Bad Things

17. Choice

  I must make a choice
A tough decision
Listen to my voice
Should I give in
To temptation, admiration
One leads to myself
The other some one else
Just an empty shell

- Hoobastank.  

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Camila had no idea when she'd fallen asleep, or even how she had managed to after what had happened between her and Shawn. She'd been so wired at the time she didn't think she would ever sleep again. But the next thing she knew, the sun shone bright through the window and the bed beside her was empty.

Stretching her hand out, all she felt was cold, telling her Shawn hadn't been there for awhile. Camila rolled over and caught sight of where he had gone. He sat at the desk across the room, still only dressed in a pair of boxers, his body curved over and his head resting on his arms.

She frowned and sat up. Shawn didn't move, clearly asleep. Camila stood from the bed and picked up the t-shirt and boxers she'd worn the night before, slipping them on as quickly as she could. Quietly, she walked over to where he sat. Her eyes fell over his still form, raking over the curve of his spine and the broad expanse of his shoulders, noticing the crescent-shaped marks scattered over his shoulder blades. Heat flooded her face when she remembered how they had gotten there. She felt the indescribable urge to touch him again, to run her hands over every part of him, to trace the lines of his tattoo with her fingers.

Camila remembered how surprised she'd been to see it there the night before, but it hadn't been until after that she'd had the chance to bring it up.

They'd lain there next to each other, on their sides, nearly chest to chest, as both of them caught their breath. Camila's fingers slid up and down Shawn's side, his skin still dampened with his sweat and hers, and her heart strumming wildly in her chest. Everything about her ached, but not in a way that was unpleasant. She couldn't stop kissing him, couldn't stop touching him, needing to somehow stay connected to him. The feeling was inexpressible and completely opposite from before. This had nothing to do with lust, nothing to do with wanting him because her body said so; it had everything to do with how she felt about him. Her chest was tight, but not with worry or sadness, like she was used to. It was more like her body was not big enough to hold all the emotion inside and it was trying to burst through her ribs to escape.

Shawn's hand was on her face, the curve of her neck, and his mouth was so tender, so different from how it had been moments before when he was above her, when he had kissed her so hard and so deep it was as if he were trying to take her into himself. Camila continued to trace his ribs, up, down, up, down, unable to believe that she was really there, that she'd really done what she'd just done, but not regretting it for a single second. It wasn't until her fingers brushed the raised patch near his hip that she looked down and really took in the ink imbedded in his flesh.

120111171116

She'd traced the numbers as carefully as she could, seeing that the skin surrounding them still looked irritated and not wanting to hurt him.

"What does it mean?" she'd whispered.