Page 11 of Echoes in the Storm
She keeps talking, even as she disappears into the hallway, her body twisted yet again, and collects a blanket from the linen cupboard.
“Cammie.”
She mutters to herself, battling with getting the blanket evenly spread over the sofa.
“Cammie!” Fuck—that’s the loudest I’ve heard myself speak since I got back. I close my eyes and shake away the memories that come with me using my voice to command attention in such a way.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. I was doing it again, huh?”
“If you mean getting lost in your own little world, yeah.”
She looks taken aback by the observation, her lips curling downward at the corners.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to get your attention.”
“Well,” she says sharply. “You have it.” She slams both hands on her waist, only accentuating how narrow it is and her classic hourglass figure.
“I don’t feel comfortable in your bed, or on your couch—even in your house. I don’t know you.”
Her nose crinkles adorably as she seems to think the problem over. “So let’s get to know each other. I don’t sleep much anyway.”
And there it is: the reason why she’s keeping herself busy with my problems.
“Neither.”
Her brow softens, the smile returning to her darkly coloured lips. “Well, we’ve got that in common then. See? We’re becoming friends already.”
A rare smile pulls my lips apart as she chuckles at her own joke. What is this woman doing to me? I never find reason to smile. At least, not anymore.
“I guess I can make an exception for one night.” Even though my head screams no. “Keep your bed; I’ll sleep out here.”
“So no bestie chat then?” She pouts, mischief in her eyes. “I was looking forward to the popcorn, too.”
“Not tonight.” I rub my hands across my thighs, fighting the urge to grip something, to tether myself. “Bathroom’s at the back of the house?”
“Yeah. Straight down and second to last door on your right.”
“Thanks.” I head for my bag, and then pause, turning back to her. “Turn the lights off and take yourself to bed. I’ll sort myself out.”
“Sure.” She glances around, probably unsure if she can trust me.
“Thanks, Cam,” I murmur as I turn away and head for the bathroom.
For seeing me.
For helping.
And for not asking questions.
By the time I emerge with brushed teeth, and a healthy few litres of water splashed over my face to snap me the fuck out of this funk, she’s in what I guessed was her bedroom when I passed by the open door earlier.
The door is now shut, the gaps around it dark, and all is quiet.If only her cop cousin could see me now.
I smirk at the thought and make my way back to the living room using my phone as a torch, grateful she took my hint and went to bed so it didn’t seem odd that I would turn another light on when she flicked the others off. Even with the glow beside me, the distinct pitch black that comes from being in the country hits me hard. There are no streetlights, no houses nearby to light up the night, and no cars passing by within view.
The darkness unsettles me, which, for a guy who loved to play hide and seek as a kid, says something. I can’t see what’s around me—who’saround me. There’s no mental safety map, and no reassurance that I’m okay.
That I’m home. That I’m notthereanymore.