The Summer Away - Chris Evans Fanfiction

Chapter 1

Life is hard; you make a plan, and life says 'no'; that's not what will happen. Life is not very merciful or considerate; things only go their way and no other way. You make a plan to be great, but life tells you that you are going to become a maid. Life happened to me, and I ended up a nanny.

Finish with the dishes.

Take out the trash

Give Camille a bath

Put her to sleep.

Clear up her play area

Go to bed.

I repeated these sentences; my hand was deep in the soapy water as I tried to hurry up. I stared outside the window for a bit, then at my phone lying on the fridge. 'I should write this down,' I thought about the list. No! I shook my head, my hands were wet, and it was a short list, I would remember. All I had to do was:

Finish doing the dishes.

Take out the trash

Give Camille a bath

Put her to sleep.

Go to bed.

It was simple. I would soon be done with the dishes anyway; Camille, the child I was watching over, was a good little girl. I had not heard any crashes or noise from the living room since I began working; she was not only reasonable but also intelligent, and she understood that I was exhausted and needed some rest. I placed the last bowl on the stack of plates and moved to unplug the sinkhole so that I could begin rinsing. I stopped when something clicked in my head. No noise, no crash, and I knew it. I was in trouble, and as I wiped my hand with the dishtowel, my head began spinning with the possibility of what she could be up to.

Camille was not a quiet girl, and I understood that bitter truth for the two years I have had to care for her. She was only silent when she was asleep or up to no good, and I knew she was causing a disaster in the living room. The last time she went quiet, the dishwasher stopped working, and being too scared to tell Mr. Evans, I settled with using my hands to wash the dishes.

"Camille!" I yelled out, "I see what you are doing." I hoped I was wrong, and she wasn't doing anything.

"I'm not doing anything, Anna," She answered quickly, and my hope was crushed.

Getting to the living room, my mouth dropped wide open at what I saw. In front of me, Camille was standing with a paintbrush in hand, head to toe, covered with a series of colors, and that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the once white fur rug that lay solo on the floor, in the middle of the living room, with so much prestige and grace, had been ruined. I could barely see a patch of white on it; all I saw were colors. While this was a beautiful piece of art made by the little girl, I couldn't praise her because I knew her grumpy father, Mr. Evans, would most likely be pissed, and I would get it.

I ran my slightly damp palm over my face and shook my head. "Upstairs! Now!" I let out those words in a low, deadly tone, my hands were threatening to clamp in a fist of anger, but I forced them to stay stretched out and pointing to the stairs. She hurried up the stairs, knowing just how mad I was and leaving me to my dilemma, how was I supposed to get this off before Mr. Evans got here. I wasn't like my mother; I didn't have any home remedies to remove paint stains, I didn't have any treatment to remove any stains, so I was stranded. I paced back and forth; my eyes only left the once fancy rug for a few seconds. I decided to calm down and make a plan. I knew I had to start somewhere, and I had to figure out where. I looked around and decided to clear up her toys and playthings first. I was going to do that anyway, so it was like killing two birds with one stone, only that the second bird didn't seem like much of an achievement.

I quickly packed her things into her box and set it aside. I pushed the coffee table from the top of the rug before picking up the destroyed material to access the damage. The damage was terrible. I decided then and there that washing it alone would do no good. I was going to take it to the dry cleaner, and if they couldn't do anything about it, I would have to get an expensive identical rug. I shook my head and hoped it didn't come to that. With one hand wrapped around the carpet, I bent down to pick up the box, I still had a lot to do, so I hurried up the stairs, dumped the rug deep in the laundry basket, and away from sight, I picked up the play box again and went into Camille's room where it belonged.

As I dropped the box on the floor, one thing came into my head; I had to bathe the girl; I could do everything else later; I just had to get rid of the evidence. Besides, I would be very uncomfortable and itchy if I had paint all over my skin. Turning around to call her into the bathroom, I jumped up and screeched, startled by how close she was to me. I had not even heard her come so close.

"Cami..."

"I'm sorry, Anna; I didn't mean to cause you any trouble." I let out a breath and shook my head. Before I began caring for Camille, I had been in and out of homes taking care of other children, and it was safe to say that she was the kindest and most polite of all of them. I couldn't even be mad at her for long.

"It's okay, Camy, just don't do something like that again, okay?" She nodded and bobbed it up and down as though she was in a trance.

"Okay, now we have to give you a bath." I grabbed her shoulder and turned us 180 degrees before having her turn around again, this time to face the door.

Unlike most rooms in this house, Camy's room did not have an ensuite bathroom, and this was because her father thought she was too little to have a bathroom all to herself. While I didn't mind his decision, as it wasn't my place to say anything, it got stressful sometimes walking out of her room every morning and night to bathe her.

After giving her a very long bath, I tucked her into bed and wished her goodnight. I switched off the light and stepped out of the room; I didn't leave until I was sure she had stopped tossing and turning, a tell-tale sign that she had maybe fallen asleep. With the silence from her room, I walked back down the stairs and dropped on the black leather chair. I was done with all my work, and I just needed to catch my breath for a little bit and go to bed. Mr. Evan's dinner was in the microwave already, and he knew that, but it didn't mean he would eat. As the cool air from the AC came down and touched my sweaty face, I began to doze off. I tried to keep my eyes open, but it only proved futile.

The room was silent, except for the noise in my head. I could hear shots fired in the distance, but my eyes didn't leave the injured soldier lying on the ground. Suddenly, a loud bang stopped the gunshots from going off in my head. The sound didn't stop the scene from playing out, though. The soldier was wrapped up in mud and blood on the muddy ground, clutching his chest with shaky palms, trying with so much enthusiasm to stop the blood from leaving his body. Surrounding him was a soldier or two, clutching his chest, trying to stop the blood spurting from his friend's chest. The other had accepted his fate and merely held the legs of the dying one. The scene disappeared before anything could happen as I heard footsteps retreating far from me. They were low but bold, and they had me jerking up from the couch, where I had fallen asleep.

My nostrils were filled with the fragrance from 'Another 13', and I knew then that my boss was back. I sniffed the air and his fragrance one last time, the smell doing wonders to my stomach.

Mr. Evans was only noticed in the house twice daily, in the early morning and after midnight. Either he wasn't at home or locked up in a room where no one else was allowed. He was a hard-working man with an intimidating presence that always had me shook. I had no idea what exactly made him intimidating. Was it the way he carried himself, no smiles on his face that were 6ft up there and only grunting in response to whatever anybody said? Or maybe it was because he smelt so much of all the mad money he had. Mr. Evans was wealthy, and he wasn't afraid to flaunt it. Even with how intimidating he was, it didn't stop my heart from beating every time I looked at him or heard his voice. His voice would do many things to any girl, and it did something to me. I shook my head and pushed out every thought of him. Feeling refreshed, I decided to sleep in my room and enjoy my comfortable bed. On my way to my room, I noticed that the kitchen lights were still switched on, so I went to turn them off. On getting to the kitchen, I let out a low groan. I was not done with the dishes; I had forgotten.