Chapter 156

Camilla rose from her ashes and held her own for a long time. She built a business and for a while, she thrived at it. She was bold and sassy, even while underneath it was all a lie. She played the part of accomplished hostess, and somehow along the way found a little self-worth, despite it all. She would never have accepted this as her fate and would have kept chipping away endlessly to claw herself back to some sort of cushy life and social standing. She was born to be in charge of her fate and her mindset was that of getting somewhere that she would never have to be controlled by anyone again.

Why did I let him take it all away from me?

He didn’t save me from Tyler’s men. He just prolonged my death. He strung it out and made it stretch over almost a year of agony before snapping me like a twig.

Meghan, she’s the ruin that is trying to limp on. She works, she eats, she sleeps … then she repeats. Not living, not going anywhere, just trying to breathe and lick her wounds in the hopes that one day she wakes up and that spark of something is still there to get her out of her self-made hellhole.

Meghan is eternally tired and has no eye on the future.

Alexi destroyed me and I can barely look at myself anymore.

I walk away from my reflection and yank off the rest of my clothes clumsily, heading to the bathroom to run a bath and dodge the buckets I have propped around this leaky room. Pushing my foul mood and self-pity aside and dropping it on the floor with my discarded underwear, dishevelled.

It’s a miniscule apartment, barely enough room to swing a cat but it’s safer to be in small confines; even shitty run-down ones.

The pipes overhead are always dripping, but my landlord is an arsehole who requires blow jobs for favours, and I am so done with all that bullshit. I would rather live in squalor than do anything for a man in return for basic needs.

Sex and seduction, they aren’t part of my life anymore, and I am breaking habits of old at work to try and tone down my learned mannerisms and dialogue. I have tried to sound New York as much as I can, keep my sexy on the low, and avoid any sass or flirty skills to make life easier. All the things I spent twenty-eight years perfecting, and I am trying to throw them off like an unwanted coat in a bid to hide in this world.

Camilla is gone … this weird American accented nobody is nothing like her and anyone looking for Cam would think she was dead already. I guess in a way she is. I miss her. She was the realest me, I guess.

I have kept my nose clean and my head down and don’t intend to change that any time soon. Living in poverty is temporary while I regroup, and I am not passing out sexual tasters to anyone for anything anymore. I would rather sweep up pig shit all day. I just have no set plan on where I will go, or what I will do, and I am biding my time until I can figure it out.

I scan what’s left of my expensive cosmetic products and sigh dejectedly. That heaviness sweeping over me once more. I have been scrimping what I can, knowing it’s foolish to waste money on the stuff I really don’t need. That’s why my hair and nails were first to go, and I sold a lot of my expensive wardrobe, jewellery and perfumes, to pad out my savings.

No more designer or elegant clothes, no more shoes or handbags. I pawned everything I could to travel light and blend into the shadows. I have nothing of value anymore. Just a shoebox filled with all my money, hidden under the floor with my passport, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

I haven’t even unpacked my bags. I live out of them, never settling down and setting up this place as a home, as I never had any intention of staying, even for this long. I’m perched just waiting to go on to the next place when it’s time and I see an opportunity. Scraping everything I can together to build a fund that will take me a million miles from here or anywhere I have lived before.

I’m thinking somewhere hot and sunny and far out of the reach of any Carrero. Somewhere I can fade into a peaceful existence without anyone lording over me ever again.

That is the only thing keeping me going lately.

I climb into the tub and soak my weary bones in the hot almost clear water, sliding down to submerge all of me to the very edges of my face and try to drown out the noises of downtown New York. Body relaxing from stiff, stressed out achiness to an almost relieved sag.

The sounds of sirens, traffic, constant noise and motion, is never-ending, especially around these parts. It’s a high crime dump after all and only two days ago, a body was found only one block away. Daylight robbery gone nasty.

I can still hear the wail of a car alarm nearby and hear the screaming of the couple upstairs as they have another violent fight. Scraping furniture, heavy thuds and raised hysterical ranting overhead that echoes through the walls eerily. She gives as good as she gets and the gnawing grate of wood on wood over my head signals another epic battle.

Fuck love if that’s what it does to you.

Why tie yourself to someone for a lifetime if they treat you like a punching bag?

Why give your heart to a man who pounds it to dust like it doesn’t mean a thing? Like HE did. Alexi never deserved mine.

I should have run far away from him that night in the Hamptons and I know it now. I had a chance and I should have just kept going. Instead of being a feeble fool who let her fear rule her decisions, I should have had the sense to trust my gut.

My pathetic weak heart held me back every time I had a chance to go, and I was stupid not to see it.

I numb it all out mentally, push it away expertly and shove the heavy lump lodged in my chest back down to the empty gut and try to relax and let today go. Try so hard to push the tension and pain I feel every second I let him in my head out of my limbs and body, and concentrate on hot water and the drip, drip, drip of my tap.