Saving Camila

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Mom gives me permission to take the day off from school, I'm grateful.

On the drive back to our neighbourhood, Camila tells me to pull over to the side of the road.

So I do. "Is everything alright?" I ask.

Camila just sighs and shakes her head. She moves her bad hand to the right one and slowly begins to pull up her sleeve. Camila moves the fabric all the way up to her elbow, then she looks at me, her eyes watery.

"This is me," she explains, "This is who I am. A self harmer. I'm messed up James. You don't want to get involved in my pathetic life. I can only hurt you."

I can't meet Camila's sad eyes. I'm stuck staring at her scars. There are too many to count, they start at the base of her palm and reach all the way up to the inside of her elbow. Some are old, faded. Some are recent, scab-ish. Some are brand new, bloody, like she just cut this morning.

I feel guilty as I stare. I remember one time when I was at the mall with my mother, I was seven years old.

We were sitting in the food court and I was swinging my legs as I was too short for my feet to reach the floor.

Then a family of four sat at the table next to my mother and I. One child, she seemed to be my age, was sitting in a wheel chair. She only had one leg, she had an eye patch over her left eye, she had one tube coming out from her chest, and she had a breathing tube coming around her neck, behind her ears, and connecting at her nostrils. The girl was talking happily with her family as I store at her not ten feet away.

"James!" Mom whisper-yelled at me. It obviously wasn't the first time she had called my name.

I finally turned my attention to her when she started tapping my hand. "What?" I asked.

Mom shook her head. "It's not nice to stare," she said simply, "Now, finish your lunch."

I did as I was told and didn't once look back at the girl.

Now as I look at Camila's scars, I realize what I'm doing is wrong. I close my eyes and count to five.

I open my eyes again and meet Camila's gaze.

"I-I'm sorry." I apoligize for both staring, and the fact that what happened, happened.

Camila shrugs and pulls her sleeve back down. "Don't be. It's not like you did anything."

I start up the car again and pull onto the road. "You don't wanna go home, do you Cam?"

"No," Camila whispers.

I nod, "Okay. Let's go to my house then."

I smile at her, but she's looking the other way. I turn my attention back to the road and we drive the rest of the way in silence.

When we arrive at my house, I walk around to Camila's side of the car and open her door for her.

Camila raises her eyebrows as she gets out. "I thought chivalry was dead."

I shut the car door behind her and wink. "Mostly. But I guess that I'm just your knight in shining armor."

Camila rolls her eyes at me as I lead her inside.

"You want anything to eat or drink?" I ask when we are in the house.

"No thank you," Camila says, following me into the kitchen.

I turn around to see Camila right behind me. "Cam," I say, "have you eaten anything today?"

Camila shakes her head and shrugs. I look at the clock, it's already 11:30.

"What do ya say we have an early lunch?" I ask.

"I'm not hungry, James."

I narrow my eyes. "Camila. You have got to eat something. Okay?"

Camila crossed her arms over her chest uncomfortingly and folds into herself. "Okay," she whispers, not looking at me.

I smile. "So what'll it be? Tomato soup? Grilled cheese sandwiches? Hot dogs? Yeah, that's about all I can cook. But I'm pretty damn good."

Camila actually laughs. "Let's have grilled cheese sandwiches," she decides.

Fifteen minutes later I'm sitting with her at my dining table, eating lunch.

"How's the wrist?" I ask through a mouthful of food.

Camila grins. "You've got chivalry, but I'm not seeing any manners, James."

I blush and swallow my food. "Let's do this again," I say clearly, "How is your wrist feeling?"

"It still hurts," she explains, "but it's definitely feeling better than this morning."

"Sorry about that, by the way," I say sheepishly.

Camila knits her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"For, you know, letting you break your wrist." I stare at my plate, not meeting Camila's eyes.

"James, you didn't let me break my wrist, you caught me and probably saved me from a worse injury," Camila insists.

I look up at her. "So you're not mad?" I say with a smile.

"No," Camila insists, "My god James. You look like a cute, four year old boy when you have that hopeful look on your face."

I grin wider. "You think I'm cute?"

Camila rolls her eyes. "I'll be right back," she says. She pushes away her plate and stands up. I see her pull something out of her pocket, then she heads to the upstairs bathroom.

An anxious feeling takes over me. "Please don't let it be a razor," I mumble under my breath.

I quietly follow her upstairs and stand outside the bathroom door. Suddenly I hear the sound of vomit being ejected from Camila and into the toilet.

I quickly head back downstairs and sit back in my seat at the table. Did she just take one of those pills that makes you puke?

Did she do that because I made her eat something?

I nervously tap my fingers on the smooth wood of the table. Quickly my fingers tap the table in order from my pinky to ring finger to middle finger to pointer finger to thumb.

Like I've said before, my hands always have to be moving.

Camila comes back downstairs a few minutes later. I notice that she's chewing gum.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," she replies.

We don't speak for several seconds before Camila says, "Thanks for lunch James. I think I should be getting home."

I look up at her. "I know you don't want to go home."

Camila looks at the ground. "I don't."

"Then you're staying here!" I announce.

Camila's head snaps up and she looks at me like I'm crazy. "What do you mean James?"

"Look, Camila. I don't know what it's like for you at your house. But I'm pretty sure it's not that great. You're obviously unhappy there. You're too amazing a person to experience unhappiness. I think you should stay here with my family for a while. I really want you to."

"James," Camila shakes her head, "I can't do that to you. I'd be intruding on your life, your family's life."

I shrug. "My parents are really sweet, they'd totally be up for the idea."

"It does sound appealing," Camila agrees, "but you still have to ask your parents, and I'll just need some time to think about it, alright?"

I nod. "Done and done."

Camila runs a hand through her blonde curls. "What now?"

"Mario Cart in the basement?" I suggest.

Camila chuckles softly. "You're on."

As we walk downstairs, I almost grab for her hand, but I put my hand in my pocket before I can make that move.

It's just not time yet.