Camden by Shey Stahl

 

“Camden!” I scream, holding my stomach and sobbing into my hands.

Lying on the ground in the living room, Camden’s head turns at the sound of my voice, his bloody face causing me to gasp at the sight. I hadn’t realized he’d been hit that much, but the cut from the window is deep. He needs stitches and his face is swollen, his chest, mouth, and hands are bleeding and I know he’s in trouble.

“I hate you!” I scream at Tiller, holding a towel Shade hands me to the side of Camden’s head.

When Roan, who tackled Tiller, lets him up, he looks at me, sighs, and then walks away. Like nothing happened.

Tears soak my face, my breaths turn to panicked gasps as I stare at Camden. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes for as long as I live. Drowning, broken and betrayed. The worst part, he let him do this. He never once fought back. “Why didn’t you fight back?”

“It’s okay,” he cries when I help him up, never breaking eye contact. His mouth is bleeding down his chin but it’s nothing compared to his expression. Every ragged breath he takes shakes his entire body as do the tears on his face. “It’s okay, Riv.”

I stare at his face. It’s not okay. He’s turned it all off.

It’s not okay.

He’s not okay.

“I’ll take him to the ER,” Roan says, helping Camden hold a towel to his face. He stumbles, unable to keep his footing. “I can’t stay here or I’m going to kill him,” he snaps, motioning to Tiller who’s pacing the kitchen, his hands gripping the back of his head.

“Okay. Camden, go with him.” I kiss his forehead, fighting tears, but Camden won’t look at me. This broke him.

Completely.

Forever.

His shoulders shake as he drops his head forward, silently crying.

“Can you walk?” Roan asks, holding onto him.

Camden nods, but no words.

I hate Tiller in that moment. Maybe forever, too. I don’t know if this is forgivable.

Moments later, I’m standing in the foyer, my hands and shirt covered in blood.

“Is he okay?” Tiller asks from behind me.

Turning to face him, I give him a death glare. I’m shaking, crying, unable to answer him. I swallow, gather courage. “No. He needs stitches and who knows what else.”

He stares at me, blinking slowly, his eyes a million miles away. I remember this look.

One of my first memories of my dad is him doing a line. Crazy, right? Not to me, because that proves just how crazy and self-destructive he is. I don’t know when I saw it, but I remember the aftermath. Amberly disappointed in him. I wasn’t old enough to understand that humans fuck up. We say we won’t, work hard not to, go to rehab, but we don’t always stick to it. It’s not always easy and for Tiller, it’s a life-long battle of addiction and demons he tries to ignore.

Tiller moves to sit down on the couch, his head down, cradled in his hands.

I step toward him, ready to show him he might be the Wild Cat, but I’m fucking savage and he’s about to witness it at its finest. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” My words spill out before I can control their tone, and they sound desperate and weak.

“Your dad, River,” he growls, the darkness in his eyes drowning him. My dad, he’s scary. And now, I see what others have seen on his bad days. A man consumed in a rage, a madness even he doesn’t understand. A need to destroy.

“How can you not know? The way he looked at you, the way he’s always followed you. It’s always been about making you proud of him. It’s you. That’s what he sought out the most because he thought he had to earn your respect. How could you have taken advantage of that?”

“What exactly do you want to hear?” he asks, the hard edge of his anger returning. “That I fucked up? That I didn’t mean to hurt him? What?”

I want to drive my fist into his face. My hand shakes, I clench and think about it, but it won’t get me anywhere. He wouldn’t allow it. But it doesn’t stop the need. The want to destroy like he’s done.

“I hate you,” I growl, tears rolling down my red cheeks and to my chin. They drip and descend. I can’t help it. I can’t even stop it. “I hate you so much.”

Tiller’s jaw works back and forth, his eyes narrowing in on me. “I told you so many times to stay away from him. Why couldn’t you have just listened? Why couldn’t you have told me the truth when I asked you if something was going on?”

“That’s not for you to decide. I bet Uncle Roan told you to stay away from Ophelia, too, didn’t he?”

His once-angry expression turns livid and he sucks in a breath. “That’s none of your fucking business, River.”

I laugh in his face and reach for my bag on the floor. “But it is, because this is you, isn’t it? Still fucking up relationships fifteen years later.”

His face crumbles, but he rearranges it quicker than I expect. His stance shifts, shoulders sagging, and he stares at the ground, shaking his head slowly. He sucks in a strangled breath.

Did it work? Did I break him finally? Because in this second, where I’m falling apart and ready to be swallowed whole, I want to hurt my dad. I want him to experience this unbearable pain he’s caused. But I get nothing in turn. He walks away from me, leaving me with the unchangeable truth. He’s weak.

I lean into the wall, my body sagging as I slide down it, the emotions catching up with me.

I should have told him.