I’m surprised to hear Mico talking so candidly to someone he never seems to question. I guess they think I am totally out cold and can't hear them talking around me, because let’s face it, I am planked out star-shaped on a bed with a dead expression, closed eyes and barely able to move and I probably look like I am in a coma.I wish I was, and maybe I would not feel so wretched or out of my head on crazy hallucinogens.I like Mico, he’s a thug and a brutal henchman, but I like the fact he’s probably the first person I have ever met that shows any concern for me, except maybe Gino. He seemed to do that too for a brief moment in that posh house so very far away.I wonder why he has a family home that he never uses.Focus Camilla … stop floating off on the sea breeze.Jesus, I am definitely high.‘‘You’re not taking her in the shower or stripping her, I’m the only one who’s going to d

My whole persona is a lie that ingrained itself inside of me through repetitive use. I created this girl and buried Lisa—she and my battered emotions are a thing of the past.‘’Do you need anything? I can make you a drink or food.’’ The girl is watching me far too closely, even though I still feel weak and clammy, I don’t want her here and fussing. I have never been good at letting people take care of me and especially not someone who isn’t medical staff. No one cared before, so this is a new experience and I feel completely uncomfortable with her probing presence.‘’I need space and privacy. I want to get up, shower and make some tea. I appreciate what you all did but really, I just want quiet time to vegetate.’’ I sound completely ungrateful and I know it. Mico didn’t need to tend to me. Alexi … I don’t even know where to begin. I just know as soon as I am well he will dump me on a f

This is just a replay of my life, a dozen times over. It’s not lost on me that this is no sort of existence but I have no choice. I get myself into these situations and sometimes running is the only way out.I waste time looking for a bag and start to get extremely anxious as the clock keeps ticking. I pull out a small gym holdall I assume is his from the wardrobe and push what I can inside. Pulling on a jacket I go to the window to try and get it open. It takes effort, even though this is a modern and well-maintained apartment, I am not familiar with the locks or how to open the damn things. I manage to slide it enough to get my hand and arm outside, eyeing up the metal fire escape through the glass and push the bag out by squishing it through forcefully so it lands with a gentle thud on the staircase outside. Luckily this building is only five or so floors high and I am not about to escape from a massively high penthouse.The fire escape is a proper metal stair

The fact is that I am pining, stupid and emotional, and all I keep replaying in my head is him and his parting words. Crushing my soul and tormenting myself, even though it’s stupid. He wants me gone and I want to be free of him. There is no reason to feel distraught and set adrift because I am getting just that. I skim my phone for the millionth time and hover over his number. Somehow knowing these are the last hours of any connection to him is making me erratic and stupid, and I have to keep chastising myself for letting him get in my head in this way. All I can think about is how he was that night, in bed alone with me after he made love to me, and that’s what it felt like. I know I am obsessing, but … It wasn’t sex, not in Alexi’s typical dominant and aggressive style. It was something else, something more. Something that got to me in ways that cannot be undone. It was seeing another side to him, one capable of softness and gentle care

Loving someone is not a reason to treat you shittily. You deserve answers from him. I’m battling myself, fighting my own thoughts and yet the overwhelming aching pain is taking control. Alcohol fuelled stupidness and I cannot seem to stop myself, dragging myself onto my feet as I sway around crazily, mentally yelling NO while my body aims for the bedroom with a set mind to finding my phone, with tears dripping off my nose.I want to hear him say it in his own words. Why I’m not good enough? Why he doesn’t trust me? Why I’m good enough to fuck and yet so easy to discard? I cannot seem to apply the logical ranting refusals to the parts of me which are in control and looking for where I left it, tripping over my own feet as I search the bed and bedside cabinet.I am two people in one brain and the dumb part, completely intoxicated and ignoring reason, is in control of my physical movements. My heart shredding with the stupid intoxicated stupor I am