Haven't Forgotten My Way Home (Camren)

Chapter Sixteen

Triggers/Warnings: past abuse; violence, misogynistic slurs.

"Come here."

She shook her head. "Please, Sir, I don't want to."

Her eyes were fixed on what he held in his hand. The end of it glowed white hot, casting an eerie shine on his smiling face. Feral.

His smile left in an instant. "I said, come here. You're my bitch, you do what I say." He waved the rod. "And this will make it permanent."

She scrambled backwards, scarcely able to do so with her wrists bound to her ankles. She was nearly hogtied, helpless, and there was nowhere to go except further back into the wall that she pressed up against. She wished with all her might that it would open up and swallow her.

The wall didn't open up, but her mouth did. "No."

Time stood still. The earth froze and so did he, so did she, locked in the staring of disbelief and anger. He advanced towards her.

"You stupid slut." Her head rocked sideways with the force of the slap, then back as he sent another. "You will never, ever say no to me again."

His hand to her throat held her against the wall as his other hand brought the rod closer. She felt its heat touch her skin like a kiss from the devil himself.

Lauren screamed.

"What do you think you might like for dinner?"

She shrugged. "Just whatever."

From the doorway of the kitchen, Miss Camila turned to look at her. "Are you all right, Lauren? You seem rather tense."

"I'm fine."

The nightmare had woken her up at 4 a.m. The morning before that, it had been 2 a.m. And before that, three. And each time, Lauren hadn't been able to get back to sleep.She'd talked to her therapist about them before, but no amount of deep breathing exercises, no warm milk or bath, no calming music had been able to stop them. Although the calming music might have been a problem; she'd asked Miss Camila for some cds, and maybe going to sleep to Seventy Six Trombones wasn't helping.

The nightly phone calls and texts from Miss Camila, though, those did help. After every nightmare, when she'd lay in her bed at Emily's unable to sleep, Lauren would grab her phone and read the texts with a small smile on her face. Full of smiles, good cheer, and little stars, Miss Camila's messages were comforting, and Lauren would soon find herself curled on her side with the phone held close to her. It wasn't Miss Camila's hand in hers, like that first night, but it was something.

But she was tired. She sat on the couch in Miss Camila's house, aimlessly flipping through the TV channels, trying to settle on something, and she couldn't. Her eyes burned, her hands shook as she held the remote, and her mind was full of the images from her past. Images that weren't forgotten, but had mercifully been pushed back in favor of Normani and Dinah, Jasper and Emily, soft pillows with warm blankets tucked around her and Miss Camila's lips on hers.

They'd kissed more since their "first date" a few days ago; shy, awkward brushes of lips against lips, Lauren never having known what a gentle kiss felt like, and Miss Camila afraid to cross already tenuous boundaries. It frustrated her even as it made her feel safe; there were things going on in Lauren's mind and heart (and her body, if she was being honest) every time she kissed Miss Camila that confused her. But Miss Camila always had the power to bring her back to herself with just a touch of her hand on Lauren's cheek. With a smile.

A smile that now seemed strained as she came back from the kitchen and sat next to Lauren on the couch. She glanced out the window, at the rain that fell hard and heavy against the glass. "It's a day for comfort food," she announced. "Grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, what do you think of that?"