Beautiful Downfall
Scarlett Jade
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have so many people to thank. I would first and foremost like to thank my husband and my son for supporting me, eating mac and cheese too many nights while this was written. Thank you for loving me and supporting me. My heart is so full with your love. You two make my world go round.
Next, thank you to the adorable Caiti from http://vampysramblings.wordpress.com/ for helping me through this book. Your support was amazing and I am forever grateful.
Many many thank yous to my friend B, who also helped me edit and demanded that a very special scene not be removed from the book. Thank you for loving me.
Next, I would like to give a shout out to the real life Tassels... You all mean the world to me, each and every one of you hold a huge piece of my heart. I am grateful for your friendship and love. Thank you.
Thank you to everyone who told me I could never do this. Without your lack of support, I would have never found my inner candle and started shining all by myself. You know who you are.
Finally, thank you to each and every one of you who have supported me. You all mean the world to me.
Part One – Them
Chapter One – Desire
The sky was blue. Not just blue, but this glorious, agonizingly perfect robin's egg blue, shot through with cotton candy soft white clouds. The sun lent a golden glimmer to the world, as if offering perfect rose tinted glasses. Everything just looked better. Waves of sapphire and turquoise crashed into the sand that glimmered with diamonds. ...This is how it always starts... Her breath caught in her throat. She could feel the wind against her skin, bringing goosebumps up along her arms. Then he was there. He just appeared, just like he always did.
“Hello, Camille.” His greeting was effortless and warm, just like he was. He sat down in the sand beside her, stretching his legs out and curling his toes in the warm sand. She could feel the heat radiating off of his tanned skin, just as sure as she could feel the sun's rays heating her. He turned to look at her, his dark eyes melting any resistance she ever had. His beautiful lips tipped up, but only on one corner, a dimple digging into the gorgeous skin there. A part of her longed to touch him there, to kiss him there. But she wouldn't dare. She never did. “You are still here.” It wasn't a question. She nodded sadly. He smiled again, this time completely, stunning her with his beauty. “How much longer will you wait for me?” He touched her hand, his fingertip warm and feather soft. She shivered helplessly.
“I don't know,” she whispered softly. It was an honest answer.
He shook his head pessimistically and murmured, “You can't wait on me forever.” His eyes penetrated her, digging into her secrets. A part of her wanted to bare everything to him, right down to her bones.
She took in a shaky breath. “Why not? I like this fantasy world.”
He smiled and kept stroking the top of her hand with one fingertip. “Because you can't, even though I'd love nothing more.” His eyes went even darker, if that was possible. Is there a color past onyx? She absentmindedly wondered. He scooted closer so their arms touched. She shivered involuntarily at the heat along her side. He never touched her this much; he always kept his distance.
“Why not? Because you can't isn't a valid reason. I don't like being told what I can and can't do.” She knew she was pouting and couldn't stop the look on her face.
He brushed his thumb over her lower lip, his eyes darkening further in their intensity. Her tongue slipped out before she could stop it to wet her lips and it happened to graze his thumb. He pulled back and grinned, the chain he always wore with a cross on it jingling as he moved. “Because I'm no good for you.”
Her breath hitched. So much for calm, cool, and collective. “But why? What if I want this anyway?”
He ran a hand through his sun streaked brown hair. “Because, Camille, you don't even know me.” He was brooding now, and his petulant face was begging to be kissed.
“But I want to.” She pouted again. “I want to know everything. I wish you would just stay with me, just once.” She knew he would leave her. He always did.
He turned his eyes on her again, and they shimmered so brightly that her eyes crossed, his pupils were barely distinguishable in the sunlight. “I'd love nothing more, Camille. One day I will come to you. It will be just like this.” He held his hand out, gesturing to the beach and the water. “And when I do, you'll finally be ready for me, and I'll be ready for you. Until then, you have to do everything in your power to live to the fullest. I want that for you. I want you to experience... everything.” He breathed.
“I've experienced enough. And I know what I want. I want you to stay with me and this dream play out for once. I don't understand why you leave me every time.” She whispered, grabbing his wrist, begging him to stay.
He eased up from the sand, pulling her up with him. “Cami, you know I'd love nothing more.” He touched her face, his fingers tangling in her soft dark hair. She quivered in anticipation.
“Please, stay with me.” Desperation seeped into her voice.
“It's not time yet, Camille.” He leaned in slowly. Her eyes crossed again from focusing on his mouth. He would stop, just like he always did. He always left her wanting. His mouth stopped a fraction of an inch from hers. She could feel the tickle of his breath and the rasp of his soft lower lip as he whispered, “Promise me you'll go experience life.”
“I... I promise.” She choked out. But what if I don't want to?
He leaned back slowly and smiled, stunning her again. “Goodbye, Camille.” Just as soon as he had appeared, he was gone, a puff of salty breeze the only sign he'd ever been there.
Her eyes flicked open and tears ran down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around her middle and sobbed. She knew he wouldn't come back. He'd never said goodbye before. There was a finality to that word. Goodbye. She'd been dragging this out now for months. He had been coming less often. When he first came, it was every night. Then when she didn't obey and start branching her life out and digging out of this pit of misery, he spread it to twice a week. She didn't want to live. He started only coming once a week. She didn't obey. He hadn't been to see her in a month now and she knew... He wouldn't be back, not anymore.
Maybe he'd decided she was too damaged and couldn't be saved. Maybe he was right. What sucked the most was that he was the beautifully sculpted angel-ghost man of her dreams that made life worth living and she didn't even know his name.
Chapter Two – Dejected
She woke to the dawn filtering in between the wooden slats of her mini blinds. She groaned and touched her throat, wincing at the pain. Crying had made her throat ache, even though she cried every night in her dreams. You'd think she'd be used to it by now, but she never was. Pushing herself up she swung her legs over the side of the bed until her toes touched the cold wooden floor. She shivered and pushed her wild dark hair out of her face. A lump was in the pit of her stomach. Today she had to see the psychiatrist the doctor had recommended. She had put her off now for two weeks, feeling sorry as hell for herself, doing nothing but lolling around and watching shitty movies in bed since he'd left. No amount of wishing had brought him back.
Forcing herself up from sitting, she padded across the floor to the bathroom and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her face was an oil slick and her hair wasn't much better. You could probably run a car with all the oil she had produced. She couldn't remember the last time she had showered. She just didn't care. But today, she would care, even if it was just a little. She had to. He obviously wasn't coming back and she enjoyed the delirious happiness he brought when he came. She was addicted, so getting off her ass was in order to strive for another fix of him.
Sh
e pulled her pajamas off, wincing at the smell of her armpits. It was a lot like when someone runs through some wild onions while cutting grass mixed with trash. Disgusting. She looked at the laundry basket and carefully balanced the pajamas on the pile of clothes that had spilled out of it. I really will do laundry at some point.
Stepping into the shower, she shivered as she waited for the water to warm up. It seemed to always take forever in her house. She stepped under the spray and let the water beat down on her shoulders. It had been six months today. Six months since her parents died in a terrible car crash. They had been picking her up from college, and bringing her home for Christmas. Dad had been wearing this incredibly embarrassing Christmas sweater that had a flashing red light for Rudolph's nose. He insisted on everyone drinking hot cocoa he had brought in a Thermos and singing Christmas carols the whole way home. Mom had been laughing at his rendition of Frosty the Snowman, which sounded a lot like a bad Elvis impersonator. He loved Christmas. He had always made it special for us. Her eyes squeezed closed at the memory. He was driving with one hand, holding his cup of cocoa in the other and was looking at Mom with a twinkle in his eye when they'd hit the patch of black ice. By the time he was able to react, it was just too late. “He was going too fast,” the police said. “He wasn't paying attention,” they said. She could still remember the feel of hot cocoa splashing all over her. She turned the water temperature down to stop the memories. But the memories didn't stop. They never did, no matter what.
She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to block out the next thoughts that flashed through her mind. She could still see the wreckage. She could smell the blood in the air, the brake fluid and oil dripping from the engine. Her father's face was decimated, he'd hit the steering wheel so hard. His airbag didn't deploy. Turned out there was a recall and he'd been meaning to get it fixed for months. His brain hemorrhaged and he'd died in minutes. Doctors told her it was a blessing he probably didn't feel much; the impact took care of that. What a fucking blessing.
Mom was coherent for a few minutes after impact, but a tree branch had gone through the windshield and speared her in the chest. Camille vaguely remembered that she had unbuckled herself and was pressing both hands to the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood pouring out of her mother. Mom had begged her to take care of herself. Told her that she loved her and told her goodbye. She'd never be able to shake her mother's eyes glassing over as she took her last breath. That was when she started screaming uncontrollably. First responders said that's how they found her, screaming for every breath she took until she could scream no more. She hadn't been able to talk for days after the accident. There she'd sat in the back of the SUV, alive while her parents had died. They told her it was a miracle she was alive, she had walked away with only cuts and bruises. It had been a miracle she hadn't gotten frostbite either, in the sub zero temperatures. The doctors couldn't explain that one. And she guessed, for someone else, it would be a miracle to be alive. But her parents had been her only family left. She was alone in the world. The only thing keeping her sane was this damn gorgeous man in her dreams. Pathetic! She slapped her hand against the green tile of the shower. The dull ache that radiated up her hand helped with the deep numbness in her chest.
After the accident, a few of her friends from college had come by, bringing snacks and movies, but they had never really cared, only talking about the latest boy of the moment and wanting her to come back and get back to her “real life”. Finally she had screamed at them, “My real life fucking died. Don't you get that?” They never came back. She was too damaged and psychotic.
She shuddered and fought bile back in her throat. Her psychiatrist said she had PTSD and hopefully it would pass. “Just take antidepressants.” They made her feel worse, so she didn't fill the scripts anymore. It was getting better. She felt it. She was tired of standing still and living in the past. Her angel-ghost had helped with that. That was the only explanation she had for him. Maybe he was her guardian angel or some trapped soul. Maybe she'd tell Miss Hoity Toity Psychiatrist that when she saw her today. Maybe not. She'd probably push more drugs at her, telling her she was finally losing it. Hell, maybe I am.
She grabbed the bar of soap and her loofah and started scrubbing herself down, paying particular attention to the overgrown patches of stink that her armpits had become. Smearing shaving cream under her arms, she quickly shaved them. She looked down at her legs and decided to shave them too. It had been too long. So she lathered them up and carefully worked on them until they were satiny smooth. She looked at the head of the razor. The blades were jammed with hairs. “Shit, well that razor is done for.” She reached around the shower curtain and tossed it toward the pink trash can. Sliding her arm back in, she grabbed her shampoo, squirted a large blob of the floral scented shampoo in her hand and scrubbed her head vigorously. She rinsed the suds out then put a little conditioner through her hair before rinsing that as well. Turning off the water, she stepped out of the shower and realized she had no clean towels. “Damn!” she muttered under her breath. She found a towel that hadn't been abused too badly and dried herself quickly. Standing naked in front of the mirror, she looked at her body. She'd lost at least twenty pounds since... Well. Then. She turned to the side and frowned. Okay, maybe thirty. She'd definitely lost her freshman fifteen and was bordering on the tiniest she'd been since puberty. Her boobs were definitely depressing, all of her bras were way too loose. She hated being this thin, it made her look barely sixteen, and she was twenty-one now. She had actually missed her birthday in April. It wasn't like she had friends to go out with anymore, and she had never been the type to get wasted, especially not now.
I need to shop for some normal clothes. Maybe I'll go into a store after my appointment, she told herself, and actually meant it this time. I wonder what he would like me to wear... or not wear... Shaking herself out of her fantasy land, she found sweatpants that were clean and had a drawstring and a tee shirt that didn't quite look like a tent. Who cares that she bought it at Disney Land when she was twelve. It fit, but was just a little too short. She had nothing else really to wear that was clean. She brushed her long hair out as it dried. Her hair was thin and soft, she'd been told she had baby hair. It was hard to keep under control, but she tried. Tying it back in a pony tail, she slipped flip flops on at the door, grabbed her purse and keys, and left the house.
She'd gotten the house after Mom and Dad had died. She also got a $1 million dollar life insurance policy. She was pretty much set for life, the lawyers had told her, as long as she didn't get too crazy with the money. So she didn't. She hadn't bought anything except maybe food since they had died, that and this rattletrap old Buick. It was the ancestor of granny cars, baby blue with cracked pleather seats inside. It ran. It was cheap. She didn't want to spend what she felt was blood money. It was something she was working on getting over. Really. One step at a time.
She opened the door of the Buick and it squealed in protest. “Too bad, we are going out Bertha,” she muttered. Yes, she named the car Bertha. It suited the bitch of a car, just like the bitch of a car suited her. She pulled the door closed and Bertha squealed out her protest at that too. She jammed the key in the ignition. She was going to be late, late, late, just like usual. Her psychiatrist would push her glasses down her nose and give her that look that made her feel just like she was back in elementary school.
She shuddered and yelled, “Come on, big Bertha. Start!” She always kind of felt like Harry Potter doing a crappy spell trying to get the damn car to work. Bertha didn't like being turned on, but she'd drive forever, as long as you didn't shut her back off. Probably a bad battery she'd been told by the 'well meaning' neighbor while he ogled her breasts. Who cares. She drives. Most of the time, she thought with a huff.
Finally, after calling Bertha everything but her given name and even beating on the dash in frustration, she started with a bang. Literally. Smoke came out the tail pipe. The neighbor had told her that was possibly an oil leak. She re
ally wanted to flip the neighbor off one of these days... but it was too much energy. Nosy asshole didn't even bother to come by after... she shook her head. Don't come by and try to hit on me now that your girlfriend is gone. I may not have had sex in a year and might be depressed, but I'm not screwing you.
Throwing Bertha in reverse, she backed down the driveway and carefully into the street. She drove five miles below the speed limit. Her seat belt was strapped down so tight she couldn't wiggle, even if she wanted to, which she didn't. Want to, that is. She was safe. She rolled into the psychiatrist's parking lot only two minutes late, her own personal record. Good job, Camille! She patted herself on the back mentally. Throwing Bertha into park, she turned her off and jumped out of the car. She trotted to the door and opened it with a smile. Today is gonna be a good day. I'm determined to make it that way.
Chapter Three – Danger
Staying away from Camille was the hardest thing he ever had to do. It was like being told to give up air or water. You've got it bad, man. He kept himself busy through the day, doing what he could, where he could to keep away from her. He had to, she was becoming too dependent on seeing him. Hell, I am just as dependent on seeing her. She had to branch out and let herself heal, then he could complete her transition and leave her life. She'd never know he'd been there, but she'd be complete again. She'd be whole and alone. Shit.
It was just part of his job. He helped people deal with their grief. It was something he was good at in this life, although technically he just went through the motions and looked the part during people's dreams. He'd done a lot of bad things in the past and got into a fix that got him killed. He'd been twenty-three. His boss had given him a second chance, nurturing the good in him and spending time with him. He had potential. He'd been doing this now for the past six and a half years. He'd moved up the ranks quickly becoming one of the best in the field, but he was fucking everything up now.
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