224. Bleeding Through

Warning: coarse language, nudity, adult situations

Monte Vista, Present Day...

The sound of a door banging shut somewhere beyond the walls of his hotel suite jolted Cameron out of a deep slumber, snapping the fragile thread between reality and his dreams.

He pulled the silky bed covers tightly over his head in an effort to go back to sleep, back to his dreams because for once they were perfect, not troubled like they had been for the past few months. But after a while of trying to trick his mind to switch off (and failing), he finally gave up and kicked the blankets away.

He turned onto his side and he almost panicked when he saw Michaela sleeping peacefully beside him.  She'd spent the night in his bed before. But not like this. Not after something as major as this. And he had no idea how to feel or what to do.

After his relationship with Sylvia fell to pieces, he'd made it a point of getting out of bed before his playmates; he didn't want or need the attachment and clinginess that comes with the morning after. He'd hated cuddling. Hated all the stuff his fuck buddies had wanted to do after sex, the sharing of feelings and spooning and what not.  Until now. Until Michaela. He desperately wanted that with her, but he had no idea if she felt the same way.

Unsure about the next course action, Cameron decided to stick to his side of the bed and wait for Michaela to wake up.

For a while he just lay there, staring at her, marveling at her features.  He really missed her long black hair, missed running his hands through her luscious locks. The new, edgier style suited her, no doubt. But the short length made her look a lot more vulnerable, making him all the more protective towards her.

He gently trailed his fingers on the tattoo on her left shoulder, careful not to wake her up. The ink still looked fresh, like it hadn't dried yet; he half expected to find it on the tips of his fingers as he turned them over.

Michaela was always a little unconventional, always choosing the most outrageous ways to express herself, so he wasn't at all surprised that she’d gotten inked. But he knew the tattoo was much more than just a fashion statement, the birds breaking free from their cage were symbolic of the closure she’d so desperately needed, a way to assert herself and take back the power Joshua had stolen from her.

Joshua. Cameron's mood darkened just thinking about him. 

Michaela’s fledgling had robbed them of three months of happiness, three whole fucking months they’d never get back. 

If he could, Cameron would have brought the bastard back to life just to kill him again. A part of him was glad J.D. and Krimsyn had taken care of business. But another part, one he didn’t like to acknowledge exists, felt cheated. Joshua should have been his kill, and by hiring a hit man, Michaela’s parents had robbed him of a chance to find closure. 

Suddenly, he needed a fucking drink. Thinking about Joshua always made him want to drink. But it was just after 5 am.

“Fuck that shit, its midday somewhere,” he muttered as he got out of bed and threw on his pants before he reached for the bottle on the coffee table.  It wasn’t his usual brand of Vodka, but it would have to do. There were clean glasses somewhere, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t be bothered to look for one.

He uncapped the bottle and brought it to his lips. He took a long gulp and swirled the bitter liquid around his mouth, savoring the taste as it ripped down his throat, and imploded in his stomach.

He’d downed half the bottle before he realized drinking himself into a stupor wouldn’t take care of the hunger gnawing at him. Michaela would. He wanted her. Badly.

She’d awakened something carnal in him last night, and no matter how many times he’d taken her, he could never get enough of her. Even now, as he watched her sleeping form, entangled in his sheets, the sweet scent of their lovemaking still lingering on her skin, he could feel the familiar ache. He had an intense urge to go back to bed and take her right there, while she was still half asleep. But he knew acting on his impulses would only end in one of two ways: Michaela screaming for joy. Or Michaela running out of his bed, never to return to him.

The idea of her walking out on him again filled him with an anxiety so intense it killed the beginnings of his hard on. It made him feel weak and impotent. Something he'd never experienced before.

He felt restless, suddenly, and the last place he wanted to be was in that damn room, surrounded by all his fears and uncertainties, haunted by memories of ghosts they both couldn't forget. 

He needed to get out of there. Think. Breathe. But he couldn't leave her alone in his bed. Not after last night. Especially not after last night.  Not when she might misunderstand his absence when she did eventually wake up.

With nothing else to do and nowhere to go, he took another swig at the bottle. This time he didn't set it down until it was bone dry and his insides felt like lava.

With the task of getting drunk before 6:00am accomplished, Cameron headed for the bathroom. The warm water did wonders for his aching muscles, but it did nothing to soothe his mind.

In the bathroom silence, away from last night's subtle reminders scattered around his bed, he finally confronted the truth he'd been avoiding since he woke up:  he loved Michaela but, he was furious with her for walking out on him. For taking Joshua's poison and making it hers and hers alone when they were supposed to be a couple and share everything. He was furious with her for denying him the chance to help her heal. He understood she was going through stuff, and hurting and needed to do things on her own terms. But, he was hurting too. And he'd needed her as much as he'd wanted to be needed by her.

In the harsh coldness of this impersonal bathroom, away from Michaela and their tangled sheets and the bittersweet scent of their passionate night still lingering in the air, away from the dreams he didn't dare to dream yet, or the hopes he didn't want to have just yet because he had no idea where he stood with her, he was brave enough to acknowledge his grief and rage.

In the stifling warmth of the shower cubicle, where tons of babies had been conceived, where relationships began and some ended, where promises were made and vows were broken, it was the only place he felt safe enough to acknowledge he was all kinds of messed up, and the moment he stepped out of the shower he’d have to leave all his baggage behind. He couldn’t let Michaela see how, months after she’d cut him open, he was still bleeding through. She had enough guilt as it was to last her a lifetime, and laying it all on her now would be unfair.

Ten minutes later, when he walked out of the bathroom Michaela was still snoring away.

As he threw on his clothes, his stomach grumbled loudly, reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything since his flight the previous morning; he figured it might be just as long for Michaela too.

He was about to call for room service when he decided against it, the less people knew Michaela was with him, the better.  The last thing he wanted was a gossip hungry hotel employee speaking to Dirt magazine and cheapening his night with her.

He kissed her lightly on the cheek before he grabbed his wallet from the night stand and headed out.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting from the coffee-shop downstairs, seduced him the moment he stepped off the elevator.

At just after 7 am, the place was dead except for a smattering of patrons scattered around the room. They paid him no mind when he walked in, choosing instead to focus all their attention on their skinny lattes and croissants and the depressing news, fresh off the printing mill, spread out in front of them. 

The waitress though more than made up for their lack of enthusiasm. She flirted up a storm with him while he waited for his order.

And she wouldn't let him leave until he agreed to pose for a selfie with her.

Michaela was gone when he returned to his room a little while later. 

All his fears and insecurities boomeranged all around him as he stared at the empty bed. He’d obviously pushed her too far, too soon last night. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He cussed under his breath, thinking, wondering what he should do next. 

But then the bathroom door opened, and he felt like the wind had been knocked right out of him as a surge of relief, unlike anything he’d ever felt before, rushed through him.

“Hi; I used your toothbrush, I hope you don’t mind?” Michaela smiled wanly as she resumed her place on the bed. She was wearing his shirt, the one he’d worn the day before. He was pretty sure it smelled awful, but if it did, she didn’t seem to mind. 

"Did you have a good rest?" He asked, as he handed her the coffee and sandwich bag. 

"I did. Thanks." She nodded her head, looking at everything but him. She seemed uneasy, like she’d rather be someplace else. It wasn't a good sign.

“I need to go home,” she carried on, sounding more and more like a stranger.

Cameron didn’t like this polite dance, the tiptoeing around each other; he wasn’t familiar with the steps. But Michaela seemed well in her element. She carried on, going through the motions, completely sidestepping the real issue, and doing a damn good job of avoiding eye contact.

Her stubbornness, her silent refusal to acknowledge what had transpired between them pissed him off; he couldn’t keep the lid on his frustration anymore.

"Look at me," he roared at her, stunning them both with the amount of anger in his words.

Michaela flinched away from him and pulled the covers in front of her. That small gesture, her need to shield herself from him, cut him deeper than any blade, and he wanted to reach for her and hold her, and tell her she had no reason to be afraid of him, he’d never hurt her no matter how angry he was with her. But from the tight way she held herself, he could tell any advances on his part wouldn’t be well received. So he walked away and kept himself busy with his coffee.

“I’m sorry.” he said after a short burst of silence.

"I should get the morning after pill!" Michaela finally acknowledged the elephant in the room, completely ignoring his apology.

All the anger that had welled up in him just moments before dissolved, and his features softened. He turned and stared at her, wondering how he could have completely misread the signals. Her jumpiness and lack of eye contact weren’t about him at all.  She was petrified. And rightly so. They should have been more careful. He should have known better,after all he had more experience in that department.

"I think I have to take it within 72 hours. I don't want to fall pregnant!" She carried on, filling up the awkward silence as best as she could.

He had no idea what to say, he’d never been confronted with something like this in the past. So he did the only thing he thought was right, he took out a few notes from his wallet and held them out to her.

 "What are you doing?" Michaela asked. Cold fury burned hot in her eyes as she finally looked at him.

 "I thought you said you wanted to get the morning after pill?"

"I’m not one of your whores, Cameron! I don't want your fucking money!" She hissed as she slapped his hand away.

"Then what do you want?" He barked at her, matching her violent outburst, he was thoroughly confused by her reaction; all he wanted to do was to help her get the damn morning after pill.

"I don't know-I thought we could talk, but when I woke up and you were not here. I thought you were gone-"

"Walking out is your style, not mine!" The moment the words were out, he wanted to take them back, but it was too late, his anger had found its mark.

"I'm sorry," she cried in her hands.

 "What for?" He was willing to let it go, forget the whole thing and maybe start this whole morning over, but since she'd already started down this road, he thought they might as well go all the way. 

"For walking out on you. I know that’s what this is about. You are angry with me.  I can feel it. I can see it in your eyes too.  I never meant to hurt you, but I had to leave Bridgeport. I wasn't in a good place and I wasn’t good for you!" 

"That was my choice to make, not yours! You should have let me decide if you were good for me or not!" The bitterness he’d been carrying around since she’d left him was back full force.

And from there things just took a nosedive. Accusations. Explanations. Blames. Excuses. They ran the full cycle, highballing through their rage.

Michaela explained she didn't want to poison him with her pain and self-loathing. And Cameron kept insisting it wasn't her choice alone to make.

They went around in circles, screaming at each other about everything except the one thing that mattered - their night together.

Finally reduced to tears, Michaela backed down. They were skating dangerously close to the edge, and if she stuck around, she knew they’d both say things they could never take back. So she rapidly made her way to the door, not caring at all that she was under-dressed and looked a hot mess. 

Cameron couldn't watch her walk away. Not again. Not this time. Especially after last night. So he did the one thing he hoped would make her stay.

"Coward!" He hissed in her direction.

Michaela froze, her back turned to him. Her hand hovered on the door handle. Half in, half out. 

And he sat there, waiting, watching her shoulders tremble violently from the tears she was trying so damn hard to hold inside.

"Go ahead, run, that's what you do best isn't it?" He pushed a little more, taking a huge gamble, the stakes were too high, things could go either way, but he had to try. Go all in or don't play at all. That's how it always was with her, two extremes, never a middle ground.

She turned from the door, her eyes dark like the ocean on a stormy day.

“I’m a coward?” She demanded as she walked towards him, her movements screaming indignation and hurt feelings.

She stopped in front of him. Exactly where he wanted her. He pulled her down, she tried to resist, but his iron grasp on her wrists was much stronger, she collapsed on top of him, her lips hovering dangerously close to his.

He didn’t give her time to think and react; he swooped down on her, his mouth gliding smoothly over hers in a searing kiss.

“You think I’m a coward, huh?” Her voice trembled against his lips. “What about you? You think I can’t see that you’re afraid?."

“I’m not afraid he growled as he traced his tongue lightly along her jaw line, stopping on the side of her mouth.

Michaela closed her eyes then and let out a shaky sigh, yearning for more. “Yes, you are. You’re scared. You think I'm going to walk out on you again, so you'd rather hurt me first before I hurt you, right. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?  At least have the balls to admit it. Admit that you’re shit scared out your head!”

He didn’t deny her accusations, instead his mouth clamped down on hers hard, biting on her bottom lip, his tongue possessing hers completely, punishing her for speaking the truth.

He half expected her to pull away, he was prepared to let her go, but she surprised him when she took him on head on, matching his passion.

Exactly when he dropped the ball, he didn’t know, but he knew he had because what began as punishment, Michaela was slowly turning it into something tender and gentle. He could feel himself losing ground, she was gaining on him, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want her to get too close; God, he didn’t want her to see how vulnerable he felt then. So he tried to pull back, pushing her away from him. 

But like a riptide, she fought through, luring him back in, “Keep pushing me away if you want to,” she called him out, chipping at the ice around his heart. “Hide from me for as long you need to. But you’ll always have a place right here,” she took his hand and placed it over her heart.

"We need to come to an understanding right here, right now," he whispered, admitting defeat at last. She was right, about everything. They were alike in so many ways, they were both cowards. They reminded him of that song, about lighting the fire and then running away from the flames. They wanted to open up to the other, but sometimes, some things, were too damn hard to say, so they left them unsaid. For too long. And that’s why they were both here now, looking for a middle ground.

“I can’t have you running from me at the first sign of trouble!” He growled as he lifted his face to hers, her skin looked almost translucent in the sunlight, it felt fragile too like delicate paper, as he ran his thumb below her eyelids, wiping at her tears.

“And you,” She whispered. “You don’t have to be scared anymore because I’m not going anywhere.”

He lowered his head, his lips brushing hers softly as he encircled her waist and pulled her close to him. He liked his shirt on her; it suited her. But he just didn't like that she smelled like him now, his cologne was all over her, and it reminded him of too much of himself. He missed her sweet scent, strawberries and sunshine. He wanted it back.

She didn't fight or resist as he unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it free from her. But her hands came up to her chest to hide herself from his gaze.

"No," he said softly as he pushed them away and held them behind her. "You don't ever have hide from me!"

Michaela turned her face away, hiding the tears brimming in her eyes.  Last night she didn't have to worry about being naked because the dim lights had done a damn good job of covering up all her imperfections. But now, with the sun dancing on her skin, she had nowhere to hide as the glaring harshness of daylight exposed all her flaws. She felt raw. Vulnerable.

"God you're beautiful," Cameron groaned, as he pulled her close to him, touching her breasts, her face, her neck, all at once, as if he wanted to feel every part of her but didn't know where to begin or where to focus his attention first.

Michaela cried then.  She hadn't felt beautiful since Appaloosa Plains. 

"What's wrong?" Cameron asked. 

"Nothing," she shook her head, refusing to give Joshua any more airtime.

"Will you look at me please?"

The sincerity in his voice made her cry harder. She buried her face in the crook of his neck. She felt safe there, safe enough to tell him the truth, the reason behind her tears. 

For a long time after she left Bridgeport, she’d avoided mirrors because she couldn’t stand to look at herself, she was ashamed of herself and the monster she'd invited into her life. But now, in Cameron's eyes, brighter than any light, she could see her reflection so clearly and there was none of the ugliness she’d spent the past few months running away from.

For a long time they just sat there, Michaela on top of him, her legs around his waist, their breaths mingling, the steady pulse of their heartbeats drowning out the sounds of their painful memories, their hands working feverishly to make the other forget all their past hurt.

With every kiss Cameron made her fall in love with all the parts of herself she'd hated.

And with every touch she stitched him back together, closing the door to their past...

"We have to let him go," he told her at last he lowered them both onto the couch. He undressed her, slowly, like they had all the time in the world. She supposed they did. They had forever. And forever was too damn a long time to spend hiding from ghosts…

AN: This chapter was super long, so I had to split it into two updates. Good news is that the next update is not too far off, and it will be super short. 

Thanks for indulging me!