Pain

You Deserve Better

Camille

Hopefully I stare at the display of my phone, even though I know it doesn't make sense. He won't text me anymore, I've messed it up. A knock on my room door makes me look up. My older brother Jake stands in the door with his arms crossed. "This is your last chance. Are you really sure that you don't want to go to Grandpa?"

Today is Saturday and our parents had the idea to visit our Grandpa. Normally I would have been there right away, because I love spending time with my family. But I've had to keep thinking about Logan over the last few days and I know that visiting my grandfather wouldn't change that.

I smile faintly and wave off. "Yes, I'm sure. I still have a few things to do for school."

He lets his gaze wander over the papers that are on my desk and my bed. He shakes his head. "I can't understand why you're still doing all this work. If he has let you down, let him see for himself how he copes with the consequences."

"He didn't let me down. I was the one who messed it up. I can't blame him for looking for distance now."

He grimaces, gets closer and sits down on my desk chair. "However ... I just want you to be careful with this guy. I don't want this bad boy to hurt you."

"Logan is not what everyone thinks he is. I'm sure of that."

Jake sighs. "Yes, I can see that I can't convince you. But please be careful, okay?"

"Of course."

After working for about an hour, a sudden ringing at the front door interrupts the unusual silence in the house. Shortly afterwards I open the door ... and hardly trust my eyes. It's Logan! But ... something is wrong. He doesn't lean casually against the wall as usual, but staggers slightly.

"Logan ... what ...?"

"Please tell me that you are familiar with first aid."

Before I can answer, he loses his balance and falls to the ground. I quickly bend down to him to see if he's hurt. His t-shirt slipped up during the fall so I can see his lower back, which is covered with bruises. My breath stops. "Oh my ... Logan, you're hurt. You need help. I call an ambulance, okay? You-"

"No ambulance, no hospital. Just help me into the house. Please."

Shocked, I help him get up and bring him into the house. I go with him to the living room and carefully put him down on the couch. He leans against the pillows and closes his eyes. I go to the bathroom and find the things my mom often uses for me and my brothers when we're injured. Back in the living room, I sit down next to Logan and look at him insecurely. I carefully touch his t-shirt to push it up. He opens his eyes and looks at me. I hesitate. "May I?"

His eyes look deep into mine and it feels like his gaze is burning me. Without saying anything, he takes off his t-shirt. I thought that what I saw on his lower back area was bad, but I was wrong. His entire upper body is full of bruises. The sight of his damaged body hits me so hard that tears come into my eyes. "Who did this to you?"

Logan

I don't answer her question. It's better if she doesn't know the truth. Her hand touches my back and I flinch involuntarily.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you."

I believe her and nod slowly. Again, her hands touch my back. I try to relax and close my eyes. Her touches are gentle, careful ... comforting.

A memory suddenly rises in me. I cried and my mother held me in her arms, trying to comfort me. She had just told me about her diagnosis. This damn disease! It was the reason why Kiara and I became orphans at the ages of fourteen and ten. But was the disease really to blame? Or is he right in his accusation that it was my fault that our mom got sick? After all, I was responsible for the fact that our dad ...

The thought of my parents is too much for me. I can't hold back the tears. Camille seems to notice this, because she gently strokes my hair and says quietly, "Shhh ... The pain will stop soon."

She thinks my tears come from the pain. Well ... it's true. But it is not the physical pain that cause me sorrow, but the emotional pain that I have been carrying in me since the death of my dad, and which is getting worse with each passing day after the death of my mom. And no matter what I do, the pain can't be numbed. It doesn't matter how much alcohol I drink or how many girls I sleep with ... it's always there.

Camille's hand strokes my hair again. I open my eyes. Her face is very close ... I kiss her ... and she kisses me back. My hands glide along her sides, wander under her top, touch her warm skin. I stroke her stomach while my lips explore her neck. My right hand moves upwards, which elicit a soft moan from her. And this sound makes me pause and brings me back to my senses. What the hell am I doing here?! I back away from her and jump up. "I'm sorry." I quickly reach for my t-shirt and want to put it on again, but her hand covers my wrist and stops me.

"Logan ... it's okay," she says in a calm voice, but I shake my head. "No, it's not. I can't do that to you. You deserve better." I break away from her grip. "I will go to Miss Collins and ask her to give you another project partner."

"But ..."

Without paying attention to their protest, I leave the living room, walk down the hallway and reach the front door. Behind me I hear her calling my name, but before she can run after me, I leave the house and run away ...