Rose Thorns & Love Letters

32 ➪ Love, Florence

•Camilla•

16/2/1871
My darling James,
My long for you is indescribable. Your hunger for me is matched with the way my gullet runs dry at the thought of not yet having you. I have written a million times my first name beside your last and my eyes have been blessed each and every time. Florence Clemonte.
Love, Florence

__________________

It has been two weeks since I visited Phoenix's house and honestly, I wish I could go back. Six months ago, I would have cringed at the idea of a house being painted black all over but being around Phoenix and his house so much, I can't help the fact that it is growing on me.

I've been back at College for the majority of the two weeks and I have tried to be more cautious. I'm not traumatised or anything, I just don't want a repeat of that night. Not that I noticed the frat boy around school before I was drugged, but I think I would recognise his face now that he has.

However, I haven't been able to test that theory due to the fact that I have not seen him. Like, at all. Sometimes, I wonder what happened to him. Was he a figure of my own imagination? Was I so drunk that night that I completely created him in my influenced mind? Surely not.

My father still has not made an appearance. This is the longest he has been away for and oddly enough, I am okay with that. I am not an evil bitch who hates her father, I swear. It's just, I have survived for so long on my own. Between my mother's life being sucked up by drugs and my father's time and effort going towards his real child—his work—I have been forced to fall accustom to the lonely life.

I'm fine. I promise.

"I don't believe you." Phoenix deadpans. I roll my eyes at his ridiculousness and resume pushing my books into their respective places on my bookshelf.

I haven't been able to read a book in front of Phoenix since the day we arrived at his house for numerous reasons. One, being: it is rude to entertain yourself with a book in the presence of someone who is around solely to talk to you. And two, being: he fucked me with his fingers and forced me to read while doing so.

So, I have settled with arranging and re-arranging my bookshelf until I finally find the courage to stare at a page without falling right back into the feeling of his fingers inside of me.

"Well isn't that too bad." I sigh. Phoenix tenses at my words and readjusts his shoulders as he sits on the edge of my bed with his legs slightly spread, his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes trained on me.

"Camilla." He grumbles. I take a deep breath in and set my book down. I flex my hands before turning to look at Phoenix.

"Phoenix." I counter. His silence grants me the space to talk so I continue. "I have not touched a blade since before the day you found out about my scars. I don't need a therapist to advise me to stay away from blades when that's exactly what I've been doing. I told you, I am fine." I emphasize the last three words seeing as the first time I told him just was not enough.

"And I told you that I don't believe you." He retorts. "You haven't cut yourself for 2 and a half months and I am so proud of you," He stands from his seated position and slowly begins to walk over to me. "but that doesn't mean that whatever made you do it in the first place has completely freed you."