Bad Things

29. Save Me (Part I)

All I'm left with is this scar tissue
Battle wounds after surviving you (oh)
I'm left with all the bruises, excuses
The truth is: trying to restart, that's the hardest part
The scar tissue

- Camila Cabello.

____________________________________________

"Are you going to eat that?" Carlos asked. His eyes flicked up to meet Camila's in the rearview mirror. Lights slipped intermittently over his features, much as they had Shawn's earlier, except Carlos's face, discoloured and slightly swollen on one side, was distressed, almost guilty. The bruising on his cheeks and the cut in his lips were darker and more pronounced in the shadows. "I got your favourite."

"Are you going to tell me what happened to your face?" Camila answered, voice colder than she'd intended.

Carlos's expression fell, and Camila could see the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. She felt a little bad for being such a bitch to him, but being with her mother and knowing that Carlos was on her side - whatever that was - felt like a betrayal in the worst way. In her irrational mind, Camila wanted Carlos to be with her on this, to feel the way she felt, to have had to witness the betrayal of being left for ... whatever it was their mother had left them for. Money? Escape? Prestige? She didn't know. But it didn't matter now anyway. Their mother had left right when Camila needed her the most, and Carlos had already been gone. He hadn't had to feel what that was like, to know that his needs weren't as important. To know he wasn't as important.

"Then no." Camila flicked her fingers against the brown paper sack sitting beside her on the seat and tore her gaze away from her brother's troubled one. The scent of grease and salt wafted up from the bag, and her stomach turned over uncomfortably. "I'm not hungry."

"Sweetheart," her mother said from the passenger seat. "Your stomach was growling loud enough for all of us to hear a few minutes ago. You need to eat. It's not good for you or the baby if you don't."

"Oh, so you care about what's good for me and the baby now?"

The shock from finding her mother and Carlos in her room had now faded and turned into the simmering anger Camila had held inside for months. Just being in her mother's presence, hearing her speak to Camila as a mother might: slightly scolding, caring, concerned - as if she had the right - was slowly driving Camila mad.

Sandra sighed in response and turned to Carlos. "You should pull over and get some gas. There aren't many stations between here and there once we get on the road."

Camila's pulse quickened. "Where are we going? Where are you taking me?" Her fingers closed around the buckle of the seatbelt, readying herself to bolt if she needed to.

Sandra turned around in her seat, her dark brown eyes meeting Camila's. "Not that far." Her gaze darted to Camila's hand. "Please don't run away. That won't help anyone."

"Who are you trying to help right now, Mama? Me? You? I don't get what this is all about. Why the hurry? Why sneak me out of the house? Who said I even wanted your help? And where the hell is Papa?"