Page 120 of Dissolving Prejudice

Running away from what?

Watching him suffer hurt me, not only because I loved this man more than I loved myself but because I knew his suffering. I’d lived it. I’d also run away from my demons for years, but treatment helped. Sure, I was still hurting, and I’d forever hurt no matter what I did, but at least now I knew what made me run away from facing my trauma, and in my case, it was accepting I was a victim. Why? Because admitting that meant admitting all the horrors my father did to me. It was acknowledging that he never loved me, and that hurt. That hurt because why didn’t he love me like a parent should love his child? What did I do wrong? And while I knew it was all his fault, I couldn’t help but forever subject myself to being the cause. But for a change, those last few weeks weren’t about me but Camilo and the thing he was running away from.

He kept saying he was fine, and that made me furious because his way of being fine was by lying about it. He’d hardly slept in those last few weeks. He thought I didn’t notice, but I did. I noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the exhaustion in his movements, his short temper, and lack of concentration. The other day, I had to repeat the same question three times before he heard me. He blamed it all on his new job, but I wasn’t an idiot. Working a ten-hour shift in some factory, lifting boxes, and sorting supplies might be hard, but not enough to make him doze off in the middle of a sentence as he did this morning. He was two blinks away from collapsing or, even worse, falling asleep at the wheel, and I was starting to get sick of it. I was sick of our life always going to shit the second things seemed to be good.

A low meow pulled me out of my thoughts, and I glanced down to see Toro rubbing his fur against my ankle—that damn cat. Despite liking the furry goofball, I still stood by my statement of not liking pets. Not to mention that if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have gotten a stray from the street. But leave it to Camilo and his mush of a heart to give in to such a sad story.

“You’re hungry?” I asked after lifting Toro into my arms. He answered with another purr, so I walked with him toward his empty food bowl. I’d just finished feeding him when the house door opened, and Camilo walked in.

“Hey,” I greeted him with a smile.

Camilo placed his helmet on the counter before walking to me. Putting his hand on the small of my back, he pulled me close and kissed the top of my head.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

I chuckled as he breathed me in while running his fingers through my hair.

“How was work?”

“Shitty.” He let go of me only to glance at the mess I’d created in our kitchen. “Were you cooking again?”

“Only a salad.”

He let out a soft snort before taking off his jacket and tossing it on one of the barstools. My eyes latched on the dark cloth before returning to Camilo’s wide back. He was so tall and handsome, the perfect build for a male model… right?

“I’m going to hit the shower. I swear to God, I smell like wet cardboard,” he complained with a deep yawn. “Fucking hate this stupid job.” And as he scratched his jaw, which was more structured than the Pantheon in Rome, a thought occurred to me.

“Hey, why don’t you model for me?” I asked.

Camilo turned to face me with a frown. “Huh?”

“I need to find models for my show,” I began explaining while walking toward him. “And no one is more perfect than you.” I cupped his handsome face in my palms, only for him to brush my hand away.

“Perfect? Did you see the amount of scars I have?” he tried joking when my eyes zoomed in on a scar on his chin.

Like it was the most natural thing to do, I brushed my finger over that scar before moving it to the one he had on the side of his jaw, then up to the one cutting through his right brow. I loved how the texture of his skin changed. How some scars were deeper than others, while others were more subtle. Either way—

“I think you’re perfect, Camilo.”

A soft smile took over his lips before he wrapped his arms around me. “Well, you’re one to say.” He kissed my head. “No one is more perfect than you.”

“Then you’ll do it? You’ll model for me?” I asked, my head shoved into his chest.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Thank you.” I snuggled closer to his warm body when another idea popped into my head.

“We can maybe think of some cool choreography. You know, a dance routine instead of a boring catwalk.”

He pulled back. “For real?” His tired eyes almost gleamed with excitement as he looked at me.

“Yeah.” I bit on my bottom lip while trying to think it through. To be honest, I liked this idea more by the minute. “But first, why don’t you go and shower? You really do smell like wet cardboard.”

“Told you so,” he laughed while breaking the hug.

I watched him walking toward the bathroom, but right before stepping in, he turned to look at me. “Will I get paid for selling my body?” He winked, and I rolled my eyes.

“You’re such a ho.”