Chapter 3 - that my heart

Fun Fact: Currently I live in Manitoba, Canada. How about you?

Esther Falls City in Manitoba is where the Chasing Red universe takes place. I made up the city and got the name Esther from the Bible :)

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Cameron

Saturday. Sun's out. Clear blue skies. Birds flew and rode the wind, crapping and pissing in the air, probably busting a nut laughing when it landed on some poor soul. With the weather forecast a high of nineteen degrees Celsius, it was a nice spring day.

I felt like hell.

Working myself to exhaustion usually worked to shut my brain off and get some sleep. If that didn't, alcohol would do the trick. Last night both had failed. I ended up tossing and turning in bed—my own bed that had no business smelling like the alluring Spitfire in my dreams. And yet somehow it did.

Hell of a mind trick.

It was a little past noon when I stumbled in the kitchen, drank a well of water so I could put out the fire in my throat and hopefully piss the poison out of my system.

Groaning from the headache drilling into my skull, I grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled it off, threw it in a bin. Sweatpants came off next, the hair tie I always use. Then I stepped into the shower, programmed it, and let the hot water soothe. Cursed when I remembered I hadn't been here in a long while, and there was no soap and shampoo.

"Shit."

I vaguely remembered leaving a bottle of dish soap under the sink. Naked and dripping wet, I dashed to the kitchen, grunted with satisfaction when I saw the bottle, ran back to the bathroom.

So, I showered using lemon dish soap. It did the job.

The scruff on my face would make anyone run away screaming if they met me in a dark alley. I shrugged it off. In no mood to shave. My hair was getting long and needed to be chopped off. I shrug that off too.

The headache subsided considerably, and I felt a little more human by the time I finished brushing my teeth. I always store an extra tube of toothpaste and toothbrush along with spare clothes in my pack just in case I had to leave town for work without notice. I can't sleep without brushing my teeth.

I put on jeans, a white crew neck shirt, and a hoodie. Out of habit, I grabbed my wallet, tucked it in my back pocket, keys, cellphone. My hair was still wet, so I strung the tattered blue hair tie around my wrist, put on my boots, and walked out the door.

The sun blasted my eyeballs.

"Shit."

I went back inside, grabbed my shades, slid them on. Then I got in my truck and hit the road, heading toward the reason why I came back to Esther Falls City in Manitoba.

*

The white brick colonial house was built in the 1900s and sat on a small hill. Rick bought it as soon as it entered the market years ago. He renovated it, built his workshop in the back, a huge gazebo and a massive firepit for gatherings, a pond, and surrounded the property with trees that turned different shades of red and orange in the fall.

He liked that it had history and that there could be ghosts living in it. I hadn't seen any, but maybe he'd scared them off.

I drove down the winding driveway, parked my truck beside his, jumped out. I heard the crunch of leaves and twigs under my boot as I crossed the yard to the front door. And the sound of the radio pouring out from the open windows of the ground floor. Michael Learns to Rock was singing about being twenty-five minutes too late. Rick was definitely home.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt welcomed. Not something I imagined or wished, but real this time.

The wind suddenly blew. A sweet scent filled my nose. And reminded me of the time when I was in high school, that first night I met Rick.

*

The crisp scent of green grass and freshly cultivated soil floated in the air as soon as I stepped out of the airport. It surprised me how much I liked it. It smelled of new beginnings, and for a moment I wanted to smile.

New beginnings. Maybe somewhere in another world there was one for someone like me.

Then I saw my father's car waiting at the curb, and suddenly all good things disappeared from my mind. With a self-mocking smile, I flicked my cigarette behind me and jumped in his car.

In bitter tears, a promise of revenge and a long emotional rant about how she would do everything to get me back from my father, my mother Raven had sent me to Esther Falls City to live with him. I hadn't seen my father since I was eight years old. I was in high school now.

While I despised living with Raven, I was accustomed to her. And although manipulative and controlling when she was around, Raven's long stints of absence allowed me boundless freedom. I was willing to pay for that freedom.

A few months of vacationing with an oil tycoon boyfriend to an exotic place, a month away on a yacht with a prime minister of some country. There was even a time when she was gone in almost a year for whatever reason.

Her being gone made me feel... I wouldn't describe it as happiness, but maybe peace. Maybe they were the same thing. I wouldn't know what happiness felt like if it punched me between the eyes.

Sometimes she'd send me allowance for food, sometimes she'd forget. Either way I learned to fend for myself and grateful to be alone.

She couldn't lock me in the basement anymore like she did when I was a kid. The older I got, the harder for her to manipulate me, so she found other ways.

Calling the cops on me when I ran away. And when she found out where I was staying, she'd call the cops on those people and accuse them of stealing something of hers. So, I learned not to ask for help from anyone in fear that they'd be targeted by Raven.

"Oh, darling," she'd flicked her fingers on my cheek, savoring the power she had over me. "I also have a very good friend—a director of a rehabilitation centre, let's say, who would be more than willing to do me a favor and take care of my son. Lock him up for a bit until he learns his lesson. For your sake, of course."

She'd grinned, but I knew she wasn't kidding around. Because I had become familiar with the look in her eyes when she was bluffing and when she was serious. She wasn't bluffing.

But there was something strange I realized in all those years living with her. She needed time away from me as much as she needed to see me.

Out of sight, out of mind. When she knew I was close, she'd have this unexplainable obsession to see me all the time, as though she was afraid that I'd be taken away from her, that someone would hurt me.

It never occurred to her that she was the one hurting me.

When I was far from her reach, she'd stay gone without contacting me for months. It was as though she was relieved to be away from me. Until she showed up again. And the cycle repeats.

I felt like a bad memory she couldn't live without. Or a rotten tooth she'd forget for a while. Until the pain starts up again and it becomes her obsession.

That was how I felt. Someone that hurt his own mother simply by existing. It made me feel sick to my stomach to be around her.

The clicking sound of the turn signal broke the silence in the car. My father hadn't said a word since picking me up from the airport. He hadn't even looked at me. I was surprised he just didn't send his chauffer.

I fixed my gaze on the dark road ahead, ignoring the beautiful view of the lake outside my window. I always liked the country, but it was hard to soak it all in with my father beside me.

"Why am I here?" I demanded. There was no need for a preamble.

He didn't answer, letting me stew in my frustration. I clenched my hands into fists, wanting to bite my knuckle. Pain would distract me. But that was a big tell. I didn't want to show him how much he was affecting me.

I didn't really know him. Growing up, he was more like a stranger. A visitor in my house who'd drop by occasionally and leave for months. Raven couldn't stand him spending time with me. Every time my father took me out for a visit, Raven would throw a tantrum. So eventually he'd stopped.

My father and I grew to hate each other. There were phone calls a few times a year, and we'd end up screaming at each other every time. He loathed my mother and found joy in criticizing everything about me. It made his day when he ruined mine.

It confused me that I was being sent to live with him. Raven offered no explanation, only rage against my father stealing me away from her. She was a mess when I left, drinking and breaking things, trashing her apartment.

"You're still in high school," he began after a moment. "And yet you smoke. You smell disgusting."

But sometimes, I lose control, and a little bit of the poison comes out. "What makes you think I give a shit what you think?"

He let out a sigh filled with disapproval. "Why don't you want to be something great in life?"

My first reaction was to clam up, but he was different from Raven. While she enjoyed it and saw it as a challenge, fighting back and showing no obedience when my father expected it hurt his ego.

"Because you already are for both of us." I sneered at him. "You get paid for being a great asshole, right?"

He gritted his teeth. "Do you think I want you here?"

"Then why are you bothering me?" I shot back. "It's better when you're not around."

He stopped at a red light. I heard the squeaking sound of leather as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. To an observer, they would see two people bristling with dislike for each other.

"Send me back."

"You have no manners," he pointed out, ignoring what I said. "As expected, since that vile woman raised you. Just stay out of my way and you can live in my house until you're eighteen."

"I don't want to live with you at all."

"Too bad." He sent me a knowing look as though he knew something I didn't and was gloating over it. "I have full custody of you now."

My head whipped around to look at him. "What? Why? You don't even want me." Shock coloured my tone.

He chuckled bitterly. "The look on her face was worth every penny I spent on lawyers."

I didn't know why I hoped he had another reason for wanting full custody of me. That maybe he'd want... me. I was a damn idiot.

Again and again, these two people kept using me against each other. These two people who were supposed to be my parents kept breaking me. Why hadn't I learned not to expect anything from them but the worst?

I shut down. Silence filled the car again until I heard him shift, rubbing his face in frustration. Or maybe it was nervousness. It didn't really fucking matter.

Then he said, "You needed to get out of there before she ruins your life for good."

My body felt hot as though a fire was burning inside me, threatening to eat me alive.

"Save it!" I hissed. "My ears would start bleeding if I listened to more of your bullshit. We both know you don't give a shit about me."

Again, that maddening silence.

"You have my last name," he said after a moment. "Any action you make will reflect on me and my company. I don't want to see my name tainted, degraded because of a mistake I made a long time ago."

A mistake. He meant me.

"Besides you can't live without my support," he added. "Admit it. You need me and my money to live." He sounded so sure of himself, so arrogant. A man in power over a helpless underling. "Let's get dinner and we can discuss my rules. I suggest you stop smoking today and—"

"I suggest you go fuck yourself," I spat.

We were in the city now. The traffic was bad despite the lateness of the hour. It gave me a chance to escape.

I opened the car door, jumped out. I heard him yell to get back in the car. I didn't even close the door and ran. Ran and ran until I could push away the misery and helpless anger and hatred eating at me from the inside.

My lungs were burning, my legs started to shake, but I kept pushing myself. Until I collapsed on the sidewalk, breathing like a freight train. I swore that as soon as I hit eighteen, I would never see either of my parents again. I'd live far away from them and go to a place where no one knew me, where no one would find me.

When I got my breath back, I noticed the darkness and emptiness of the street. In front of me was a newly constructed building. So new it sparkled. It represented a new life, of new beginnings.

New beginnings? What a crock. I would never have it because I would never escape my fucked-up life. Not right now. Not when I was still a useless kid.

Rage started to build inside me. I let it take over until all I wanted was to destroy. I ran to the back of the building, kicked the door open. The sound of wood breaking brought a dark gratification.

Blinded with hate, I rushed in and started trashing what was inside. I broke windows, walls, doors. Threw paint on the floors, ceilings. Damaged thousands of dollars worth of equipment. Every time I heard a window break, it fed the monster inside me. But instead of satisfying it, it made it hungrier.

I picked up a hammer, threw it at the mirror on the wall. Before all the pieces could land on the floor, someone gripped my arms from behind me.

I reacted fast and slipped away, confident that I would get away, only to be caught again. I snarled as whoever it was bunched my arms together against my back and pushed my face against the wall.

I was tall for my age and stronger than most kids. I could beat this asshole. But when I tried to flick him off, he only tightened his hold. The guy was immovable.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled. His voice boomed like thunder.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I shot back. "Scared I'll tell everyone what a dick you are?"

I could tell he was mad. His breaths were loud and angry. Maybe he'd kill me right here, end it all. Fear crashed into me.

If he came in earlier my anger would have matched his. But I had spent all my energy trashing the place. I was depleted and had no strength left for a fight.

"Do you know what you've done?"

"I don't give a damn. Let me go." I squirmed, but his hold only tightened more.

"You punk. You're lucky I don't kick your ass."

"Do it."

He was quiet for a moment. Maybe he was praying. "Did you run away from home?"

"What's it to you?"

"What's it to me? You..." He took a deep breath. "You break it, you fix it."

"Fuck off."

"I should call the cops."

He reached for my back pocket, fished out my wallet. Grabbed my ID.

"Hey!"

With one hand and foot, he kept me immobilized against the wall. It was humiliating. I knew he was looking at my ID, and it took him a minute before he spoke. He cleared his throat.

"Cameron Jeremiah Saint Laurent. Huh." He tapped the piece of plastic on the back of my head. "Long ass name. Well, got your info now. I'd like to know who your parents are so I can sue and get my money to repair the damages you've done."

"No!" I choked, felt my knees buckle from under me.

He let me go, guiding me to sit on the floor with my back against the wall.

"Hey." He crouched in front of me. "Easy now, kid."

Panic gripped me. I didn't want to owe my father anything. It was another weapon he'd use against me if this guy sued for damages. I'd owe him and never hear the end of it.

I'd rather die.

"Don't call my father." Hot angry tears threatened to spill. I willed them away. Tears made the enemy happy. "Don't."

Saying please was on the tip of my tongue. I swallowed it back down. I hated saying it.

"Tell me why you did this."

I bowed my head, closed my eyes. "I'm just so tired of this shit."

"Why?"

I knew if I didn't give him anything he'd call the cops, then the cops would call my father.

"I hadn't seen my father in years. He hates me. Doesn't want me and yet takes me away from everything I know. To live with him."

"Why?"

I gritted my teeth. "To hurt Raven. My mother. He hates her guts. She hates him more. It's all fucked up. I just...needed to get away."

"And trash this place." He looked around the destruction around us, took another deep breath, blew it out. "This is going to cost a lot."

Shame enveloped me. I felt like a selfish, entitled, spoiled shit. I'm sorry, I wanted to say. I had no idea why I couldn't.

"Why don't you go back to your mother?"

I sneered. "She threatened to lock me up in rehab, called the cops on whoever would help me. Can't even run away. But sure. I'd go back. It's better than here."

He was silent. When I looked up, his head was bowed low. I looked away, tamping the anger at the realization that this stranger pitied me. I hated pity.

"Did your father do that to you?"

I looked at him, confused. He had hair more silver than blond. His face was long, with a beard that he kept neatly trimmed. His eyes were green and as clear as a lake.

He tapped his cheek, where a scar sat on his skin from his eyebrow to his jaw. I wiped mine, felt the wet. When I looked at my hand there was blood.

"No. I—I must have tripped. I don't know. He never laid a hand on me," I said.

"Alright. Here. Put this on your cheek. It's bleeding."

He handed me a handkerchief. I swatted his hand away.

"Fuck off, will you?"

He was unfazed. "Don't be stupid." Pressed it himself on my cheek. "Unless you want one like mine. Hold it."

I held it.

"I'm sorry," I finally said. And meant every word.

I looked up at him. There was no gloating, no maliciousness in his eyes after my apology. What I saw was kindness. It was overwhelming. I looked away.

"I hate this life. I hate this world. I wish it would all burn," I said under my breath. "There has to be something better than this."

"There is."

I scoffed at the ridiculousness of it.

"I could coddle you," he started, "tell you it'll get better with your parents, but sometimes it doesn't."

I met his gaze. Everyone told me it would get better. He was the only one who told me different.

"So just give up and die?"

"That's one way. But there's more than one path, isn't there? Just make sure you don't take the short one."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means people are going to keep trying to punch you in the face. It's the way of the world. But you have no control over that. What you can control is yourself."

"I can't even control when I'm going to take a crap. How am I supposed to—"

"Look, smartass." He placed his hand on top of my head. I shrugged him off. He just put it back. "You want to keep getting caught between your fucked up parents? You want your mother to keep calling the cops on your friends?"

I was going to tell him I didn't have any friends. I clenched my hands into fists instead and didn't answer. We both knew what I would say.

"You can't do anything about your parents, but you can work on yourself. Take up responsibilities, honor them. Learn how to fight back. Don't do shit like this. This isn't fighting back."

"Then how?" I demanded angrily. "How do I fight back?"

He stood, dusted his pants. "I can teach you what I know."

I stared at his hands. They were huge, with calluses, scrapes and scars. He worked hard and it showed.

"It takes hard work. It's not a walk in the park, kid, but you can do it."

"I'm just supposed to believe you?"

He grinned. "No. I'll show you what I can do, then you can decide for yourself."

My chest felt full, filled with something that felt like hope.

"I..." My throat tightened. "You said I can fix this."

"Sure, you can. You can start fixing by working for me. I won't call your dad. Come by tomorrow after school. You go to school, don't you?"

"Sure."

He looked at me knowingly. "Education is important. Go to school or there's no deal."

I bristled. I didn't like adults and their stupid rules, but something about this man made me want to listen. "Fine."

"Good," he said. "Name's Rick. And I should warn you now."

My heart fell in my stomach. Had I been fooled again and now he wanted money after all?

"What?"

"I talk a lot."

I felt my shoulders relaxed. "I don't."

"Then it sounds like we're gonna make a good team." He shot me a grin, offered his hand. His eyes were as clear and bright as honesty.

He looked, I thought, like a man with integrity. There was fire in his eyes, but the good kind. The one where you know you were talking to someone who'd been pushed around before and had learned to fight back. And I realized I wanted to see that in my eyes too.

I took his hand, let him help me get up.

"Yeah." I smiled back. "Maybe."

A/N: How do you feel about Cameron's childhood?

What do you think about Cameron's relationship with Rick?

Drop me an emoji describing your mood after reading this chapter.

If you enjoy day in the life vlogs, I posted a short one on my Instagram @isabelleronin

A message from me to you: You've fought hard. You've done the best you can. It's time for you to take care of your heart now.