by Yessi Smith
He nods, his eyes watching me with caution.
“Do you know why?”
Pastor Floyd leans forward, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening. “Yanelys—”
“So, you do know,” I interrupt. “You know he’s an addict.”
He lets out a grunt and leans back on the chair. “Camden is Camden. A good man with strong morals. He’s loyal and kind, and when he lets his guard down, he can be funny. He loves deeply.” He pins me with his eyes. “You know how much Camden loves.”
A blush creeps up my neck, and I look away. Camden loves without reserve, as if he’s never been hurt.
“He has an addiction, but that doesn’t define who he is as a person. Calling him an addict takes away from everything else that he is, from all the good he’s done, and everything he still has to offer.”
My heart pounds, wild but without escape, and I press a hand to my chest, trying to keep myself from bleeding. A soft sigh brushes over my lips.
Camden is Camden.
“I was only trying to help him. He was in so much pain after Haiti,” he rushes on, not seeing the shock on my face. “And when we couldn’t find Jocelyn Marie and Yvon, it was like the world had crushed him.”
“Wait.” Blood drains from my face. “How did you try to help him?”
Pastor Floyd’s mouth hangs open, and when I stand, his eyes dart across the room to the closed door.
“Yanelys,” he says my name, pain and anxiety rolling off each syllable.
Resigned, he hangs his head, and I sit back down.
“Camden…he’s been through too much. When the doctors stopped prescribing him pain medication”—his voice quakes—“his pain…I couldn’t watch that boy suffer like that.”
“So, you fed him pills?” My words splinter the air.
His face pales. “It wasn’t like that. I just wanted to help.”
“Are you helping that boy sitting on your couch the same way?” Angry, my hand slices in front of me as I point at the door.
“No.” He shakes his head. “No, Yanelys, no. Please try to understand. If I didn’t give it to him, he’d have found pills or other drugs from somewhere else. He was so lost, so sad. At least I knew what he was taking. I’m not saying I was right—I know I wasn’t—but I didn’t know what else to do. And then it got out of hand.” He shrugs, his shoulders reaching the sides of his face, as he exhales a long breath. “I begged him to get help, but he wasn’t ready until you came back into his life. You and Olivia—you’ve brought him back, and he’s willing to feel the bad, so he can feel the good you bring him.”
A tear falls down my cheek, and I brush it away. “That doesn’t excuse what you’ve done to Cam.”
“Camden did this to himself. Yes, I made it easier, but I’d like to think I also made it safer.”
I scoff, looking at the man I thought had taken care of Camden when he left me, when he left his family.
“My dad would never have let him do this to himself. He would’ve made Cam see past the hurt.”
“But he wasn’t here. Neither were you. I was what Camden had, and I did my best for him.”
The planes on my face soften, and I take Pastor Floyd in. A man who took a lost boy in and tried to give him a life where suffering didn’t exist. I want to hate him, but I can’t any more than I can blame him.
“When Cam came to you, how bad was he?”
Grief washes over every part of his face, and I suck in a breath, the tremor in his hand crushing my heart further. He leans forward, and after opening a drawer, he shuffles through it and gives me a plain envelope.
“What is this?” I ask.
“You only know bits and pieces of Camden’s story, of why he left you and your family. You know he ran into his dad at the mall, and a few days later, he left. You know his dad left him money and asked him to take care of his mom, but that’s only a part of the story. Before he walked away from his dad, his dad slipped this letter into his jacket pocket. It took Camden three days of sleeping on that couch”—he points at the closed door, toward the couch I saw the boy sitting on when I first came in—“to read it. That was the first and only time I’ve ever seen him cry. He shut down after that.”
Toying with the sides of the envelope, I roll it over in my hand.
“Read it, Yanelys,” he urges. “Afterward, I’ll tell you about Haiti.”
I open the envelope and swallow the lump in my throat. My hands shake as I unfold the paper, and through wet lashes, I read the words that have haunted Camden for so long.
Camden,
I don’t know where to begin with you. I never have, and that falls on me and your mom. It’s our shortcoming, not yours. It’s our insecurities that we blamed you for.
This isn’t some sort of near-death revelation. I’ve known this for a long time, maybe since before you were born, and there have been many times in my life that I wanted to love you, but I couldn’t. Even now, as I near my death, I can’t love you.
But it’s not because of anything you did or didn’t do. Again, this is on me and your mom, our problems that you were born into.
You see, before your mom got pregnant with you, she cheated on me with my brother. It was a betrayal that went beyond what your mom had promised me when we got married because it involved my brother, my best friend, my fucking hero.
My brother wanted to take a paternity test and take care of you and your mom as his family, if you were really his. So, we did. Camden, you’re his son. Not mine. Never mine. But I took you anyway. I made your mom lie to him and live out the nightmare that was our home with a boy I couldn’t stand the sight of.
He would’ve been a better dad to you than I was. I’ve known that since the moment he laid his eyes on you at the hospital. He loved you even though I told him he wasn’t your father. I hated him for it. I hated you for tying the woman I loved with the man I hated.
I banned him from our lives, and every day, I punished you for sins you hadn’t committed. I lashed out at your mom for things she couldn’t take back. I should’ve let you both go, but sometimes, you fight your monsters for such a long time that you become a monster.
I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I don’t deserve it any more than I want it. Your mom, though, is as much of a victim as you are. Under different circumstances, she would’ve been an incredible mom. I robbed you both of that chance. I robbed my brother of that, too.
Don’t forgive me, Camden, but forgive your mom. Find your real dad, and make a life with him. He’ll help your mom. He’ll heal her. The three of you can hate me together while I spend eternity burning for my sins.
The letter wasn’t signed, but his dad left an address with the name Edward Riley.
Bile rises, burning my throat, as I fold the letter and carefully put it in my purse. Pastor Floyd opens his mouth, but I put a hand in the air, stopping him before he can speak. I can’t hear anymore. Not about Camden or about Haiti. On wobbly legs, I thank Pastor Floyd for his time and walk back out to my car. The sun beams down on me, warming me, as the hatred that Camden lived through trickles down my spine.
Some people are born fractured. I used to believe Camden wasn’t one of them. That he was born whole. Pure. And that life and its circumstances made him jagged. Intense.
It wasn’t until now, when I read the truth that had slipped carelessly from Herb’s fingers, that I learned Camden’s truth. Camden was born from hatred. He’s lived with that same hatred, and it’s splintered his version of reality so much that all he’s wanted to do was hide from it.
“Go wash up, Livvy,” I call from the stove as I pull the fish out of the oven.
Olivia runs into the kitchen and bounces on the heels of her feet. “Ita’s in there.”
I rustle her already unruly hair. “Then, use my bathroom.”
She spins twice before running to my bathroom with Nisa close behind her. I make Olivia’s plate, cutting up the fish and mixing it with the rice and vegetables, and when my mom steps into the kitc
hen, I lean my body onto a nearby wall.
“What will you do now?” my mom asks, having read and cried over the letter Camden had received so many years ago.
“I’m going to Carolina Beach. I want Cam to know that I know and that I’m going to stand by his side.”
Wrinkles deepen in the corners of my mom’s eyes when she smiles at me with a decisive nod. “Good. He needs you. And Livvy.”
“Livvy needs him, too.” I sigh. “I wish he had told me himself, but I guess it worked out better this way since he didn’t have to see me lose faith in him. I shouldn’t have done that.” I shake my head, repulsed with myself for giving up so quickly on Camden, who doesn’t have a bad bone in his body.
“You were surprised and disappointed. We all were.” My mom takes my hand and pulls me to her for a hug. “I knew you’d come around. You love that boy too much to let him go.”
My cheeks warm as a blush creeps up my neck, and I look at the floor to hide my smile.
I do love Camden. With every single beat, my heart loves him more and more. Despite what I thought earlier, our story isn’t over. We were robbed of several chapters, but this? This isn’t our end.
“I’m gonna go get Livvy,” I say, my thoughts still clouded. “Make sure she hasn’t started a flood in the bathroom.”
Not bothering to knock, I open the door to my bathroom and stumble toward Nisa when I see her chewing on a torn plastic wrapper. I look up at Olivia to ask why she let Nisa eat plastic when my heart stutters to a stop.
I fall to my knees in front of the toilet and push Olivia’s head over the rim. The small pill Olivia spit out when I walked in swirls down to the pit of the toilet, and I shove a finger down her throat, making her gag. Not understanding, Olivia squirms in my firm hold while I scream for my mom.
My tears trickle down and soak the back of Olivia’s head as I coax her to vomit, wanting her to get rid of whatever poison she swallowed. Our bodies tremble together, feeling the pain of Camden’s destruction.
TWENTY-SIX
CAMDEN
Sleep evades me, and with nothing to numb the pain, my emotions swim inside me, suffocating me. For the first time in years, I feel the pain of everything I’ve lost and the joy Yanelys brings that I don’t deserve.
With the pounding in my head worsening, I lie in my sweat-soaked bed and wait. Wait for the aching to stop, for the nausea to subside, for the remnants of my sins to cycle through. I wait to feel human again.
Restless, I tug the sheets off my heated flesh and shove it aside until it hangs off the bed. A disarrayed quiet settles on the bright walls and all that I hear is what’s going on inside of me. My heart pulses, each thump echoing in my hypersensitive ears. My breaths come out as needy whispers as the orange embers of the falling sun pour through my open window.
I close my heavy eyelids and sigh as I kick my feet off the bed, knowing sleep will continue to elude me.
I’ve fallen apart several times in the past forty-eight hours. Each minute that ticks by is another minute I get closer to crumbling. I feel it, the desperation growing inside my bones. But every time I’ve wanted to give up, Santiago has been there to build me back up. He refuses to leave me, so I refuse to run away.
Instead, I’m embracing the pain because he says it’s a reminder that I’m alive. That I’m a survivor. The dull hollowness I sought through drugs still pulls at me, reminding me that with emotional pain, less is more when more becomes too much, but I’m fighting it.
God, I’m fighting it, fighting myself, fighting the mess I created.
I rub my tired eyes and then run my hands over the stubble on my face. The constant cycle of wanting to fight and wanting to give in makes my head swim, so I turn to the notebook Santiago gave me, and I sit on the edge of my bed to write the words troubling my heart, etched in my soul.
But, right now, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, I tap the pen to the paper, unable to form a single word.
My hand shakes, and my mind threatens to slip me away into a frenzied panic. I scribble the only words that bring me peace.
Yanelys Sanchez + Camden Riley = 4-ever
So many times in our past, Yanelys doodled the very same words, and like her, I encircle it with a heart. A hopeful smile forms on my lips, but I startle when my door bursts open.
Addled eyes, large in their resentment, settle on me seconds before Santiago jumps on top of me, pushing us off the bed. We land with a hard thud on the wooden floors, and Santiago’s heated screams fill my ear as he holds his hands in tight fists that rain their torment over my face
My nose erupts in pain and blood, and while I don’t know why Santiago’s hitting me, I let him, somehow knowing I deserve it. I don’t wince in pain or block his assailing fists because I can’t. I’ve been hit, beaten, and abused countless times, and I never fought back out of fear.
But, this time, it’s different. I’m not scared of Santiago, just unable to fight the man I idolize. I bite back the adrenaline coursing through my veins so that I don’t lose my temper with him. Instead, I watch him lose control. And my soul shatters pain with every hit.
With the same silence as when he stormed into my room, he pushes himself off of me and surveys me as I lie still on the floor. His hands run across his face, his shallow breaths wheezing out of his lungs.
“You did this.” Acid drips from his lips, and he points a shaky hand at me before he stomps off.
Santiago leaves the door open, and I can hear him slamming the pantry doors in the kitchen. Unmoving, I stare at the ceiling, the never-ending pathetic show of my life playing in slow motion in my mind.
I want to feel betrayed, to be angry with Santiago, but I know who I am. Gently lifting myself from the hard floor, I go to the bathroom and wash my face, spitting blood into the sink a couple of times before I leave. Testing my jaw, I open my mouth and click it. Disgusted, I turn away from the mirror and the swelling starting to show on my face. Emotions churn inside me, but I push them aside and leave my room to look for Santiago, whom I find outdoors, putting his small suitcase in his car.
I don’t know what’s happening, but whatever it is, I know I deserve it.
“What’s going on?” I ask, making him turn to face me.
Wild eyes roam over me, finally seeing me for who I am.
“I tried to help you, Cam.” He shakes his head.
My eyes dart to my bare feet.
“I gave you pills to help you get through until you could get clean.” He steps forward.
Anger rolls off of him like a crushing tidal wave, and I drown in it.
“You lied to me! Now, Livvy’s in the hospital because you—”
Advancing on him, I grab his arm, squeezing tighter than I intended. “Livvy?” The world tilts and spins, and my hold on Santiago hardens.
He growls, his eyes meeting mine, “She found the pills you’d hidden in Yan’s bathroom. Livvy swears that she didn’t take any, but Yan’s taking her to the hospital because she walked in to see her little girl spitting out one of your pills into the toilet.”
Relief floods me, and I close my eyes. “Good.” I sigh. “That’s good.”
Santiago pushes me away from him, and I stumble on the steps behind me that lead to the house.
“Not good, Camden!” he shouts in my face. “What would’ve happened—”
“It didn’t happen,” I cut him off again, desperation taking over me. “It didn’t happen. She’s okay. She’s okay. Livvy’s okay,” I repeat, letting the words wash over me like a balm.
“Stay away from us.”
Angry, hateful eyes look past me, his decision already made. My head grows dizzy, and the world around me distorts as realization hits me.
I lost them. I lost them. I fucking lost them.
I swallow, my life in ruins by my own hands, and watch Santiago walk around his car and open the door on the driver’s side.
“No!” I run to him and close the door he just opened. “You can’t leave me here!”
/>
“The hell I can’t,” he spits his words at me.
“Please, Santiago, take me back with you. Just to see Livvy.” The threat of tears blurs my vision so I turn my face down. “And to say good-bye to Yan.”
Our eyes meet, and when he nods his agreement, tears spill from behind my eyes. For the first time in seven years, I cry, dampening my exhausted heart.
Just as the automatic hospital doors open for us, I spot Yanelys and Olivia leaving the emergency room. Olivia’s eyes immediately find Santiago and me, and she rushes to us, leaving her mom trailing behind.
After hugging and kissing Santiago, she leaps into my arms, and I hold her close, rubbing her back in comforting circles.
“I’m okay, Cam,” she says, pulling away so that she can put her small hands on my face. “Nisa and I thought they were candy, but it tasted so bad that I spit it out, and I’m okay.”
“That’s good, sweet girl.” My eyes lift and meet Yanelys’s hurt eyes.
She offers me a gentle smile that I can’t return, so I ignore it and focus on holding Olivia, committing her to memory so that I can keep her with me for the rest of my lonely eternity.
“Nisa had to go to the vet because she ate a lot of them. Ita’s with her, but she says Nisa’s going to be okay, too.”
My stomach clenches, knowing how quickly my selfish acts could’ve destroyed the family I love. The family I don’t deserve and was never meant for me.
Everything seems out of place, out of focus. Lost without a clear vision, I take in a greedy breath, my hope disappearing with every second that brings me to my last good-bye.
“I’m glad you’re both okay.”
I offer her a smile, but already, I feel the stupid tears welling in the back of my eyes, so I put Olivia down and stand up.
“Livvy, why don’t you go with Tito? I’ll meet you at our house in a bit,” Yanelys whispers, her eyes searching mine.
Yanelys pats Olivia’s head and then kneels down to give her a hug before my little girl spins two enthusiastic circles and takes Santiago’s hand, who leads them to his car. I bite my bottom lip, watching her leave without being able to give her another hug.