Page 23 of Wrecked
I step closer, gripping the door as she walks out into the hall. “Call me Cam.”
Swiveling her head to look at me over her shoulder, she nods once, her big brown eyes shining under the lighting outside my apartment door. “Cam.” And then she disappears down the hall, leaving me alone once again.
CHAPTER 11
JASMINE
Letting out the tenth yawn in the past half hour, I push through my front door and drop my bag to the floor. The long slow breath that blows past my lips feels like I'm releasing all the tension and stress from the day that seemed to go on forever, with three new patients being added to the mix.
I drag myself into the kitchen and switch on the light before pouring myself a glass of water. Despite it being after midnight and the fact that I feel like I could do with a solid ten hours of sleep, I still need a shower and then to sit and unwind for a few minutes.
It's mostly times like these when I come home through the night to a dark and empty apartment that I feel like something is missing. I can feel the loneliness start to seep into my consciousness, no longer buried under patients' needs, doctor's orders, and everyday tasks.
I grab my phone from my bag and bring it into the bathroom with me, deciding to schedule a reply text to Graham for the morning. If I don't do it now, I'll likely forget by the time the morning rolls around, and he'll probably end up worrying. He had messaged me a couple of hours ago, telling me he probably wouldn't be able to visit for at least another month.
My fingers fly over the keys as I type out my reply, telling him that it's too bad, but I guess I'll just have to deal with it and that he can call me anytime up until noon when I start work.
I schedule it for when I know I'll already be awake and then start stripping out of my clothes. Steam fills my bathroom, and I breathe out a sigh when I step into the stream of hot water. One of the things I love about this apartment is the water pressure in the shower. It's not too hard that it feels like hail pelting against my skin, and it's not too soft that it feels like nothing is washing off. It's perfect.
I lean back against the cool glass when I feel it's getting too hot, but I don't turn the water off or lower the temperature. Instead, I let my mind wander and take me to a place I don't often get a chance to go to. Closing my eyes, I run my hands slowly over my wet body, spreading the soap from my palms over every bump and crevice. I picture my hands as someone else's.
It'stheirhands washing me, touching me, admiring me.
Usually, whichever celebrity comes to mind first is the star of the show. At first, it's just their hand that I see sliding up one arm, dipping into the groove of my neck before drifting lower, passing over a breast. Then, forearms come into view as my daydream continues, nice, muscular forearms with a vein protruding from them, along with thick fingers that run through my slit. As time goes on, bruises appear on them as well, and I feel my eyebrows draw together.Bruises?When I trail my gaze up higher, a face comes into view. But it's no celebrity this time. It's Cam's face.That'swhy there were bruises on the arms because he had some there the last time I saw him.
My eyes fly open, and I feel my cheeks warm and flushed.
I mean, yes, it's true that I find him attractive, but I never usually visualize people I know touching me in my fantasies. So I'm not sure where having him appear came from.
Not that I really mind, I guess.
My phone chimes on the counter, distracting me from my thoughts and taking me out of the moment. No one texts me at this time of night. Unless I accidentally sent the message to Graham rather than scheduling it, and it's woken him up? I quickly finish washing myself sticking only to reality for the remainder of the shower.
Drying my hair, I step over to the switch on the wall and turn on the fan which I had forgotten to do earlier. It starts clearing away the bathroom fog while I wipe at the dewy mirror.
Picking up my phone, I prepare myself for what's sure to be some kind of lecture on finishing work at this time of night. Because Iknowthat's what he'll assume rather than think I'm out being social. But as soon as I see the message that came through, I don't give an eye-roll as I expected, but rather, I dry the rest of my body off as quickly as possible and throw on some clothes before running out the door.
My call goes to voicemail, and I hang up, tossing my phone onto the passenger seat. I hadn't heard from Cam in the last three days, and I half expected that he only took my number just to make me happy, with no intentions of actually using it. But after receiving the text from an unknown number,I knew I had to go and check that he was okay. Considering the message I got, I don't think holding a conversation over texts was an option either.
Ten minutes later, I'm pushing through the front door to his building, grateful that there's no security here, no doorman or lock to keep out people like me who are trying to help someone. But unfortunately, that works for unwelcome guests as well. After rushing up the stairs, I half run to the end of the hall where his apartment is and knock. He doesn't answer, so I try again.
“Cam, it's me, Jasmine.”
There's still no answer, so I try my luck at turning the door handle to see if it's unlocked. Thankfully it turns, and the door clicks open.
Without a second thought, I enter.
“Cam?” I find him immediately, sitting on the floor in the dimly lit apartment, slumped against the couch with his eyes closed. “Cam, can you hear me?” I drop to my knees in front of him and feel his skin for a fever. I'm relieved when I feel none, but that doesn't mean nothing's wrong.
Bleary eyes open and try to lock onto mine. All of his bruises have already started changing color, and his bandage looks good from the outside.
“Jaz? What're you doing here?”
“You sent a text. It was a little concerning, so I thought I'd come and make sure you were okay.”
He pushes up a little, glancing around the area like he's gathering his bearings and trying to figure out what's going on. “Right. I did,” he grumbles, bringing a hand up to press his fingers into his eyes.
“Tell me what's going on. Your text was all jumbled, but it looked like you were trying to say that you're dizzy?”
