Shawn brushed past Lauren ignoring her blatant glare. He knew he'd get an earful of her ranting later. Opening the door to the house, he quickly slipped off his cleats, grasped them in one hand, and bounded up the stairs, shutting himself in his room. He crossed the floor to the closet, hung up his hoodie, and placed his cleats neatly on the floor. After closing the door, he made his way to his bed and sat on the edge.
The paper Camila had given him crinkled under his fingers. For some reason he was nervous to open it, to look at whatever it was she'd created. She'd told him her sketchpad acted as a catalyst to letting her pain out—just like his music did for him. If that was true, could he handle what he was about to see? Did he want to?
From what Lauren had told them, Camila had lost her father when she was seven, but her brother Carlos had died recently. Shawn had recognized the sorrow in her eyes when she'd mentioned him at the fields. He knew better than anyone what agony like that did to a person. How it consumed your soul until there was nothing there but an empty crevice, leaving you broken and void.
His fingers traced along the edge of the stiff page, slipping under the fold and smoothing over the surface. In the foreground of the drawing was a hand pressed against what looked like a window. Beyond the glass, a figure stood in the rain. Near the bottom she had scrawled, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over again in tiny, messy script. Scattered over the page were rough, diluted patches from what he could only assume were her tears.
Shawn dropped the paper onto his lap, closed his eyes, and ran his hands over his face. Even though he knew the basics of what Camila had gone through, he hadn't really comprehended the amount of pain she shouldered. He should have—considering his own past. It was just that she hid it so well. She seemed so much more adjusted than he was, and his issues happened long ago.
God, he didn't know what to do with this information. Why did she share this with him? Because she'd heard him sing? Did she really see more in that than what he'd assumed? She said she "saw his" and felt like she should "show him hers." What did that mean exactly? He knew how he felt while he played, but was he really that transparent to everyone else? Or was she just overly perceptive because of her own experiences? This was the exact reason he never played in front of anyone else. He would prefer everyone thinking he was a pompous ass than to see him weak and vulnerable.
He stood and stepped over to the window. The sun filtered through the outstretched limbs of the giant oak tree that stood directly between his and Camila's houses in beams of harsh yellow light. Branches swayed in the breeze, scratching against the glass and emitting an irritating squeak. Glancing down, he spotted Camila stalking back to her house, looking upset. He furrowed his brow, wondering what had gotten her angry, until he saw a flurry of black hair rush after her. Her rolled his eyes and muttered, "Lauren."
Lauren getting upset over Shawn "befriending" people she considered her friends was not a new development. Ever since they'd hit their teen years and Shawn starting turning the heads of the girls she brought home it had been a constant nightmare for him. Not that the girls noticed him—that part he enjoyed—but that Lauren always had a fit, forbidding him to so much as look at anyone she brought over. He guessed it probably was partially his fault—Britney hadn't flirted with and then dumped herself. He probably should have felt bad that Lauren lost a friend over it, but he couldn't take it anymore. Britney was clingy and needy and that just wasn't his thing.
The slamming of a door and thundering footsteps coming up the stairs jerked Shawn out of his thoughts. "Oh, hell."
His bedroom door banged open and Lauren stood in the doorway, her hair wild and her eyes livid. "Shawn!"
Shawn let out an exaggerated sigh and plopped down on his bed. "What Lauren? What did I do now?"
"What were you doing with Camila—and don't give me the same bull she spouted about just talking, I know you better than that."
He lay back, tucking one of his arms behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling. "Well, let's see. First, I sweet talked her into coming out with me before the crack of dawn, then I seduced her into making out in every possible place between here and the soccer fields." He met her eyes. "Is that more of what you were expecting, Lauren?"
She took a few steps into the room and placed her hands on her hips. "It certainly sounds more like something you'd do." Letting out a slow breath, she crossed her arms over her chest and glanced toward the window. "But it doesn't really sound like Camila."
"How would you know what 'sounds like Camila'? You've only known her for a few days. Maybe she would like nothing more than to do exactly what I just suggested."
"Maybe so, but there's no way in hell she's going to do it with you."
"Whatever, Lauren." He propelled himself off the bed, walked over to his nightstand, and discreetly slipped Camila's drawing into the drawer. "Are you about finished lecturing me now or is this going to go on longer? If so, do you mind if I turn on some music to lighten the mood and drown out the more irritating sounds of your whining?"
Lauren narrowed her eyes and stepped even closer, until she was only a few inches from him. "I swear to God, Shawn, if you screw with her, I'm going to hurt you."
She reached up and jabbed a finger into his chest. Instinctively, he grabbed her wrist and jerked it away from his body, anger igniting immediately at the contact. His fingers tightened for a moment before he realized what he was doing and released her, almost throwing her hand away from him.
Lauren rubbed her wrist and looked up at him with remorse. "I—I'm sorry. I forgot."
"Get out." He turned his back on her, pinched the bridge of his nose, and focused on controlling his breathing. "Now."
Lauren wasted no time, and Shawn heard her footsteps retreat from his room, closing the door softly behind her. He lifted his hand and rubbed at the spot where she'd poked him. His anger started to abate, and he opened the drawer to his nightstand, pulling Camila's drawing back out.
Glancing back up, he spotted a flurry of brunette bounding down the back porch of Camila's house and retreating along a path cut in the woods behind their houses. Without thinking, he tucked the paper in his pocket and turned to his door. Flinging it open and preparing to race down the stairs, he stopped just before he ran over Lance.
"Shawn! Look what Mom bought me." He held a new comic book up in the air, waving it less than an inch in front of Shawn's face.
Shawn grabbed it and looked at the cover before handing it back. "That's great, Lance."
"I know!" His eyes lit up and he bounced up and down excitedly. "You wanna read it with me?"
"Yeah," Shawn craned his neck toward the front door, "but later, okay?"
"Oh." Lance's face fell. "Okay."
Shawn sighed and placed his hand on Lance's shoulder. "You know what? Let's read it now."
Lance smiled and began bouncing again, jabbering away as he followed Shawn into his room.
Twenty minutes later, Lance was happy, Shawn had changed into jeans, and was out the door. He headed toward the path, hoping Camila hadn't gone back inside. He had to know why she'd chosen him, of all people, to share this side of her. Out of everyone she could have picked in his family alone, he had to be the least sympathetic, least likable of the bunch. Yet, she had chosen him. She saw something in him that enabled her to trust him with this. Trusted him with a piece of herself she shared with no one else. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. Couldn't comprehend the simple, innocent faith she possessed. Especially when it came to him. He didn't deserve to be the one.
Trees crowded the narrow path, their branches hanging low and grabbing at his shirt as he passed. The leaves created a thick canopy overhead, blocking out most of the sunlight and leaving the forest dim and moist. Just as he began to wonder how deep the trail went into the forest, he spied a break up ahead and heard the sound of rushing water. He picked up the pace and within moments, stepped into a small clearing. The thick foliage still stretched above, covering most of the blue sky, but there was a larger distance between the trees in the actual space. Cut into the earth near the center was a small, shallow brook. Tufts of thick, green grass lined the bank and a section of the massive truck from a fallen tree lay parallel to the stream.
It was there he found Camila, sitting on the log, her body curved over her lap, earbuds in her ears, and her head bobbing to the silent music. Her long brunette hair, which she'd gathered into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, camouflaged in the drab green and brown surroundings. She hummed softly to whatever song was playing on her iPod.
He couldn't help but smile. She was by far the strangest girl he'd ever met. Not in a bad way, just—different. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't figure her out. She seemed to be totally unaffected by him—unlike most other girls he came across. In a weird way, he kind of liked that, liked that she didn't seem to care about impressing him, conquering him. He was always putting on a show, pretending to be something he wasn't. But with her he didn't need to. She would see through all that crap anyway. Somehow she saw him. The real him. The lost, troubled, broken him.
It should have made him uneasy, scared, or angry even, but it didn't. That fact scared him more than anything else. He'd shut it off, built walls, and pushed everyone away for so long he wasn't sure he had it in him to want anyone to know him again. But something had shifted the day she'd come to his door and admitted she'd heard him. Something he hadn't expected. Maybe he was ready to let someone in, to let someone know him. To strip away the mask and just be.
He shook his head, willing the thoughts away. No, he couldn't do that. Couldn't remove the armor. It was his only defense. The only way he could live, function, survive. He didn't want pity or sadness. He just wanted it gone. All of it. Every thought, every picture, every memory. He wanted to forget it all. That couldn't happen if people knew. No one would understand anyway.
No one except for maybe her.
He closed his eyes as the conflicting emotions waged war inside him. Maybe all the speculation was pointless anyway. Maybe she had no interest at all in him. Not as a friend or even an acquaintance. She could have just been being nice—or more likely still: humoring him. If he were honest, that would make this whole thing a lot easier.
Deciding that was exactly the case, he opened his eyes, stepped forward and tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped and turned, her eyes wide and her mouth opened into an "O".
Pulling the earbuds out, she said, "Shawn! You scared me. What are you doing out here?"
"Do you really think it's smart to be out here alone with those things in your ears? I could have been a deranged killer or worse."
She raised one brow. "Worse? Is there actually anything worse than that?"
He ignored the question and dug in his pocket, pulling out the drawing she'd given him earlier. Holding it out to her, he said, "I thought you'd want this back." Despite really wanting to ask her all the questions tumbling through his mind, he couldn't bring himself to utter the words.
Her fingers clenched gently around the paper, brushing his in the process, and slipping it out of his hand. "Thanks." A faint blush crept up her neck and pooled in her cheeks. She glanced up at him. "You want to sit?"
Shawn looked at the section of log next to her and stuck his hands in his pockets, staring out at the stream in front of them.
"I don't bite," Camila said with a smile.
"No. But Lauren might." He cocked his head to the side. "She's warned me that she will inflict bodily harm on me if I 'screw with you.'"
She laughed. "Funny. She gave me the same warning—minus the bodily injury part—about you." Camila looked at him speculatively. "I wonder who she's trying to protect here. Me or you."
Shawn sighed and made his way over to the log, sitting down at the opposite end of Camila. "Most likely you. She doesn't like me very much."
"What's not to like?"
He furrowed his brow and studied her, trying to decipher if she was messing with him or not. "A lot."
"I don't believe that. I bet there's a lot to like. You just hide it well under all the douchebaggery."
He laughed. "Where do you come up with all these words? First it was asshat and now douchebaggery?"
Camila shrugged. "It's a necessary skill when you have an older bro—" Her face fell instantly. "Had an older brother." Blood tinged her cheeks and she looked up at him with a sad smile. "I'm sorry."
He frowned. "Why would you be sorry for that?"
She looked down at her hands. "Because it makes most people uncomfortable when I talk about him."
"Well, I'm not most people. I thought we'd already established that—what with my asshatyness and douchebaggeryness and all. I'm assuming most people couldn't manage to pull both of those terms from your vocabulary in one day."
Camila smiled. "No. You're right. You've definitely showed the most potential for toolery of anyone I've ever met."
"Glad I could make an impression—although that's not the one I normally make on girls."
"I'm not like most girls."
He studied her for a moment. "No. You're not."
Camila averted her gaze and shifted uncomfortably.
"Can I ask you something?" he asked.
She looked up. "Sure."
"Why did you let me see your drawing? I mean, you said you never show those to anyone and you hardly know me."
Camila's stare strayed to the brook in front of her. "You know, ever since it happened ... It's kind of been like no one understands. Like no one can really comprehend it. Not even my mom. I always kind of feel like I'm living here in this world all by myself. But when I met you guys, even though you were a total douche to me," she turned and smiled then looked away again, "some part of me sensed that you lived here too. I can't tell you what it was because I don't even know. Lauren said something about your childhood being bad, but didn't elaborate. Then that day when I heard and saw you, I recognized it immediately. I saw the same things in you that plagued me. And somehow, it made me feel less alone, less sad." Finally, she looked up again. "That sounds stupid, I know. I guess I just figured that since you'd helped me—even though it wasn't intentional—that maybe I could help you. Even if it was just a little."
Shawn's mouth fell open. He felt like he should say something, respond in some way to what she'd just spilled, but she'd rendered him completely speechless. Why she cared about helping him—someone she hardly knew—was beyond him. Even more astounding, was that in some way, he'd helped her too.
His whole life had been about surviving one day to the next. Trying to live with everything that had been dealt to him since he was too young to know any different. He'd never considered himself able to give solace to anyone—even unintentionally. He was too damaged, too empty. Anytime someone had required more than superficial emotion from him, he'd pulled away, distanced himself from them. If he was honest, he felt like doing just that in this instance as well. But he was also curious. Fascinated by the amount of understanding she displayed. Like she really could see inside him. It was unnerving and thrilling at the same time.
Normally, witty remarks came easily to him, but not this time. He couldn't think of anything to diffuse the tension between them. Truth be told, he didn't know if he wanted to. He felt comfortable with her. Even though neither of them said much of anything about what ate away at them, it was almost as if they really didn't need to. It wasn't necessary. "No, it doesn't sound stupid."
She glanced down and smiled. "Good, because I was starting to feel like a total dork." When she looked back up she asked, "So ... friends then?"
He raised his brows. "I don't think Lauren would be too thrilled with that."
Camila leaned closer to him and lowered her voice to a near whisper. "What Lauren doesn't know won't hurt her." She stuck her hand out. "So, what do you say? Secret friends?"
Shawn smiled and shook his head, taking her tiny hand in his. "Sure thing, Pippi. Whatever you say."
Camila furrowed her brow and opened her mouth to speak, when she was interrupted by someone calling her name.
"Cabello! Where are you? I'm back, somehow managing to survive the onslaught of mother-son time."
Camila's head jerked to the direction of the voice, as a small smile tweaked her lips. When she turned back, her grin had widened. "That's Michael. My best friend. He's been away all summer."
"I should get back anyway." Shawn stood. "Later, Pippi."
"Later, Shawnaldo."
He started toward the path, hearing the approaching footsteps of Camila's friend. Just before he left the clearing, he turned back. "Hey."
She looked up.
A twinge of nervousness clenched in his chest as he took in her gaze. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he glanced at the ground. "Every night I play my guitar in my room. If you leave your window open, you can probably hear—if you want." He chanced a peek at her.
A wide smile stretched across her face, as she nodded.
He threw her a small grin and turned his back on her, continuing down the path toward his house and passing a nerdy dark haired boy on the way.
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Author's Note:
I don't really like Wattpad's editing section. Doesn't really give me freedom in controlling how I want to format my text but oh well. A new update! Comment and subscribe if you like it!
Much love!