Chapter 240

‘There’s no man … There never was. You are more than enough male in one lifetime to be dealing with, Carrero. I haven’t got the stamina to put up with drama from any other arseholes in my life. Have a nice day.’ I roll my eyes at my own dumb weakness and turn on my heel to walk away, not waiting for retaliation or even a reaction, and feeling completely stupid for telling him the truth and losing that tiny annoyance in his day. It’s such a dumb move and no doubt one I will regret later.

I don’t know why I am all soft and caring about his mood after he’s been an ignorant prick but here it is. Alexi’s getting into my head and messing me up without even trying. I am obviously just having a very off day and should go back to bed.

Jackson is waiting patiently outside the door for me and I slide my arm into his as I meet up with him, instant calm and soothing warmth to pick me up out of my dark hovel and set me up for a brighter day ahead.

This past couple of weeks I have grown a little fond of my gentle giant, and much like I summarised from the start … he’s like a loyal puppy dog who will happily bounce along for a little affection. I don’t have to flirt or make eyes at him. I just have to be nice, treat him with respect, and he is more than willing to oblige.

Alexi would probably hate how easily I have wrapped him around my little finger, but I feel safe with Jackson. He’s a sort of big bear protector with a heart.

‘Nail salon, Miss Camilla? He smiles my way, his use of the title and name is just part of his charm, and he has called me it from day one. I like it, makes me feel like a very precious lady.

‘Yes, then we can stop off for that sorbet you like on the way back. I fancy something to cool me down in today’s heat.’ I smile widely at that little dimpled face of his and resist the urge to poke him in his pudgy cheek. Alexi would have a shit fit if he knew one of his deadly henchmen was my adorable lap dog.

He gets that excited look that would translate to a wagging tail and I can’t help the little warm fuzzy feeling it gives me to put a smile on his face. He’s been my sort of stand-in Mico when they were absent, and I would dare to say, I would be sad not to see Jackson in my day now that I am used to him being my shadow. He’s not the brightest of men, but fiercely loyal to his wife and loves nothing more than talking all about how much he adores her and his family.

I am starting to realise that Carrero men break the mould, and I just wonder where it all went wrong with Alexi.

I am also aware how the girl who always kept people at arm’s length, and never trusted any man, has now got rather warm affection for at least two Carrero men and a debatable something for their angry master.

* * *

I wake up on the morning of my birthday in a pre-decided crappy mood. It started before I got into bed, and although I shouldn’t put so much emphasis on one shitty day a year, I can’t help it. It’s not just my birthday, it’s the day she let that bastard do what he did to me and changed my entire life. That fateful day aged eleven years old, that day my mother really lost her right to call herself that, once and for all.

So I am in no mood to really celebrate the anniversary of the death of my innocence in any way, shape or form. It’s a bad memory from a dark place and one I wish would just bypass without my knowledge.

I get up and head straight for the shower so as not to ponder on it, dragging my arse in that same crappy frame of mind from yesterday, already overshadowed with my own cloud of doom and gloom. I have plans to keep myself occupied all day—Shower, food, take my time getting ready, then I have a couple of hours to vegetate in front of a shitty bunch of soppy films and drink my sorrows out till lunch. I might go do some retail therapy if I want to go out, but basically, I want a day of nothing but me time; Sad time to get it out of my system and then get through until tomorrow, to ignore it all again for another year.

I take forever in the shower. It’s around ten a.m. as I tried to sleep as late as I could, but my body kept waking me. At one point I could have sworn I smelled Alexi’s aftershave but that’s ridiculous. He didn’t even stay here last night at all, and it was early hours of the morning at a time the club was shut. He left around eight and never came back to the club, so it couldn’t have been him up here for anything. I came to bed myself before midnight, in a bid to be done with this day before it even began, and left Joanne to watch the floor seeing as that’s what she is there for.

I wrap myself in a robe and pad out to my room to get dried and dressed, opting for sweats and a t-shirt today. I’ll change later if I decide to go out, but for now, I want a break from being Camilla. I just want to be no one—a kid who never had to worry about her appearance or her manners or her persona. Just a little girl who used to love climbing trees and watching the world go by.

I used to pretend I was an invisible ghost, high up in my place among the leaves where nothing could touch me or see me, and I want to go back to that feeling for the next twelve hours … disappearing for a day with no one expecting anything from her.

I used to be so fearless of the heights I would climb to. It was my escape for when my mother was on a comedown and rattling from withdrawals, or when Rick was looking for me.

I stopped climbing those trees after I turned eleven.

I wander into the living room, feeling sombre, my head trying to blot out the things it wants to think about, but my mood is that of fatigue and emotional exhaustion. This always happens on this day. My brain is unable to shut it off or think about anything else, but at the same time swirls round and round combatting the memories, so I don’t let them seep in and drag me into tearful despair. She is always in the forefront as I strike off another year, whether I want to see her in my mind’s eye or not—like a bad smell that lingers.

Did I love my mother?

I think in some ways I did once, a long time ago. That desperate sad child who just longed for her own mother’s approval and affection because she never gave it to me. I know there must be some kind of syndrome name for a stupid loyal attachment to someone who continually abuses you, and no doubt most would point it at how I feel about Alexi and shake their head in disappointment.

She hit me and cursed me out as far back as I can remember. The first memory I have of her really, is standing in a soiled nappy, holding a dirty blanket as comfort and feeling cold. I don’t even remember what age I was, only that my stomach hurt and I was sobbing and reaching for her in so much despair. I walked across the bare wooden floor of what I assume was the flat we spent our lives in and I remember saying ‘Mummy, Mummy’ and just wanting some sort of human affection. The bitch kicked me halfway across that room and told me to shut the fuck up.

That is how I remember my mother.

Always quick to violence, always quick to push me away, always quick to destroy me in any way she could. Her scars on me are not physical … but they are here, always on me like dirty marks. She set the tone for my lack of self-worth.