A beautifully strung together lei of orange flowers hangs gently outside Camille's door, swaying just the slightest, with a note hanging from it reading: "My dearest Cam, you are more beautiful than all of the women I've ever been with (and I've been with many). You deserve the world and more. There's nothing more fragile and innocent in this world. So sweet, so kind, I would do anything..."
A shadow beneath her door did not disturb her until it was too late, their retreat, footsteps in the hallway snapping her attention up like a dog hearing it’s owner, she jumped from her bed, pillows flying left and right, duvet shoved onto the floor as she raced to the door flinging it open. In her haste to turn around from the empty space, her face collided directly with something bright orange, a scent of floral overwhelming her before she could of known what it was. Green eyes that had been forced shut snapped back open and she took one step back, fingertips reaching out and pulling the note from the lei that was hanging in front of her.
There's nothing more fragile and innocent in this world. What a joke. Her fingers felt like they were burning at it’s touch upon her skin, she wasn’t fragile anymore. Not innocent. He had wanted her for her stupidity, her Father had reminded her of that every day since he left. He had not been angry at Callum Hooper for sleeping with Camille, that much had been true, he had been angry at his daughter for being a fool. Camille was always a fool. For love. She wasn’t stupid anymore.
I would do anything. It sent a wave of hysteria through her veins and the note crushed beneath her fingertips, her eyes bright and darting around as if she would find the idiot in question running for his life like the baby he was. If she had seen him then she would most certainly of traced him and when she got her hands on him... well, she didn’t know what she would do. That was Camille’s problem, she no longer understood what she wanted by in that millisecond of anger she wanted nothing more than to feel his skin beneath her grip, purely anger or a secret part of her that missed him, she would never give it a second thought, she no longer knew how. She wasn’t a trembling little girl anymore. She wasn’t anything to him. For him.
“Is this a game?” she lifted it from it’s place, flower petals crumbling off beneath the grip of shaking hands, a strange self control practiced as her gaze fell to it as if she would burn it to pieces with her eyes. She lifted her gaze to the direction in which she was sure he had ran, her lips pressing together momentarily as a frown crossed her features, “I don’t understand...” she mumbled.
Back in her room she dropped to her knees, yanking out a box of long forgotten things, a collection of letters from the man who had broken her fragile heart into a million pieces when she was seventeen years old. She placed it with the others. Maybe one day she could explain why, but as she kicked it underneath her bed, she knew, it would not be any day soon.
