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I heard Camillo swallow thickly. “Did they have anything to say about it?”
“Nothing, apart from calling me a burden,” I said.
I could still hear my mother’s warble telling me that I was a waste of space. She thought I could do a quick stint in rehab and get right back to it. She had no idea how bad I was because she hadn’t ever cared. I was a meal ticket, and when she realized her buffet had closed for good, there was nothing left but resentment and a little hatred.
“That’s cruel.”
“It’s life. Stage parents,” I said, waving him off. “One of the many ways I’ve put my therapist’s kid through college.”
He laughed softly. “Right.”
“Anyway, it was kind of hard to afford anything after it was all over. I lived with some friends I met in my group therapy sessions for a few years. That was nice. They got me a job where I could do customer service from home. Kept me from losing my mind or from being recognized in public. I wanted everyone to forget who I had been.”
I finally looked back at him, and Camillo was frowning at me. “Why did you get back into acting?”
“Because my parents weren’t wrong at the beginning. I did love it.” I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the seat. “I wanted to see if I could love it again, the way I did before it all went to shit. It all felt very honest—which I know is a weird way to describe lying for a living.”
“No,” Camillo said softly. There was a warm touch against the back of my wrist, then his fingers traveled to mine, and his palm pressed to the back of my hand. He stroked a thumb over my knuckles, and I shivered. “I get it. It’s art. It’s leaving aside who you are for a chance to be someone else for a little while.”
Something like that, yeah. I smiled at his description.
“So. Is it better?”
I laughed and rolled my head to the side to face him. “I don’t know yet. It’s been an interesting journey so far, but ask me how I feel after I have to slide into the dick sock.”
“Thedicksock? Is that exactly what it sounds like?”
I burst into laughter. “Mhm. It sure is. No one wants to see it flapping around.”
He hummed thoughtfully, making me blush. It was too easy to fall back into the memory of his little safe space. His tiny apartment above a café where no one could find us. His lips had been so warm, tongue wet and soft, hands so fucking talented.
I wanted to do that again—to drop to my knees for him, to obey him, to beg him, then to mark him with my come.
“Do you think—” My sentence died at the sound of the tinkling music box melody. “Oh shit. He’s here.”
“He? Who?” Camillo looked entirely alarmed and on edge, like he was about to pull out a sword and duel someone.
I had no time to explain. I threw open the door and swung my legs out. “Get your chair and follow me. I’ll stall him.”
“Aleric!” he cried.
I pointed at the old-school truck now turning the corner, and I took off in a jog, twisting to run backward so I could shout, “Come on! You said you trusted me!” I caught a single glimpse of his surprised face before turning back around and jogging to stop the old man and his wares.
Leaning back on the curb, I stretched my feet out and looked up and over at Camillo, who had our loot in his lap. He was holding an ice cream bar by the stick, pinched between two fingers and his thumb. It was meant to be a Ninja Turtle, but it looked more like Frogger after he was squashed by a car.
And the gumballs were not any place eyes were meant to grow.
“This is your idea of a happy childhood?” Camillo asked, turning the ice cream from left to right.
I bit happily into my snow cone, saying a little prayer it wouldn’t chip a tooth because I had no energy for an emergency dental appointment. It tasted like freezer burn and summer. “Mhm.”
“Aleric.”
“Camillo,” I mimicked in his posh accent. Twisting around, I rested my chin on his bony knee. “Taste it.”
He pulled a face. “This looks…unnatural. And full of chemicals.”
“Of course it does. It’s a neon green Ninja Turtle. And the chemicals are what gave our generation this amazing constitution.”