I see that hit home, see the question flicker in his eyes, before he nods once. “You hurt him, Blackwood, and they’ll never find the fucking body.”
“If I hurt him,” I say, my voice low and deadly honest, “I’ll hand you the gun and dig the grave.”
I straighten and stride away, abandoning my mask and my drink, and only years of being in the public spotlight keeps me smiling as I slip past the fans and catch a few outstretched hands.
I need space. I need to get the fuck out of here, for a few stolen minutes, need to breathe.
I want Camden, want his arms around me and his voice soothing in my ear, his lips pressed against my forehead as he fights a stupid grin while I bitch about Tristan.
I pull my phone out and text Victor without thinking.
Dimitri: Do you think I’m rebounding?
The response is immediate and makes me grin.
Victor: I sure as fuck hope so. Do I think so? No. You were never the type. You invest, you don’t give a fuck about rebounds. Why?
I still haven’t told him about Camden. I should. Instead I ask.
Dimitri: Did you mean it? About staying friends?
There’s a moment, when I’m staring at the phone, that I hate myself for asking. Hate myself for caring so fucking much.
Victor: Of course. We were friends before we fucked, Dimitri. We’ve been through too much to just walk away from all of it, don’t you think.
It settles some of the tension, some of the fear in in my gut and I slump against the pillar. I’m exhausted, but I’m also happy. Ridiculously happy.
And that’s where Cam finds me. Slightly sweaty, his eyes warm concern, lips teasing up in a small smile as he comes around my pillar. “Hiding, Dee?”
“Just a little. Is it still a mad house in there?”
He hums an affirmative, and steps close to me.
Too close.
I should make him back up a step.
“I heard you,” he says.
“Did you?”
“Mmm. Tristan was out of line,” he adds, almost apologetic.
“He was worried,” I answer, swaying closer. He smells like wine and Cari, faintly.
“You won’t hurt me.” Cam says, quieter. His eyes are burning into me, and he smiles, this broken, little thing that drags a small noise from me, startled and pained. “I love you,” he whispers, and I gasp.
He kisses me.
Not anything hard or fierce or even sexy. It’s just a press of his lips, the hint of tongue, the bittersweet taste of wine on him, and my name breathed between us like it’s something special.
His hands on my shoulders. Holy fuck.
I sway closer, chasing his lips when he pulls away, desperate for more, desperate for—Holy. Fuck.
I groan as he bites down on my lip.
“Holy. Fuck.”
The voice is shrill and strange, and too fucking close.
I’m standing in Camden’s arms, my lips still tingling from his kiss, and there’s panic in his eyes, as I pull away, far enough away, that I can stare at them.
Two girls, one holding her phone up, a vicious smile on her face.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
Chapter 20.
Originally posted on Fractured Realms Message Board.
CecileCruez: After four years of dating, it seems Camden and Carissa, the stars of the popular Fractal Ends, have split. Camden was seen in a compromising position with co-star and friend of the couple, Dimitri Blackwood. Blackwood recently split with boyfriend Victor Vanes.
The questions this begs is: what the actual fuck is happening on that damn set?
BillieFairyGirl: What the FUCK??
FarleySilentSister: I fucking knew they weren't platonic.
CariOueHopes: I feel sick. I...what the hell, how could he do this to Cari.
VictriFrverLuv: It won't last. Dimitri loves Victor. He just needs to remember.
CecileCruez: Cam and Cari will be issuing a statement this afternoon. Let's not freak out until after that.
--
It's a fucking circus. From the second it blows up at the Gala to the morning after, when half the fucking reporters in the city camp out on our front lawn. KP is on the phone way before then, and Victor is in motion calling, trying to help ease the way for us, but I know enough to know that Dimitri's ex is pissed.
Not that Dimitri is dating or in the press. That Dimitri is dating me That after all the months of wondering and suspecting Cari, it was never her. It was me.
The studio calls an emergency meeting, even if we can't leave the house without being mobbed and Jeb refuses to let us go anywhere but the set and back.
But Cecile from EndersHollow is hounding us with questions and Dimitri is arguing with Victor, and Cari is fucking furious.
“How the fuck did this happen?” KP demands, her face a tight ball of outrage and worry on the Skype call.
I flinch and look at Dimitri. KP is sweet and fierce and proper--to hear her cursing is… startling.
“It was an accident,” Dimitri says evenly.
“An accident is spilling your coffee,” Cari says, all false, sugar sweet, “or forgetting to pay the power bill. It is not outing your fucking boyfriend at a Gala that you threw with his presumptive girlfriend!”
“You gave your fucking permission for this,” Dimitri snarls, “don't get pissed because it's out and makes you look played.”
“Enough.” I snap. “We don't get through this by fighting. We get through by staying together, like we always have.”
Cari glares at Dimitri but she slowly relaxes. Dimitri is still tense, but I reach out and take his hand in mine, squeezing until his eyes flick to me, cool but relenting.
“How do we spin this?” I ask, redirecting my attention to KP.
“Drunk fooling around at a party? That you and Cari are taking a break, and still close friends, it doesn’t affect the show, but that nothing is set in stone where you and Dee are concerned.”
“No,” I say. It silences the room, and Cari shifts. “I’m okay with the bit about Cari and I, it makes sense, and we can spin it so she doesn’t get outed any more than she’s comfortable with. But I’m not saying Dee is a fucking drunken mistake.”
“We aren’t trying to make the off-screen romances the focus of this season, Cam,” KP says, evenly reminding me that she’s on my side, but she works for the show.
It will always be her first priority.
“And we don’t need to. But I won’t lie about him.”
She stares at me, for long enough that I think she’s going to argue before she relents. Leans back and nods, jotting down something on her notepad. “I’ll write up a statement. Cecile will post what we tell her, but she’s going to want an interview.”
“Fine,” I say.
It’s all details after that, fine-tuning how the hell we’re going to put out this fire. And I don’t pay any attention because I don’t care.
They will. That’s the point.
They’ll take care of the media and the fanbase.
And Dimitri will take care of Victor.
As the meeting ends, I catch Cari’s eye and she frowns.
Deliberately looks away.
Fuck.
“Go talk to her,” Dimitri says quietly at my side. “I’ll see you in your trailer.”
“Thanks, babe,” I murmur, kissing his cheek, before I rise and chase Cari out of the room.
“I don’t want to talk,” she snaps, when I catch up to her. She’s moving fast, and her shoulders are up. Andre trails her, giving me a curious look, like he’s not sure he shouldn’t remove me from his boss’s orbit.
I almost wish he’d try. Maybe she’d feel better if she could take it out on me physically.
“Think we probably should, though.”
“What? Why? What the fuck does it matter now, Camden. It’s done. You fucking kissed him at my fucking Gala!”
“Which part about that upsets you, Cari? That I kissed him, th
at I outed myself, or that it was at the fucking Gala?”
“All of it,” she hisses.
And her feelings click in, suddenly. All of her anger, that makes no fucking sense, and the way she’s lashing out at me and Dimitri. It’s all rage that makes no sense but perfectly covers her hurt. The sting of betrayal.
“We didn’t plan this,” I say, urgently.
“It doesn’t matter. It happened. Planned or not, it happened and we all have to fucking deal with it.”
“I’m happy,” I protest, and her shoulders slump.
“Of course, you are,” she says, tired. “But you’re also avoiding your family and you’re doing shit that is completely out of character, and there’s a fucking stalker out there still who wants to see your boyfriend with another man. You outed yourself as bisexual, and that’s not a small thing, for us. So go ahead and be happy. I’ll be the smart one who says this is a bigger fucking deal than you want to believe.”
She shakes off my hand on her arm, and stalks away, and I’m left standing there, as the clouds that have been threatening all day finally open and it begins to rain.
Dimitri is waiting in my trailer, but I’m not quite ready to face him, so I retreat to the empty crafts tent, grabbing a cup of coffee and settling in a corner in the back.
Because Carissa is right. I’ve avoided my family. There are about a dozen calls from my parents and Seth, and twice as many texts. But it’s not them I want to talk to.
I dial without really thinking about it and put the phone to my ear.
“You sure picked a flashy way to come out,” she drawls, and I laugh.
“You knew.”
“It's easy to notice when your brother treats a girl like a sister,” Crystal says and I can hear low voices chattering in the background, before she distances herself from them.
“Does it bother you?”
“That you treat Cari like the little sister you already have?”
“That, too,” I say, and even I can hear the nerves in my voice.
“No,” she says, finally, her voice very gentle. Sweet. “It doesn’t bother me. And if you called mom and dad, you’d know it doesn’t bother them.”
I’m quiet, and she says, softly. “What is it?”
“Cari is mad at me. Dimitri is furious but he won’t talk about it. KP is pissed and I just…I can’t handle Mom and Dad, too.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then, “Are you alone?”
“Yeah,” I answer, leaning back in my chair. A PA is wandering by, and gives me a quick questioning look, like she wants to be helpful, if only I’ll let her. I shake my head quickly, and she flashes a disappointed smile before moving on.
“Go find Dimitri. Take Cari and him home and remember what the hell you love about both of them. You sitting in your trailer or on set in some damn, dark corner isn’t going to fix anything.”
I huff a sigh and she talks over it. “I know, Camden. I do. But you need them. So go. They love you. And for god’s sake, call Mom.”
I reluctantly agree, and she makes a vague promise to visit soon—I need to find her a ticket so vague can be a little more definite—before she hangs up.
It helps. I knew my sister would side with me on this, would support me. But it still helps to actually hear her do so, and I feel like I can breathe again, when I hang up.
I go home. But I go alone, with only Jeb, and I retreat to my office before Dimitri and Carissa get home. There’s a small couch there, that I curl up on and that’s where I stay, reading the news and wondering the what the fuck I’m doing.
I know I should find Dimitri. I know that sulking in the dark isn’t going to fix anything. But I also can’t make myself stop. It’s like there’s this disconnect, and I can’t drag myself off the couch and out of my own fucked-up fear long enough to go to him.
I spend the night there. On the couch. Alone.
I can hear Dimitri and Cari talking, can hear the concern in their voices, but neither come to my office.
They know me, better than anyone else on earth, and they know I need time and space. I kinda love them even more for giving it to me. We have a late call—none of us are due on set until noon, so the house is quiet, when I wake up and slip out. Even Jeb is sleeping and for once, the paparazzi are respecting our privacy.
Or they’re sleeping because it’s fucking early.
Either way, I’m able to slip away.
It’s probably stupid. Even as I’m sliding into my car I know it’s irresponsible and reckless and all kinds of stupid shit.
But I need coffee and I need space.
I need to go somewhere where the weight of Dimitri’s gaze won’t remind me why I don’t care what happens next, and the silence of Cari reminds me why I have to.
It shouldn’t be this hard. That’s the thing. I love a guy. We make each other happy. So why does it have to be hard. Why does it have to be seven shades of complicated and fucked up?
Because I’m me and he’s him, and that’s one of the things that I love about him. That I love about us.
I drive to a local coffee shop, one that is near enough to our house that it’s a favorite, but far enough that fans haven’t put two and two together to come up with stalk Camden here.
The girl at the counter recognizes me. She should. I’ve been in here often enough that she knows my order without me rattling it off, and I know from the t-shirts she wears under her apron she’s a fan of Fractal Ends.
“Your usual?” She asks, and I nod, grabbing a newspaper and holding it up. She rings it up then goes about making my latte and warming up a bacon and egg croissant for me.
“Does it bother you?” I ask, and maybe that’s why I’m here. Not because I didn’t need to be there, but because I need to know. Where does the average fan stand on this? Not Cecile who says what we want to hear because she wants access and is afraid to jeopardize it. Not the polarizing fans on EndersHallow, but the everyday fan.
She hesitates, like she doesn’t know how to answer, and I sip my coffee, and nod at her. “Tell me. You aren’t gonna piss me off.”
“I wanna know that Carissa wasn’t hurt. That you and Dimitri weren’t hurting her.”
I shake my head. “Cari was supportive in this.”
The girl considers me for a long moment, and then, “Okay. Are you happy?”
I nod. No hesitation.
Because I am. I always thought I was, with my work, with my weird relationship with Cari, with my friends. But I wasn’t. I’m happy with Dimitri. When we’re laughing, when we’re fucking, when we aren’t doing a damn thing. Just being near the guy makes me happy. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.
“Then be happy,” she says, smiling a little and I feel some of the tension slide away.
The bell over the door rattles and a girl walks in. She’s my age, wearing tight jeans and a loose, black polo top and she looks familiar, somehow. I shift to look at her as she crosses the coffee shop.
“Mr. Martin, you’re needed on set.”
“Excuse me?” I say, a little confused and she gives me a polite, hopeful little smile. “You’re one of the PA’s?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s going on?”
“I was just asked to bring you to set,” she says.
I nod, a little dazed, and stand up. I pause and look at the barista. I’ve been seeing her now, a few times a month, for years. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Addison,” she says, a bemused smile turning up her lips, and I nod again.
“Thanks.”
“Take care of yourself, Camden.”
The PA is practically vibrating with tension behind me and I smile at Addison before I follow her out of the café, and head to my car.
“You should ride with me,” she says.
Her voice is strange and tight, too close. I glance at her. “There’s a lot of press outside the set, because of the press conference this afternoon. It’ll be easier, if you ride with me. I can c
ome back for your car, if you’d like.”
I nod, absently, and pull my phone out. It’s dead, which isn’t that surprising. I was on it all night, and I forgot to charge it.
“Can I use your phone charger?” I ask as I slide into her car. She shrugs, and I side eyes her for a few seconds before I connect my phone and lean back.
Maybe it’s because I’m tired. Or maybe it’s because I’m idiot. All I know is it takes far too long for me to realize this drive has gone on longer than it should for us to get to the studio.
“Where are we going?” I murmur, sleepily.
She doesn’t answer, and I lift my head. Look out the window before I turn to her.
And pain slams through me, so hard that it’s this white, hot flash screaming up my ribs and into my throat, choking my breath before everything goes black.
Chapter 20.
From Changeling Prince. Originally posted on EndersHallow, October 12th 2014.
Fraley Anders knew when he was a child that he was wrong. That where he was, and what he was doing in life, was wrong. He felt it in the iron that seared his skin and the pallid cast of his face. He felt it in the long nights when he sat awake, reading and unable to sleep. He felt it when he sipped goat's milk and counted crystals of salt, and plaited flower chains.
He knew it in his bones, in the very essence of who he was, that he was different. And wrong.
It was his birthday, his twelfth birthday, that the world fractured around him, and the story came to a blinding end, and he realized just how wrong he was.
Fraley Anders, raised the son of a Parliament member. Sickly but smart and cunning, wasn't wrong. Not the way that he thought. He was merely displaced.
He met the child, the one he was replaced with, there in that strange place where worlds end and fracture.
He learned what he was called.
Changeling. Parasite. Prince.
He was in the hollow under the hill for years and days and seconds, and no time at all. When he blinked and pulled his hand away from the mirror, his mother was a few steps away, and frowning and he was a strange, displaced, little boy.
Secret Things Page 15
