"Now I'm feeling like a monster" - Colours, Monster

********************************

Camila had been asleep for eleven hours and twelve minutes in the room I'd given her at the Bloody Marys' clubhouse.

It was creepy of me to be watching her sleep, but I just couldn't help it. I'd dreamed of this moment for years, and the fact that it was actually finally fucking here? It felt like if I left Camila alone for even a second, she'd disappear like she had all those years ago.

Traveling with a visibly beaten and bruised woman would definitely have raised some red flags—plus there was the fact that neither Camila nor her son had any travel documents—so Ghost had had a shady Argentinian contact of his fly us out of the country in a private jet. Once we were back home, the Phantoms' on-call doctor, who was appropriately called Doc, came out to the clubhouse to check on an unconscious Camila and her wary son.

After Doc had declared Camila severely underweight, among other things, I'd hauled my sister into the bathtub myself and cleaned her up alone. The needle tracks on her body weren't just localized to her inner arms. They were everywhere—anywhere she could find a vein, obviously. Years of drug use were imprinted into her skin, just like the bruises and scars that were scattered all over her frail body like multicolored petals in the wind.

Now, all scrubbed down and dressed in one of my T-shirts and sleep shorts, she looked like any other woman taking an afternoon nap on a hot Sunday afternoon.

The boy was harder to deal with, refusing to speak or give any indication that he understood a word I was saying. I figured he was about five or six-years-old, and maybe didn't know how to wash himself, but as soon as I'd run the bath for him, he'd gently tried to push me out of the bathroom.

"Sweetie, I want to help you," I said to him, hunkering down to talk to him. "I'm Auntie Cat. What's your name?"

He shook his head at me, as silent as stone. Five minutes of talking to myself and I was beginning to get fucking frustrated. He had talked just fine when he asked me to help his mother.

"I'm not gonna leave you in the bathroom alone, little guy," I told him, meeting his big brown eyes. "Is it okay if I turn around and let you do your thing?"

He chewed on his bottom lip, looking like he was really thinking hard about it. Finally, he nodded, and I turned around, listening until I heard the splash of water as he got into the bath tub. After about five minutes, the kid was done, getting out of the tub and only tapping me on my side when his clothes were back on.

I wondered about this kind of shyness; if it pointed at something even more sinister, and I made a mental note to ask Camila later. In the meantime, this nameless nephew of mine needed to get some real food in his system. Much like Camila, he was gaunt and waif-like, small for his age.

"Come on, little guy," I said, holding my hand out to him. "I'm not going to hurt you," I continued when he had just stared at my outstretched hand for a full minute. "We're just going to get something to eat."

My heart clenched when he finally took my hand in his, allowing me to lead him to the kitchen, where I hoisted him up and sat him down on one of the stools in front of the island before delving into the fridge for leftovers. Monroe had made some kind of meaty pasta dish that I easily reheated in the microwave and set in front of the kid in a little bowl.

"Can you feed yourself?"

I had barely gotten the words out when he grabbed the fork and shoveled a mouthful of pasta into his mouth.

"Shit. I mean, crap!" I hissed when he let out a pained wail. "It's a little hot. Fuck. Damn. I'm sorry, baby."

I quickly rounded the island and made him open his mouth. "You're okay. You're okay. I'm so sorry." I rushed to grab him some water from the tap and made him drink it.

I was behaving like I'd never been around a kid before. Irresponsible stupidity.

The next few minutes were spent with me blowing on every forkful of food before feeding the kid myself and when we were done, I gave him a bowl of ice-cream. Figuring that he'd be okay alone for a second, I left to check on his mother, who was now trying to pull herself upright in bed.

"How long was I out for?" she managed to croak out before instantly turning her head to the side of the bed and retching.

"Half a day," I told her in a quiet voice, moving on autopilot to grab a wet cloth from the adjoining bathroom.

I had done this sometimes with Dana in the past. Cleaned her up after she'd drowned herself in various drugs and alcohol. This wasn't fucking rocket science, yet my hands were shaking as I returned to my sister, sitting beside her to wipe away the vomit on her chin.

She pulled a face at me as she sat up properly. "I can do it," she muttered, taking the cloth from me with equally shaky hands.

"When was the last time you shot up?"

"The day you came by," she said quietly. Defensively. Her dead eyes wandered to a spot somewhere over my shoulder. "How did you find me?"

"I looked," I said simply. "I didn't give up."

"Did Zeus? Give up, I mean."

I felt a stabbing in my chest at the mention of our father. "He's dead, Camila."

"He never looked, did he?"

"You betrayed him," I said, even just a little defensive of the dead man who'd written off his firstborn for loving someone she shouldn't have. "You chose the Cursed over the Phantoms."

"Fuck the Phantoms," Camila spat. "But that's what you're doing now, isn't it? Fucking a Phantom."

"This what we're doing?" I fired back.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, hunching her back. "I need a hit, Catalina, or I'm not gonna make it."

I blew out a shaky breath. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Camila's dark brows were slashed into a frown when she looked at me. "You have no fucking clue what I've been through, Catalina. No fucking clue. Don't look down on me on your high horse and judge me."
"I'm not judging you, damn it, but you've been up for five minutes now and you haven't even asked about your son," I snapped, my voice faltering on the last word. "Is he your son?"

"Of course, he's my son!" she snarled at me. "I look at him every day and I'm reminded of how he came into this world. He's my son!"

"Okay, Camila," I said softly, placatingly. "Okay. What's his name? He won't say."

"Leo," she said in a small voice, pulling her knees up to her chest beneath the covers. "And he won't tell anybody anything. That's...that's how he's been raised."

I nodded. Of course. "He's a little overwhelmed. He keeps asking about his dad, though. Who... Camila, who's his dad?"

She blew an audible breath, shoving the covers off her legs. "It doesn't fucking matter anymore, Catalina."

"Is it Nunez?" They'd run off together. Sure, he'd died somehow, sometime, but maybe not before giving my sister a child.

Camila's face was scrunched up in anger. "I said, it doesn't matter!"

"Cam—"

"All you're going to do is stand over there and judge me," she snapped, "but you have no fucking idea what I've been through!"

"Then tell me," I said, my voice rising to join hers. "Tell me so that I can understand, damn it!"

She let out a harsh laugh. "Are you sure you wanna know? Are you sure you wanna taint the perfect image you had of me in your mind?"

You were never perfect to me, I thought to myself, but you were all I had.

"Look at me, Camila," I said instead. "Look at me and tell me I haven't been through shit. Haven't seen shit. Haven't done shit."

Her eyes locked with mine. "You don't wanna play the I've-been-through-worse game with me, Catalina."

"Don't call me that," I said on reflex, but it didn't matter. Shouldn't have mattered.

Camila simply looked at me, her brows drawn together. She shook her head.

"You have to be hungry," I murmured, wiping my sweaty palms down the sides of my sweats. "I'll get you something to eat."

"Thank you," Camila said in a small voice. "For everything."

I nodded, leaving the room in long strides, as if getting away from her was so damn important. Maybe it was. Maybe I needed to get away from her because the guilt I felt... The guilt I felt was immeasurable. I shouldn't have felt that way. It wasn't my fault that my sister had found herself in this mess, but maybe if I'd dedicated all of my days, my nights, my hours and minutes to finding her—

Stop it, Pussy, I scolded myself as I entered the kitchen.

My heart stopped for a second when I saw that it was empty. I told myself to calm down, that he was just a curious little boy who was exploring the house, but at the same time, I worried that he'd left.

"Leo?" I called. "Leo!"

No answer.

I listened hard and followed the sounds I heard. The TV was on in the lounge, a cartoon on the screen. I breathed a sigh of relief when I stepped inside and saw the kid sitting cross-legged on the floor.

It was supposed to be just Camila, Leo and me in the house for a while. My girls' presence could even be overwhelming to other people, so they were trying to give Leo and Camila the space they needed, which I appreciated. Leo didn't seem to be used to being around a lot of people, and new faces would probably just freak him out.

For now, animated faces would do.

"You know how to work a TV, huh?" I found myself musing out loud.

"No," a voice came from behind me, "but I do."

"Ghost. Hey," I said, letting out a heavy breath when his arms wrapped around me.

I felt his lips kiss the top of my head before he pulled away. "You okay?" he wanted to know.

"Yeah," I lied. "I'm good."

"You don't have to pretend with me," he chided. His brow was furrowed. "This can't be fucking easy."

"This isn't about me." I made myself look at him. "This isn't easy for my sister, and this sure as fuck isn't easy for that little boy she has with her."

"Kid's her son, right?"

"Yes," I told him. I couldn't imagine what kind of life that boy had lived so far.

"Then he has his mother. He's gonna be just fine."

"It's not that easy," I whispered. I pictured years of therapy for Leo, years of adjusting to a new life. "His father raped his mother. I'm sure of it. His mother was forced to fuck and suck for a cocktail of drugs, day in and day out for the past few years. Fine isn't a word I'd use to describe the kinda shit they've both been through."

"Hey," Ghost said through gritted teeth, putting his hands on my shoulder, "nobody's saying it's gonna be a fuckin' walk in the park. But they're here, and they're safe, and we're gonna keep it that way, okay?"

Ghost could make anything sound doable. The gruff sound of his voice was as soothing as a good back massage. I wanted to believe him­­—I really fucking did—but I couldn't help feeling like having Camila back wasn't the fairytale I'd hoped it would be.

***

It was only later that evening that my sister surfaced from the bedroom, where Leo had eventually passed out in a cartoon coma.

"Cat?"

"Yeah?" I put my beer down and took my bare feet off the table. "Everything okay?"

Camila let out a short laugh. "Will it ever be? Don't worry. I just wanted to talk for a sec."

"Go ahead. It's just us tonight. You can sit, Camila," I said after a little while when it looked like she was gearing up to continue standing. "I don't bite. Anymore."

It was the first time I'd so much as even contemplated making a joke with my sister.

She cracked a small smile, moving slowly to sit beside me. "Don't remind me. You were a fucking pest when we were little. I still have your teeth marks on my arm, do you know that?"

We both fell quiet after that, because no, I didn't know that. Wherever those marks were, they were buried beneath needle tracks and scars, never to be seen again.

Jesus, she's so tiny.

"Do you remember when we were kids and I was shit-scared of getting onto Zeus's motorcycle?" Camila said suddenly, and it took me a while to recall the vague memory of the look of pure terror when our father offered her a ride on his bike years and years ago. "You were younger, but you put that helmet on and got right on behind him. You weren't afraid. You never were. I never understood that, until I had to stop being scared. I had to stop being scared because fear wasn't worth it. There was no point in being afraid because it was just a huge fucking waste of time.

Do you know what that's like, Cat? Realizing that fear is a worthless exercise because you're in a never-ending nightmare?"

I chewed on my bottom lip, silent. I couldn't look at her; I didn't know what to say.

"Survival—that's what ends up being the most important thing," Camila continued, putting her wrists out in front of me. The jagged scars across them told their own story. "I didn't want to survive until I had Leo. It's funny how the best thing that can happen to you can come from the worst experience of your life—but Cat? I'm going to get you killed. Leo's father... He doesn't like people taking his property. You need to know that."

Hey, folks - me, again. If you have to reread this story from the start to remember wtf is going on here, I don't blame you. At all. I hope you enjoyed this chapter though (and if you're reading on Radish, I hope you enjoyed chapter 10). This is a freemium story, which means it is cross-posted on here and on Radish. Chapters unlock, but if you're impatient, you can read ahead on Radish. 

If you're a fan of the third book in this series, Sin's City: it will be updated this Sunday, February 1. I'm sorry for not uploading the chapter but I lost what I'd written weeks ago when my computer acted up and I was too pissed/crushed to rewrite it all again. So this upcoming update is slightly different from what I had, which is annoying, but hey, we move.

I love you guys and I hope you're all doing great <3