapter 12

Andrew sighed, sloppily scrawling out a B on the paper he was grading.

Good job! Keep it up!

He checked the name.

Huh. Addison?

He scribbled out the comments and replaced them.

Just because you can do this stuff in your sleep doesn't mean you

should

! (;

He checked the time.

9:07.

How are there so many papers? When did I even assign this??

He'd been at this for four hours, but the stack of essays seemed to be multiplying. Hardcopies he found easier to write comments on, so he still printed them out, unlike most of his colleagues who just wrote their comments on a submitted Google doc.

Does that mean I'm old?

Da Vinci stirred on his lap, which he imagined probably meant "no, your

age

makes you old." Da Vinci could never resist a biting jibe, even if it meant having to briefly interrupt his 16 hours a day of rest.

The buzz of his phone interrupted the shitty old sci-fi movie he had on in the background while he graded. It was probably Paul, maybe Heather, checking in about lunch plans tomorrow or something.

Truthfully, he was a little ashamed that he hoped it was neither of them.

Why is my first thought that I'm hoping it's Mallory?

Picking up his phone, he saw it wasn't Paul. And it wasn't Heather.

And it wasn't Mal.

you free?

Cameron

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Andrew smiled in surprise. He was flattered. He really hadn't expected he'd ever hear from her again. Now that he had...he couldn't care less about the magic multiplying tower of ungraded papers. There was something about being around her that made him feel...

calm

. Or, at least less nervous.

She'd really been nothing but kind to him when she had no real reason to be.

Well, not really with what came out of her mouth...but...the things she actually

did?

Picturing her default, stony deadpan, he couldn't resist making a dumb joke. Maybe she would laugh if no one could see her do it.

The basic plan, yeah, but you know how it is, the premium subscription costs extra (;

His grin spread wider thinking of the resting frown on her thin lips that made her soft face look so hard.

The response came almost immediately.

your place in 15

It was only a little after 9. She'd never messaged him before midnight when they'd chatted a bit on Tinder. He wasn't sure what to make of that.

Da Vinci took a couple of nudges to finally get the hint, reluctantly vacating the lap he'd so meticulously prepared for his evening nap so Andrew could get a look at himself in the mirror.

He was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, and didn't smell terrific after his day at work. He quickly spread on a little more deodorant, then puttered around tidying up. Da Vinci gave him a curious look, no doubt a reminder that her place hadn't exactly been spotless. Nonetheless, he found he had some nervous energy to work off.

Why am I anxious? She's already been here, and we've already seen each other at our worst. Am I just nervous that a 23-year-old wants round two and I'm afraid the encore won't be as good?

Well if he hadn't been nervous about that before, he sure as hell was now.

A little less than 15 minutes later, his phone buzzed again.

here

Andrew took a deep breath and checked in with Da Vinci one more time. The cat had figured out something was up, so just to be safe, he'd retreated under the couch.

Thanks for the backup, buddy.

After another deep breath, Andrew swung open the door, and all at once felt the nervousness that had been building start to melt away.

Cameron was dressed as casually as possible in a T-shirt with some band name on it he didn't recognize and rolled-up old sweatpants sporting faded mud stains. The same dark gray hoodie he'd seen her in previously was pocked with even darker marks from the drizzle outside.

She hadn't done anything special with her hair -- it was all what he assumed was her natural jet black, and looked a little scraggly and greasy, like it hadn't been washed in a few days beyond the rain. It waved off to her right, hanging over the edge of the fade along the side of her head and threatening to drift in front of her eye. Her beat-up old backpack was hanging from one shoulder.

The wolf's fangs loomed at him from the top of her neck when she turned to face him, grinding out a cigarette next to the one he'd never cleaned off from when she was here last.

He couldn't help but smile. The first night she'd been here, she'd been dressed up, her hair done, makeup on. Maybe she didn't mind him seeing her like this? Or maybe she just didn't give a shit what anybody thought of how she looked. That was something he admired about everything she did.

Cameron didn't smile back. She just brushed past him and into the living room, dripping a little from the rain and showing no concern about tracking her wet shoes over his carpet. That didn't really bother him, honestly. That's what floors were for.

"You know, it's okay for you to knock," he said after he closed the door, trying to start things lightly.

But when he looked back to her, he had to hide how startled he was. It was immediately clear that she wasn't carrying herself with the same fuck-you confidence he'd seen her with before. Her eyes were darting to nothing in particular, and her hands were squirming in the pockets of her hoodie, moving around idly on their own like they couldn't stay still.

She started to take them both out, but abruptly kept her right in her hoodie pocket, lifting her left to her mouth to bite her fingernails nervously. Finally, her blue-gray eyes settled on Andrew, without meeting his gaze.

"So...couch or bedroom," she said. Her voice didn't have the edge to it he was used to hearing. Not that he was really used to hearing her at all, he supposed. But it sounded hoarse, quiet.

"Umm, are you sure? I could--"

"Hey, whatever, if you don't wanna fuck, I'll just go find somebody else." He could hear it better now -- an almost raspy quality to her voice, like it'd lost all of its conviction. He didn't get the sense that she really wanted to call his bluff, though, because she didn't move.

He held up his hands all the same. "No, of course I'd like, umm,

that

. I just thought..." He didn't want to get into what he thought, so he just gave in, trying to keep the disappointment out of his tone. "Well, anyway. Yeah. Bedroom."

She turned on her heel and strode into the bedroom while Andrew tried to figure out what was going on.

When I left her car that day, she seemed so much more...I don't know. Less closed off. Now it's like we're back to square one. She really came here just to fuck? Surely she must have better options.

He slowly followed her into his bedroom, where she was already stripping, driving other thoughts from his head. He watched as she pulled off her shirt, exposing her back to him.

A stunningly detailed lone wolf covered most of it, howling up at a moonless night, stars dotting the other side of her upper torso. They rippled as she tossed her shirt on the floor, interrupted only by her gray cotton bra.

Cameron noticed him staring, but she didn't stop. Andrew couldn't tell if it was because she didn't mind, or because she liked that he was watching...or maybe just because she didn't give a shit about anything he did. Her expression seemed to say nothing at all.

He kept his eyes on her as she pulled down her baggy sweatpants -- a little more deliberately than she probably needed to -- revealing her long, smooth legs. He was a sucker for legs like hers, and he felt himself start to get a little excited while he remembered what they'd felt like against his lips.

"Right, sorry, yeah." He realized he was just standing there and undid his own pants, dropping them to the floor.

Unlike his, her stare didn't linger on him. She sat on the edge of the bed instead, slumping in on herself almost, wearing only her underwear and socks with dirty soles. She didn't look impatient. He still couldn't tell

what

her expression said. Her eyes were focusing somewhere else entirely.

She doesn't look like someone just burning to fuck. She looks like someone who needs...something.

Andrew wasn't sure what, but he decided to do things his way and see where things went.

He stepped toward her and she seemed to snap back from whatever thoughts she was lost in, focusing on him. She started to turn around and crawl further onto the bed, but he stopped her, reaching out a hand to her shoulder. She flinched away from the contact and her head spun around to look at him.

"Hey, just, lie down, okay?" he said with a look that he hoped reminded her that she could trust him.

"Why?" She traded her inscrutable expression for a slightly annoyed one.

"Just...lie down on the bed, okay? On your front?"

She rolled her eyes. "Can we--"

"Hey. Cameron. Trust me, okay?"

Cameron sighed, resigned.

Thinking better of it, Andrew had another idea. "How about some music?"

She brightened a bit, cocking her head. "That...actually is a good idea," she said, hopping down.

He wasn't sure how to feel about the way she'd said that, like she was surprised he was capable of coming up with a good idea, but he chose to go with "amused."

Cameron unbuckled her pack and pulled out a laptop along with a couple of small speakers.

Guess you never know when a party's gonna break out.

She crouched easily, propped against the foot of his bed, browsing through...whatever she was browsing through, her brow furrowing and the corner of her mouth twitching in and out.

Maybe she was starting to make a little more sense to him. Just a little.

He thought back to the coffee she'd made for him at her place. The effort she'd clearly put in even though she didn't even drink the stuff. The kindness in her cold, steel eyes when she dropped him off. The way she'd stood there just now in his living room, like she was anxious about something.

There's always something going on in there, isn't there? Just beneath the surface. Only...I don't speak "Cameron" yet.

Music started playing, a lot louder than he thought those little speakers could manage.

My neighbor is gonna

love

this,

he thought, but kept his mouth shut. It wasn't overpowering. And the music wasn't exactly what he'd expected, different than what little he remembered from the night at Moonlight. That night it had been all about a pulsing beat with pop energy, made for dancing.

This was for...

feeling

. It still was some kind of electronic music, but more like...a gradually building wave.

Is that what she's looking for?

She set up the speakers on the dresser, aimed at the bed, then lay down on her stomach with her head at the base of a pillow.

As he climbed over the sheets, he almost laughed at how comically tense she seemed. She lay straight, her legs together and her head resting on her folded arms -- rigid.

She hadn't said anything about the lights this time, so up close, he could see the intricate tattoos looked even more impressive now -- the baying wolf on her back, the faded red dragon wrapping around her calf. They all must've had a special meaning.

Probably private ones.

He fought the urge to trace his fingers along them, but followed them with his eyes as he straddled her just above her knees -- high enough that he could still reach her shoulders easily, but not somewhere he didn't want to rub just yet.

Looking down, he could tell now that some of what he thought were tattoos weren't. They were little bruises, a few on her narrow hips and a few more on her ribs.

I would not be shocked if she were in a fight club, let's face it.

Gently, he started at her shoulders, working his fingers into her soft skin. He hadn't been surprised at how soft it felt the first time, but after seeing her at her apartment and how she carried herself, it felt even more like a privilege to be allowed to see any part of her that wasn't hardened and sharp.

She didn't flinch, but she was still tense as he kneaded down her back from her shoulder blades to her spine.

The music helped him keep in a steady rhythm, washing over both of them. It was loud enough to discourage talking, which he didn't love, but was probably part of the reason she thought it was a good idea in the first place.

He continued for two or three songs, gently massaging her back and gradually adding more pressure, looping lower each time.