Page 42 of Dissolving Prejudice

Get over yourself, Shay-Lee. He’s still a pig.

“Fine. Whatever. Get inside the shower so I can get out of this ugly place.” I scrunched up my nose. “I already smell mold.” That was a lie, and just like in the past, Camilo had managed to turn this dump into a place that was all him—plants, an old record player, his clothes hung on a metal rack, and so many pairs of sneakers that were organized in wooden boxes. I remember he managed to make the small apartment we’d lived in for a while into a home, too, just like he did this place.

“You’re the one who insisted on escorting me here,” he said.

“Well, yeah. I wanted to make sure you didn’t suddenly pass out.” I bit on my lip. “It doesn’t mean I want to spend time in here.”

Camilo laughed. “Fine. I’ll shower fast so you can leave.”

“Good.”

With that, he went inside what I assumed was his bathroom, leaving me alone.

I sat on a stool by his kitchen island and told myself I shouldn’t snoop around. And yet, one minute in, my curiosity was already nipping at my ass, and I decided to only slightly search around his place.

Excited, I first went over his clothes. I flipped through them, impressed with his taste as I always had been, and stopped on a vintage Adidas hoodie I wanted to steal for myself. I loved wearing his clothes. Still hearing the water running, I figured I had more time, so I moved on to his shelves. Of course he’d have little jars of homemade ointment and baby plants all over the place. It was Camilo, after all. That guy loved his plants and vegan crap. After opening one of the jars and applying a bit of cream to my hands, I spotted an empty packet of cherry-flavored gum, and it got me thinking. This place didn’t smell of cigarettes, and neither did he. Could it be that he quit?

Still rubbing my palms together, I looked down at the floor to see his stupid cat. “What do you want?” I snarled before trying to shoo him with my leg. Only he didn’t get the memo and instead continued to rub against me. “You probably think you’re so cute, don’t you?” I bit the inside of my cheek, then picked him up. What did he say the cat’s name was? Ah, Toro. “It’s so him to name you a bull.” I chuckled because that was the meaning of Toro’s name in Spanish—bull. Camilo was always great with names, and I loved the ones he pinned me with. Smiling, I thought back on the first time he’d imprinted me with the name Llorón. A crybaby. His crybaby. To this day, the sound of him calling me that filled my chest with nothing but warmth. Realizing I was now hugging the cat while thinking about Camilo like a boy with a crush, I put the cat down and continued with my search mission.

While the bedsheets were tucked in, Camilo’s clothes were tossed all over it. Walking over there, I grabbed his shirt. It was baggy and fuzzy and smelled so much like him. Unable to resist myself, I buried my face in it, imagining being wrapped in his embrace. I knew it was wrong and unfair to Jordan and myself, so after hugging the shirt close to my chest, I dropped it back on the bed. Ready to move on, Toro decided to jump onto the bed, too. Unsure if he was allowed on it, I tried grabbing him.

“Come here, you useless fuzz,” I said, stretching my arm, but the idiot only moved farther up the bed until I had no choice but to climb on it. “Come here!” I lunged forward, falling face-first on the pillow.

Fuck.

Toro seemed to be a jerk just like his daddy because instead of getting off the bed, he moved to sit on my back. “You little shit—what the hell?” I paused when I felt something hard underneath my head. Sliding my fingers under the pillow, I tensed as I touched the cold handle of a gun. I quickly let go before moving the pillow aside to see it was, indeed, a gun.

I glanced over my shoulder, checking that Camilo wasn’t out yet, then back at the weapon. My palms turned sweaty, and my throat dried while I kept staring at it.

Why the fuck would he have a gun under his pillow?

My hand trembled as I sent it forward, and I hesitated before picking up the gun. I had never held one in my life before; it was much heavier than I’d ever imagined it to be. Putting my other hand underneath the barrel, I examined it properly. It reminded me of Orson, who’d once threatened me by shoving the muzzle into my mouth. It also made me think back on Rosa. I might not have remembered anything from that horrid night of my attack, but I knew she was shot in the head from what they’d told me. But above all, staring at this killing machine made me face the questions I tried so hard to avoid.

In the four long years Camilo had worked for Dion, did he ever use one of these? Had he shot someone? I knew for a fact someone shot him, considering what happened with Soren, but… Did he ever do it himself, and mostly, had he ever taken a man’s life? If he had, would I care? Probably not. No, definitely not, and yet, my stomach hurt with those thoughts. I wanted to put the gun back where I found it when—

“What are you doing?” Camilo asked, his tone aggressive.

Ignoring his question, I turned to look at him. He was half-naked, with a towel knotted around his hips while water dripped down his impressive body. Not letting it distract me, I held his stare.

“Why do you have a gun?” I bit back, brows furrowed as I still held on to the weapon.

“Put it down, Shay-Lee.” His jaw twitched. “Right. Now.”

Not liking to be ordered around, I raised one brow. “Or what?” Deciding to joke, I lifted the gun so now it was aimed at him. “Because the way it looks to me, you’re not in the position to bark orders, asshole.”

Camilo’s eyes widened, but he didn’t budge and instead fisted his palms. “For God’s sake, Shay-Lee. It’s fucking loaded.”

W-what?

Struck by his words, I released my hold on the grip and jerked back while the gun fell onto the mattress. Camilo immediately moved toward me, grabbed the gun, and unloaded it. A Golden bullet fell onto the white sheets, making it even clearer how close this was. My heart was beating like crazy at the same time coldness spread through me.

I just aimed a fucking loaded gun at his face.

Moving closer to me on the bed, Camilo grabbed my shoulders. “Hey,” he whispered while giving me a little shake. “Shay-Lee.”

Unable to breathe properly, I looked at him with wide eyes. What if, by mistake, I had shot him and he’d died right in front of me? All those thoughts were silenced the second he pulled me into a hug and my head was nestled in his chest. Closing my eyes, I leaned into his tight embrace, allowing him to consume me.

“It’s okay, Llorón.” He kissed the top of my head while stroking my hair. “You didn’t know it was loaded.”