Once the door clicked shut behind her, Camila leaned up against it, her back flush with the cool surface, and let out a slow breath. The box in her hands grew heavier and the rough corners dug into her flesh. But at that moment, she was afraid if she left the stable fixture her weakened knees may give out causing her to dump the contents all over the foyer floor.
Her heart pounded in her chest and her lips still tingled from the feeling of his skin against them. A small part of her was mortified that she dared to be so bold, but another larger portion was elated she'd had the guts to do it.
She closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind from all of the conflicting things floating around inside. How he could make her feel safe and scared and strong and weak all at the same time had her mind spinning. She felt dizzy with confusion.
Shawn was her friend. A secret friend, but a friend none the less.
He'd been so understanding and gentle with her that morning. A side of him she knew not many people were lucky enough to see—as evidenced by the numerous occasions Lauren had referred to him as an ass. But she had seen it, and all of it had been directed at her. He'd talked to her, touched her, and helped her through one of the scariest moments of her life. Not once had he made her feel stupid about the whole thing. In fact, he'd never mentioned it again, and when she tried to bring it up, he'd told her she didn't need to talk about it.
When she'd made the decision to kiss him, it had been completely selfish. Yes, she wanted to thank him more than she'd been allowed that morning, but the kiss was pure indulgence on her part. She just had to know what it would feel like to be that close to him. To feel his skin against her lips. To know how her nearness would affect him, if at all. She smiled to herself as she remembered the small catch in his breath when she moved toward him, the way it had wooshed out as she brushed his cheek, and the confused glint in his eyes when she pulled away.
As much as those actions would have made her believe the situation had affected him the same way it had her, she knew Shawn was not like any other guy she'd ever met and maybe it meant something different coming from him. He was so hard to read. There were times Camila thought she saw through the barriers he'd built around himself, but she couldn't be sure.
He hadn't been as forthcoming about himself as she'd been with him. Maybe he couldn't be. Maybe he just didn't feel the same way. As much as that sucked, it wouldn't surprise her. Shawn wasn't the type of boy that fell for girls like her. But he was definitely the type of boy every girl had the ability to lose her heart over.
Camila's chest tightened with the realization that she was about to do just that.
"Oh hell," she groaned, dropping her head back against the door with a soft thud.
The beautiful, broody, boy next door had effectively weaseled his way into her heart and was slowly but surely chipping away at it, stealing pieces and stowing them away in a place she couldn't penetrate no matter how hard she tried. With each smile, each soft touch and reassuring word, she became more and more lost to her sensibility. He wasn't just an attractive boy to her. He was so much more. A kindred spirit in pain and heartache.
Shawn understood her better than anyone else, even though they hadn't known each other long. It seemed like he knew just what she needed when she needed it. When she needed to talk, he listened. When she needed to listen, he talked. When she needed a distraction, he teased. When she needed someone to just be there, he sat silently at her side. And when she needed to know she wasn't alone in the cruel actuality of this world, he played for her.
He allowed her to feel his deepest, darkest, most painful emotions. The ones that came through loudly in his music. They were exposed with each other in ways they couldn't be with anyone else, because no one else had lived there in the blackest corners of their reality. The place where no sun shined, no birds sang, and no flowers bloomed. The place where only guilt, pain, and hopelessness thrived. The place to which she'd banished herself the moment Carlos's heart stopped beating. When his spirit left behind only an empty shell as a reminder of what had once been so good, so courageous, so alive. As awful as it was, Shawn lived there too, and she was happy not to be alone anymore.
The thing that had most surprised her about her interactions with Shawn, was how she felt better, lighter, and less sad when she was with him. She almost felt like a normal girl again. Maybe not the same as she'd been before the accident—then again, maybe she'd never be that girl again—but she felt better. She wondered if maybe, just maybe, she had the same effect on him.
"Mila?" Sinu came around the corner, wiping her hands on a blue and white checkered dish towel. She stopped before fully entering the foyer from the kitchen. "There you are. Why are you just standing there in front of the door?"
"Um." Camila shifted the box in her arms, wondering how she'd managed to hold it for so long without dropping it. "I just got here."
Sinu furrowed her brows. "Oh, why were you late?"
She lifted the box slightly. "Mrs. Hastings asked me to stay after class to gather up and return the art books you loaned her."
"Oh, I forgot." Sinu draped the towel over her shoulder and walked forward, reaching out and removing the box from Camila's arms. "This is heavy. How did you manage to carry it all the way home?"
Camila's face flared. "I got a ride." She hesitated, but quickly recovered, hoping Sinu didn't notice. "With the Jaureguis." Okay, with one of them, but what her mother didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
"That was nice," Sinu said, distracted. She heaved the box onto the island in the center of the kitchen.
Camila climbed up onto the wooden barstool and studied her mother curiously. She furrowed her brows. "Mama, what's going on?"
"What?" Sinu pushed a chunk of blond hair out of her eyes as she dug through the box, removing the art books and sorting them into piles according to medium. "Nothing."
"Don't lie."
Sinu sighed, placed her hands palm down on the countertop, and leaned against them before meeting Camila's gaze. "I'm going out tonight. After my class."
Camila reached forward and grabbed a banana from the crystal fruit bowl in the middle of the island, drawing the yellow peel back slowly. "Okay ..." she half-asked, wondering what the big deal was.
"With a man." She eyed Camila carefully.
Camila paused, the banana almost touching her mouth. "A man?"
Sinu nodded.
Camila took a bite of the fruit and chewed slowly before swallowing. "Anyone I know?" she asked, trying her hardest to act indifferent.
Her mother's cheeks colored and she glanced down at the counter, mumbling incoherently.
"What was that?"
Sinu sighed, still not meeting Camila's eyes. "Alejandro."
"Alejandro?" Camila's eyes widened. "Bookstore Alejandro? That Alejandro?"
"Yes, Camila. That Alejandro." She glanced up, her gaze uncertain. "Is that a problem?"
Camila bit back a smile and shook her head. She'd always adored Alejandro.
"Okay." Sinu nodded and continued unpacking the books. "I bought you a frozen pizza to make for dinner since my class starts at five tonight. You can have Michael over if you want."
"Michael's over at Ashton's tonight." She rolled her eyes. "Some sort of 'project.' Though I'm highly suspicious he's joining that crappy band again."
Sinu snorted, knowing exactly just how crappy Ashton's band truly was. "Lauren perhaps?"
Camila shrugged. "Maybe."
"Okay, baby." She walked around the island, kissed Camila on the head, and started toward the front hall to go upstairs. "I need to go get ready since I'm meeting Lauren early to set up for the class."
"Do you want me to help?" Camila hopped off the stool.
"No." Sinu gave her a small smile. "You've had a long day, what with school just starting and all. Stay home. Relax."
Camila smiled and nodded, watching as her mother disappeared from the room.
An hour later, Camila had preheated the oven and was bent over it, sliding the pizza in as Sinu came back down stairs. Camila turned around and gasped.
"What?" Sinu froze, her hand halfway inside her purse.
"Nothing. You just—" Camila's eyes traveled over her mother, noting the flowing yellow skirt and white sleeveless camisole top. Her hair brushed her shoulders in soft, flowing curls. "You look really nice."
Sinu smiled and reached out to pat Camila's cheek. "Thank you." She turned and continued pawing through her purse. "Did you find someone to come keep you company?"
"No. I think I'm just going to hang out by myself."
Sinu glanced up and frowned. "Are you sure? You don't want to hang out with anyone?"
Camila shrugged. "I'll be fine, Mama."
"All right, honey." She leaned in and placed a kiss on Camila's head. "I'll be back around ten."
"Sure." Camila smiled. "Have fun." She winked.
Sinu rolled her eyes and started toward the door. "Behave."
"Don't I always?" Camila called after her and heard the door click shut.
She chuckled to herself as she thought about her mother going on a date—an actual date—with Alejandro. Ever since her mother bought the shop next to Alejandro's bookstore, Camila had noticed a certain spark between the two of them. She wondered when, if ever, Sinu would get a clue and finally accept that Alejandro saw her as much more than a friend. It wasn't like he wasn't totally obvious about it. He was always stopping by, seeing if her mother needed anything, bringing her coffee, conveniently being around whenever she needed a big, strong man to help her out. Sometimes Camila had to roll her eyes at how oblivious her mother was when it came to stuff like that.
The oven's buzzer startled her out of her thoughts and she moved to take the pizza from inside. After cutting it into slices, she grabbed two pieces along with her backpack and headed up to her room to do her homework. Yes, homework on the first day of school. She placed the food on her desk and hung her bag on the back of her chair before unzipping it and grabbing her math and history books from inside. Scowling, she pulled her chair out and plopped down, taking a bite of her pizza and opening her algebra book.
After a moment, she realized how stuffy it was in her room and moved to the window. As it slid open, a cool breeze drifted in, puffing out her curtains and flowing through her hair. She turned to make her way back to the desk, when she heard the faint sound of a guitar wafting through the open window. Furrowing her brow, she made her way back, listening harder through the opening. The melody swirled around her, filling her chest with a sadness she'd never experienced before listening to Shawn play.
But today it was different. The feeling behind his playing had changed. Pain, mixed with anger and self loathing laced each note, making his emotion so much more palpable than usual. It wasn't until he started singing that she really understood. Really felt his dejection.
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man, to be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
And no one knows what it's like
To be hated, to be fated
To telling only lies
Camila leaned against the wall next to the window and slid down until she sat on the floor. She closed her eyes and let his words consume her.
But my dreams, they aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance, that's never free
Tears fell down her cheeks as she wondered what had happened to make him feel the way he did. Not only that day, but in his past. Who made him feel that way? Who made him feel so hopeless, so worthless?
Anger swelled inside of her as she listened to the misery pour from his mouth, from his heart. She knew the words were written by someone else, but the feelings were all his and she hated whoever it was that made him feel them.
Camila wiped the tears from her face and slowly stood. She turned toward the window and carefully pulled the curtain back, peering across the way. Shawn's curtains were open, and she could see him, sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes closed, hand strumming the guitar he held close to his chest.
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man, to be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
As the last note lingered in the space between them, Shawn dropped his head, hanging it in defeat. Camila swallowed against the pressure in her throat and released the sheer fabric from her hand, letting it flutter back into place and obscure her view of him. She took a deep breath and stepped back from the window.
When she felt her mattress against the backs of her knees, she sat. Her heart felt heavy and torn. She wished there was a way she could help him like he had her. But his pain was deeper. So much more inaccessible than hers. Although she'd tried as hard as she could to bury it for those around her, it still lay right on the surface, ready to bleed through and consume her at any moment.
But Shawn's—his had been hidden for so long, just festering and waiting to force its way out, destroying him bit by bit in the process. He didn't need to tell her these things, she could feel it every time he played, every time she saw the sadness behind his eyes. She wanted to make it disappear. Wanted to make him feel less sad, less tortured. Just like he'd unknowingly done for her.
Suddenly unable to stand another moment inside her room, Camila rose to her feet and made her way down the stairs and out the front door. The crisp air flowed over her face, clearing her mind of all thought. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the calming breeze, the scent of fall permeating the air, the sound of children playing across the street, the feel of the sun warming her skin.
She didn't know how long she stood there, basking in the nature surrounding her, before she heard the sound of voices and the slamming of a screen door coming from next door.
"Lauren, quit your whining and just come on," a woman's irritated voice said.
"I just don't understand why I have to go when you don't make him." Lauren crossed her arms over her chest.
The woman sighed. "You know why, Lauren." She walked forward and put her arm around Lauren's shoulders, moving her toward the car.
Camila didn't hear any more of their conversation, but watched as both women climbed in the car, and a little boy and a dark-haired man came out of the house after them. She watched as the car pulled away and made its way down the street. Furrowing her brow, she glanced next door, wondering why Shawn didn't go with them. Didn't they know how sad he was? Even if he tried to hide it, they were his family. Why didn't they see? Couldn't they hear him at all when he played? Or did they and they just ignored it? With an exasperated breath, she walked across the porch, made her way down the stairs, and across the yard.
Before she knew it, she stood at the Jauregui's door, not really knowing what she was doing but feeling the compulsion to do it anyway. She raised her hand and pressed her finger to the doorbell. Apprehension flowed through her as she stood there, waiting and listening to the bells chime inside the house. It wasn't long before she heard movement inside. Her heart jumped slightly as the sound grew closer. With a rattle, the knob turned and the door swung open.
Shawn stood on the other side, his brows lifted in surprise. "Hey." He glanced out to the driveway and let his eyes drift to the street. "You just missed Lauren. They just left."
Camila nodded. "I'm ... not here for Lauren." She met his eyes. "I came for you."
His mouth opened slightly and his eyes widened. "Oh."
She swallowed against her insecurity and tilted her head. "Are you busy? You want to come out?"
He studied her for a moment, making her uncomfortable under his stare. "Sure. Just give me a second."
She nodded as he turned and ran up the stairs, leaving the door open. Turning away from the house, she gazed out at the street. Children played in their front yards, jumping rope and riding bikes, laughing and squealing as if everything was perfect and safe. Sometimes Camila wished she could still look at the world with that childlike innocence. But that purity had shattered on that dark road four and a half months ago. A chill raced down her spine causing her to shiver against it.
"Here," Shawn said, startling her.
She whipped around, her hand held against her chest.
He grinned at her reaction and held up a black hoodie. "I thought you might get cold."
She reached out and slowly wrapped her fingers around the sweatshirt. "Thanks." She looked down at it. "I could have gone home and got one."
Shawn shrugged. "I just grabbed it when I got mine."
Camila glanced up at him and noticed he was now wearing the same black hoodie he practiced in. Slipping her arms through the sleeves, she pulled it over her head. It was quite large on her, but it smelled just like Shawn. Before completely freeing her face from the fabric, she took a deep breath through her nose, savoring the scent of him as it surrounded her. A small smile spread over her lips.
Once she was totally cocooned in Shawn's shirt, she glanced up at him, her face heating slightly as he gazed down at her. "So," he moved forward and stood next to her, placing his hands on the wood railing and leaning against them while looking out at the street, "what brings you over here?"
She took another deep breath and turned her eyes on the children across the street. "I wanted to see if you were okay," she said in a quiet voice.
He turned toward her and she couldn't help looking up at him. Confusion spread over his face, but his eyes held the pain she was sure she'd heard in his music. "Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?"
She held his stare. "I heard you playing earlier."
His brow twitched and he turned away. "Oh."
With a sigh, she moved closer to him, placing her hand right next to his on the railing. "Why are you so sad, Shawn?"
He closed his eyes briefly. "What makes you think I'm sad?" he asked and then met her gaze.
Camila studied him carefully before answering. "Because I can hear it when you play. And I can see it in your eyes." Hesitating for only a moment, she slowly lifted her hand and ghosted her fingers over his, running them lightly over his skin. His eyes dropped to their hands before rising to hers once more. "You don't have to talk to me, but ... well, if you want to, I'll listen."
Shawn let out a slow breath before removing his hand from under hers and leaning over, placing his elbows against the railing. "Don't worry about me. You have enough on your plate."
She frowned. "Don't do that."
"Do what?" He turned his face toward her.
"Push me away. I don't do it to you."
He sighed. "What do you want me to say, Mila?"
"You don't have to say anything. Just don't act like I shouldn't care. You're my friend, of course I care."
He shook his head and let out a pained chuckle. "Well, you shouldn't."
"Hey," she said, wanting to reach out and grab his face, making him look at her. But she knew how he could be about touching, so she didn't. "Look at me," she said softly.
His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath and he slowly turned to her. Her heart stuttered at the myriad of emotion showing in his eyes. Pain, anger, sadness, defeat. She wanted so badly to touch him, to smooth away the lines etched in his forehead, to show him that he was worth caring for.
"You don't have to put up walls with me. I'm not going to make you talk, I promise you that, but please, just don't hide. Maybe I don't know exactly what's going on with you, but I understand feeling alone, abandoned, lost." She hesitated, lowering her gaze to her hand which lay a few inches from his arm. "I understand it so well. But when I'm around you, I feel less like that. Less different, less sad, less ... broken. Maybe it's not the same for you. Maybe I don't do that for you, but I'd like to try—if you'd let me."
Shawn let out a loud sigh and stepped back, sitting on the porch swing behind them. Camila turned and leaned against the railing. He gazed out at the yard behind her.
"I got a letter from my father today. Not George, obviously. My—real father. The man who raised me."
She raised her brows, not speaking and waiting for him to continue.
"He's in prison."
She wanted to ask him why, but figured that information was probably best left alone until he offered it up.
He lowered his head and picked at his fingers. "He wants to see me."
Camila stepped forward and cautiously sat on the swing next to him. "Do you want to see him?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I shouldn't. I know that. It's just—I don't know. He may have been a horrible bastard but—he's my father."
A lone curl fell over his forehead and Camila wanted to reach over and move it away.
"I mean, I shouldn't, right?" He looked up at her, his eyes tight with pain. "The things he did ..."
"I don't know." She shook her head. "Why shouldn't you? He's your father. You can feel whatever you feel, nothing's wrong with that."
He laughed darkly. "If you knew ... well, you'd think I was crazy, or just plain stupid for even considering feeling anything for him."
Camila had to ask. She didn't want to, but she needed to know. "Did—did he hurt you?" she said so quietly she wasn't sure he'd heard her until he closed his eyes and let out a huff of breath.
Shaking his head, he said, "Not as much as her."
She wanted to hug him and tell him she was sorry, but she knew from experience that none of that helped. So she did the only thing she could, she was just there. Not speaking, not offering unwanted sympathy or advice, she just sat next to him, letting him feel what he felt and not interfering in it.
After several minutes of silence, he finally spoke. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course." Camila realized he was done talking about himself, and that was fine. She wouldn't push him to reveal more until he was ready. He'd never forced her to talk and she wasn't about to do it to him.
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
She glanced up and smiled. "Okay."
"Why doesn't your mother like you talking to boys?"
"Oh, that." Her eyes fell to her lap and her cheeks burned. "It's sort of embarrassing." She glanced up, meeting his curious gaze. "Well, last year, I went with my brother to this party at one of his team member's house. He'd just transferred from Bloomfield Hills that year and had invited some of his old team members as well." She reached up and wrapped her hand around her hair, tugging it back and over her other shoulder. "My mom let me go because Carlos would be there—otherwise she never would have let me since I was only fifteen." She glanced up.
Shawn nodded for her to go on.
"Anyway, after we'd been there for a little while, this guy came up to me and introduced himself. He said his name was Vance and that he played Midfield for Bloomfield Hills. I was stupid and girly over the fact that this junior was talking to me so I tried my best to flirt back." Her cheeks burned at the admission.
"He asked me to dance, so I said yes. We hung out together for an hour or so, just talking and laughing and dancing. I thought he was really nice." She closed her eyes and lowered her head. "I was really thirsty after dancing for so long so he said he'd get me a drink. I said okay and went to find us a place to sit. Once I finally did, he was back with a couple of sodas. We sat and talked more as we drank. But, after a little while, I started feeling really weird. I felt dizzy and nauseous and really disoriented." Her heart raced at the memory. "I told him I felt sick and asked if he'd go find my brother. But instead he asked if I wanted to lay down somewhere."
She shook her head, her face growing hotter as she relived the memory. "I was so stupid and trusting. I told him yes, so he helped me to one of the bedrooms upstairs. The whole way up I felt my body losing sensation. I couldn't feel my legs and my eyes kept wanting to close. After a few steps, he had to carry me. I had no idea what was going on. Once we got upstairs I blacked out," she said quietly, not looking up at Shawn, feeling too stupid to meet his eyes.
"The next thing I knew, I was at home, in my own bed. When I opened my eyes, I saw my brother sitting there next to me and heard my mother on the phone, yelling about something needing to be done." She sighed. "Carlos assured me nothing happened, that he saw Vance taking me upstairs, and saw that something was wrong with me. He—he found me before—well, you know." Camila finally raised her gaze to Shawn's, and to her surprise, his eyes were filled with anger.
"He—he tried to—?"
Camila shrugged. "I don't know. I blacked out."
Shawn let out a slow breath and looked away. "I can see why your mother is so cautious then. I guess that's a good thing."
Camila snorted. "Yeah, well, not every boy is like Vance."
"More than you know," he muttered and glanced back at her. "So what happened to him?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
Camila nodded. "We didn't have any way to prove he'd given me anything. He claimed he didn't and we couldn't say any different. I didn't see him do it."
"What about your brother? When he found you ..."
"He said he just found me lying on the bed, and Vance was in there leaning over me, but he wasn't doing anything else. Vance claimed he had just put me down. We'd literally just got into the room."
Shawn huffed.
Camila snorted. "That's not the end of it."
Shawn raised his brows.
"After that, Vance told everyone that I'd thrown myself at him and begged him to take me upstairs and—well, I suppose you can guess. He said I was acting loopy and he felt sorry for me so he was 'trying to help me out.'" She rolled her eyes and made quotation marks in the air with her fingers. "Whatever." She paused. "So anyway, now my mother thinks all boys are from the devil and none of them—besides Michael—can be trusted."
"I'm sorry that happened to you." He sat back against the swing. "But your mother's right. All boys are from the devil and none of us can be trusted." He flashed her a crooked grin.
She frowned. "Even you?"
He nodded. "Especially me."
"I don't believe you."
"Good. At least you're taking a little of your mother's advice."
Camila sighed. "I think you're a good guy, Shawn."
"That's just because you don't know me very well."
She turned to him, watching his face as the sunlight faded, casting dull hues over both of them. Unable to stop herself, she reached up slowly and slipped her fingers under the loose curl hanging over his forehead, pushing it to the side. She expected him to pull away, or at least flinch, but he did neither. He just stared back at her as her fingers lingered near his temple. "Why don't you let me then?" she said.
He studied her for a moment longer. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."
Her hand fell to her side. "Why not?"
"Just trust me, it's not."
"But you just told me that no boys should be trusted—especially you."
His mouth lifted into a crooked grin. "At least you were listening."