D I S C O N T I N U E D
❝Yes, I have been told I'm too rude to be from Amity. Has anyone ever told you that you're an asshole?❞
In which a girl who was meant to be kind must fight for her survival while also trying to keep a secret that could c...
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REUNITED PT. 2
Self-pity swelled in her chest as Camilla's empty gaze skimmed her worn-down appearance. Sunken in eyes with dark bags underneath, the result of too many sleepless nights; cracked lips, nibbled on until they had become sensitive and raw. Her skin was also becoming pale (or as pale as it could get) and the ends of her hair were knotted and frizzy, hard to keep tame during her initiation.
But, above all else, her eyes lingered on her neck where an artwork of pain sat just above her collarbone. Sickly yellows and blues smeared on with a paintbrush of hate, ruining the canvas beneath as the colours roughly swirled together to form the shape of two hands - Drew's hands - stretching across her skin.
Camilla winced, tearing her gaze away, and slipped on her turtleneck.
She didn't want to seem weak, hiding the bruises with her shirt, because Camilla was not a weak person, however, it happened to be Visiting Day and if Liam showed up then she didn't want to worry him. Despite the fact that she looked more dead than alive and her voice sounded as if she smoked a pack a day, the thought of her uncle seeing the choke marks on her skin made her anxious.
With her new shirt on, Camilla looked at herself again. Not much had changed, however, it did make her look a bit softer, a contrast to her leather jacket that had made her appear harder than nails. Would her next action help or hinder that?
With a sigh, the redhead reached for the scissors sitting in the sink, her fingers clasping tightly around the blades. The thought had popped into her head during her fight yesterday and hadn't left since, swimming lazily around her mind as if to taunt her; saying, I'm not going anywhere. At first, Camilla wouldn't even entertain the idea of chopping off her fiery locks, as she was metaphorically (and physically) attached to them, but the longer the thought remained, the more she began to ponder it.
Just a small trim never hurt. Mused Camilla as she brought her damp hair forward, laying it flat down her chest to make sure it was as even as possible. With a steady hand but shaking breaths, Camilla brought the scissors up to the tips of her hair and began to cut. Small tufts of red fell into the sink, clumping together in a teasing congratulations. A light smile worked its way to her split lips as her heart rate increased. Okay, maybe a little more.
Camilla was on a high as she kept on cutting, her hair getting shorter and shorter after each chop until it sat just above her shoulders. It certainly wasn't professional looking, but Camilla liked it nonetheless, raking a hand through as she admired it.
With one last glance at herself, Camilla cleaned up the mess she made, exited the bathroom and began her path to the Pit. Her hopes were higher than they should've been, but despite her best efforts, she couldn't keep them down. Earlier that morning, Eric had warned not to get too attached if their family showed up, but Liam was her uncle. He had taken her in when she was barely even fouur years old and raised her as his own, so if they thought that a stupid motto like faction before blood would get her to cut off all ties and make her feel less excited to see him, then they were wrong.
