Hi guys! Sorry about the delay, I've been caught up in school. But I'm back! Hiiii!
By the time Camry realized anything was wrong, the damage had already been done.
The whole day had actually passed quite peacefully. Her house was stockpiled with books she'd scavenged from the whole neighborhood. After all, it wasn't like the kids who lived in Bully Row, where Drake had demanded she keep residence, were actually going to read. The books she'd collected ranged from World War II history books to basic readers to bathroom summary books to cheesy romance novels that made her gag. In one particular house, she'd found a legitimate hatbox, stocked-piled with steamy S&M erotica that she shared ideas from with Drake. In another, she'd found a selection of lemon-heavy yaoi mangas and a long row of teen novels. Her favorite house, though, was the one she lived in.
It was, by far, the smallest house on the block. Situated across the street and one to the left of Drake's house, her humble abode was a slightly discolored wet-cardboard brown, with flecks of other colors from earlier paint jobs revealed by the peeling, weathered paint. The porch sagged heavily in one corner, held up only by a stack of cement blocks beneath the house. The structure seemed altogether a bit worse for wear, though not entirely unstable. A few loose shingles and some rusty bolts had not been enough to chase Camry away from the little two bedroom house. The inside of the house was very well tended. The old wooden floors were scrubbed and clean, the walls were nice earthy tones, and the electricity and plumbing worked excellently. Immediately upon walking in the door, there was an iron coat rack and the right side of the door opened into a nice little sitting room. The chocolate colored sofa was covered with well padded pillows and draped with a pretty throw blanet, and the overstuffed armchair was plush and comfortable. There was a small television with a stack of movies in the cabinet below it and the coffee table had plenty of coasters and no watermarks.
The room to the left was a pleasant dining room with a four-person table and a large china cabinet. Further on was a sunny kitchen that had a door to the laundry room, and the pantry was well stocked. There was a guest bathroom that was clean and freshly scrubbed, as well as a bedroom that seemed to serve as both a guest room and a play room. To the back of the house, through the living room, was an office and the master bedroom and bathroom. The spacious office had only a desk with a large computer, a few book shelves, and a dog bed, though no dog had appeared at the door asking to be let in. A door from the nondescript master bedroom let out into a small, well tended backyard that had both herbs and vegetables, but very few decorative flowers. It was a particularly ordinary house for a largely ordinary girl.
The one special thing about the house was the books. There were dozens upon dozens of books on shelves stacked in every room of the house. Camry had tried to count them and had gotten as far as 236 before Drake came knocking and she lost her place, but she hadn't been nearly done. There had been only one empty bookshelf in the entire house, and there had been a box of books next to it, implying that the intention hadn't been to leave it empty. Camry had taken the initiative to stack the books alphabetically by author, which seemed to be the homeowner's organization, and then to continue adding to the library by stacking in all the other books on the street.
And so it was the Camry had spent a perfectly ordinary day reading yet another book from one of the home's marvelous shelves, tucked up in the armchair with a cup of tea, as there was no coffee in the kitchen, and a plate of ginger snaps she'd found in a jar near the stove, without a single visitor. This in itself was not peculiar, seeing as her only visitor was Drake and if he was on duty, he'd be coming at night, most likely. So Camry passed the day with a few books as her companions, and when it came to be supper time, she fixed herself a salad from some of the vegetables in the garden, resolving to weed it the next day. With still no sign from Drake, she lit the water heater and took her shower.
When Drake hadn't shown up by eight o'clock, she put on a movie and resolved to wait until it was finished. At ten, she turned off the television and went to bed. The next morning, when she found out that Drake and the others were gone, she didn't bother with getting upset. She realized, quite honestly, that it would be in her best interests to simply tuck herself inside her house and leave the conflict to people who cared. Drake, she had come to understand, was like Peter, whereas she was Wendy. He was the one having adventures, not her. Then again, Wendy had been a part of some of Peter's best adventures, so perhaps they were like the Peter and Wendy of the Starcatchers series, rather than the J.M. Barrie novel. But the Wendy of those books also had adventures with Peter. Camry thought it over, but despite all the books she'd read, she couldn't think of a single perfect comparison to her arrangement with Drake. In all the books, even if the man was always leaving, he was leaving behind the woman he loved, not the girl he fucked. Or if he was leaving behind someone who was just a sexual partner, then he fell in love with her later, and, and Camry was absolutely sure of this, Drake was not actually capable of love. He was a good lover, but he could not love her. Not that she'd ever ask him to.
The thought of not knowing a literary reference distressed her so much, though, that she set aside her current book; a quite thrilling novel called The Name of the Wind, and did all of the gardening in one fast sweep. She weeded the garden beds, swept the patio out back, and trimmed the hedges. During all of this, she remained completely unaware of the conflict that was about to begin just outside her house.
When the gunshots finally broke the tense morning quiet, Camry was, at least at first, slow to notice. But finally it occurred to her that the shots could not be in her imagination because no one was using a gun in the book. That was when she perked up enough to poke her head out of her door. Outside, complete chaos reigned. Children were running and screaming. Guns were being fired. And in the midst of it all, her eyes finally fell on him, the one she'd been looking for.
Drake was surrounded by a pack of mangy coyotes, which, she would later think, was actually kind of funny, considering how much he hated animals. But the worst part was the rather grotesque whip in place of his right arm. His eyes met hers and he looked down at his pack. "Go," he told them. She read it on his lips, and then he was stalking toward her, crossing the hundred yards or so between them while she stood stock still, staring. "Well?" he snarked. "Going to invite me in or what, bitch?"
Maybe Camry was just still trapped in the world of her book. In fact, later on she was quite sure she must have been, because she stepped toward him, clutched the edge of his shirt and whispered, "I didn't know you needed an invitation." Then her mouth was on his throat and he was backing her into the house, ripping her shirt as he moved. She yanked harshly at his shirt, hauling it over his head and dropping it to the floor as he kicked the door shut. Camry knotted her fingers into his hair and pulled him backward toward the door to her bedroom. Tripping through the office, she guided him into her room and spun him around, letting go of him only to softly click the door shut and lock it. Throughout the house they'd lost the rest of her clothing, her bra puddled on the office floor like a declaration of war. She pressed her back to the door and smirked playfully at him. "Well?" she asked.
With a feral growl he tugged her forward, her body smacking into his with a loud slap. He was dirty from the fighting, but she didn't care. She dragged him to the bed and they tumbled onto it. Without Drake needing to guide her, she wriggled down between his legs. Flashing one last sultry smirk up at him, she opened her mouth and proceeded to wrap it firmly around his cock.
Drake grunted and thrust forward into her mouth. She grinned at him, humming with appreciation. Drake's eyes closed halfway and he groaned, drowning in a sea of pleasure. Camry shivered with delight, looking at her sex-hazed lover. Always so in control, despite his falsities of pretending to be a subordinate. He was…he was Merlin, he was Will Henry, he was every character that had ever been forced into a submissive position despite their ability to lead. He was the very embodiment of control, most days. So seeing him lose himself completely to her body was…impressive, to say in the least.
Camry gripped his hips and held him steady when he came. It was maybe the second time in the whole time they'd been sleeping together that he'd actually lost control like that, since he'd given himself over to her so completely. And it wasn't until he spoke, lying there dazed and exhausted, that she understood why. "I'm leaving," he told her.
"You're what?" Her voice sounded dumb and surprised to her own ears, though most of it could be attributed to the breathlessness after pleasuring her partner.
"I'm leaving. Caine's losing this battle. I won't pretend that he isn't, not with you. He's going to make a run back to Coates, I promise you. And I'm his second, so of course-"
"You go with him." Camry nodded, understanding. "Yes. Of course. Makes sense. Then again, King Endon never went anywhere without his advisor Prandine and he was thrown out of the castle and Deltora became part of the Shadow Lands."
"Do you ever stop referencing books?" Drake asked, incredulous.
Camry thought about it. "No. No, not really." She swung her legs over the bed and stood up in what had to be one of the most graceful moves she'd ever accomplished. Feeling a little like Sin must have when she danced at the Goblin Markets, she walked over to the closet that had come to contain the clothes she'd brought to Perdido Beach. "So are we coming back anytime soon or should I just pack what's important now?" she called over her shoulder, opening the closet door.
Drake put a hand on the door and it swung shut with a soft click. She flicked her gaze up to look at him. He didn't look sad. He didn't look angry. His slate colored eyes were flat and blank as the stones they seemed modeled after, as uncaring and unyielding as a mountain. "You don't need to pack anything. You're not coming."
Camry glared at him, indignant. "Well of course I am. If you're leaving-"
He put a hand over her mouth and nose, halting any attempts at speech. When she shut her mouth, he pulled his hand away, looking mildly irritated. "You're. Not. Coming." His words were sharp and distinct. "I don't want you there."
For the first time since ripping his shirt off, Camry touched his whip arm. He recoiled backward, glaring at her. "Is this why?" she asked. "Or do you just want me to be the Max to your Fang and wait for twenty years while you have an adventure?"
He pulled away from her sharply. "Neither. I don't want you to come because I'm done with you. I don't want you there. I don't want to be with you. I don't want to have sex with you. I'm leaving and you're staying and that's final. And if I see you at Coates, I'll kill you." He turned around, gathering his clothes as he left.
Camry stayed where she was until he was gone. When the front door had opened and shut and her house was quiet, she nodded to herself. "Definitely Nick Reeves." She calmly got redressed, put water into the kettle for tea, and sat back down with her book. Outside, chaos still reigned. Inside, there was only peace, quiet, and finally, the whistle of a boiling kettle.
