Cameron Taylor is an independent, strong-willed girl who happens to have a knack for violence. After completing her junior year at UCLA, she's not looking forward to spending a Summer at home. Besides having a dark past that she keeps locked away fr...
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!!Self Harm Trigger Warning!!
I honestly don't like clubs all that much.
The loud music, strobing lights, and scent of sweat and sex are enough to make my clubbing nights very short.
But I need a distraction.
A distraction from my infuriating and, apparently, Italian partner.
A distraction from the nightmares and flashbacks I'm plagued with.
And a distraction from this death trap of a mission that I'm supposed to do on Friday.
I could very well die in two days. Not that death scares me all that much.
Death is inevitable, it's going to happen to all of us, and jobs like mine just speed up the process. I'm not stupid, I know that I'd be missed by at least a few people if I died, but they'd get over it. The only person I truly love is my mom anyway. Maya, Pheebs, and the boys are a close second but I've only known them for a few days.
So I'm prepared to die, whenever it happens. I don't have much to live for anyway. The only reason I choose to stay is because of my mom. If I died before her, it would destroy her. So I intend to live until I see her go. After that, we'll see.
The thought makes me glance down at the many scars across my chest and ribs. I'm currently getting dressed in the bathroom and am only wearing my bra and underwear.
Which gives me a clear view of my many scars in the mirror.
Some of them come from my past, but a good amount are self-inflicted.
After my dad passed, and with the nightmares trying to eat me alive, I used to resort to self-harm to try and find my escape. I knew I couldn't leave because of my mom, so I did the next best thing. Being a dancer, my body is on display a good amount of the time, leaving few spots to hide the scars. But I found a spot.
Right in between and underneath my boobs are the multiple lighter pink lines on my tan skin. I knew not to ever cut too deep in these areas, just enough to scar. There're not many of them because I stopped after only a year. The same year I had my first emotional dance piece and learned there were other ways to cope.
Since I have many other scars that weren't my fault, they blend right in. So I don't bother hiding them. When people ask about them, or any of my scars in general, I just say it's none of their business, because it isn't.
"Hurry the fuck up. What are you even doing in there?" I hear Cole yell with three loud bangs on the door, effectively snapping me out of my dark thoughts.
I sigh in annoyance and turn to open the door. When I yank the door open, Cole freezes with his fist in the air like he was about to hit the damn door again.
"What the fuck do you think I was doing?" I snap and meet his dark eyes with my own.
He slowly lowers his fist as his eyes begin to trail down my body. I must be a sight, with my full hair and makeup but no clothes besides the black lingerie I'm wearing.
