Chapter 124

CHAPTER 124

THE CRACK IN HER ARMOR

ISABELLA

With my heart in my throat and at the pit of my stomach at the same time, I pushed the door open.

Camille was on the floor, her back against the tub, her legs stretched out in front of her. There was a half empty bottle of wine sitting beside her, the deep red liquid staining the white tile. Her right hand was bleeding. Blood was dripping from her palm onto her pyjamas and onto the floor, mixing with the wine.

She didn't look up or move when I walked in. All she did was stare at the wall with a blank face and empty eyes.

"Camille!" I dropped to my knees beside her, grabbing her wrist and turning her hand over. The cut was across her palm and thankfully it was not deep or life threatening, but it was deep enough to make my stomach turn.

“What the hell happened? Are you okay?"

She let out a hollow laugh. "What good would me being fine do?"

"Don't talk like that." I grabbed a towel from the rack, pressing it against her palm. "What happened to your hand?"

She watched me press the towel to her skin, her expression completely distant.

"I broke a glass," she said finally. "In a fit of anger and maybe because I wanted to feel something other than this." She gestured vaguely at her chest. "At first, I wanted to stop the bleeding, so I came in here. But when I reached for the first aid box..." She shrugged. "I just lost the zeal."

I stared at her unable to say a word. Camille's has always been the strongest person I knew. And now she was sitting on a bathroom floor, bleeding, because she couldn't feel anything else.

I sighed before standing up and grabbing the first aid box from the cabinet. I sat back down, took her hand, and started cleaning the wound. I wasn't surprised she didn't flinch from the antiseptic, I wouldn't if I was in the state of mind.

"Izzy," she said after a few seconds of silence, her voice was quiet. "Do you think I'll ever see my father the same way again?"

Her words brought back the reality I had momentarily forgot, making me pause in my movements.

Why does it have to feel this way!?

"I don't know," I said, and kept working.

Camille laughed again, the sound, a very bitter one.

"I spent my whole life defending him. Every time my mother said something cruel, every time the press wrote something ugly, I stood by him. I believed in him." She shook her head. "And now this. My mother accuses him of—" She stopped, swallowing back the rest of the words. "And the worst part? I don't know who to believe anymore."

I wrapped the bandage around her palm as she kept talking.

"She's my mother, Izzy, she's supposed to protect me. But she's never protected me from anything. She left… and now she comes back and this happens and expects me to just—" Her voice cracked. "And my father… the man who raised me after she bailed… who held me when I cried… who told me I could be anything. How am I supposed to look at him now?"

I tied off the bandage, her hand almost as good as new now.

"I don't have an answer," I said.

She leaned her head back against the tub. "Neither do I."

I sat beside her, grabbing the bottle of wine and talking a long drink. It burned my throat, but I didn't care.

We sat there in silence, two broken women on a bathroom floor, until the light shifted and the afternoon became evening.

I needed air.

I left Camille sleeping in her bed. She was exhausted, drunk and bandaged. I pulled on a jacket and walked out the back door. The sand was warm beneath my feet, the sea calming a nerve in me.

I walked to the edge of the water, keeping my gaze far into the distance.

"So you're still here."

I turned to see Elise standing a few feet away from me with crossed arms. And of course, she had a smile on her face.

I didn't respond.

"You should have taken my warning," she continued, walking closer. "Stayed away from him, but you didn't. And now you have to nurse a broken heart because he found me appealing enough to—" She paused, letting the implication be felt. "Well. You know."

My jaw tightened. "What do you want, Élise?"

"Nothing. Just admiring the view." She stopped beside me. "You look like hell, by the way. Being a cheap thing doesn't suit you."

I turned to look at her, studying her under my gaze. And she didn't look like a woman who had been sexually assaulted. You know what I mean. She looked… satisfied. Like she had just won something.

"You don't look like a woman who was assaulted," I said.

Her smile flickered. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." I stepped closer. "You're too comfortable and too smug. You destroyed your ex-husband's reputation, and you're standing here gloating about it." I tilted my head. "If someone had done to me what you're accusing him of, I wouldn't be standing on a beach making snide comments. I'd be in hiding. Or in therapy. Or at least pretending to be upset."

Élise's eyes narrowed. "You don't know anything about what I've been through."

"And you don't care about Camille." My voice was shaking, but I didn't stop. "She's bleeding in her bathroom because of you. Because of this. And you're out here, worrying about me? Don't you have better things to do than to be throwing around your bitch ass?"

Her hand connected with my cheek, the force of slap turning my head. Elise stood there watching me for a second before turning around and walking away without a word.

And as I stood there with burning cheeks, I knew.

Alexander was innocent. Elise was the predator and not the victim.