A few more paces and Charlotte knew she needed to get out of her room and away from her own mind. She would get nowhere spending another second fretting over Alec, at least not tonight.
Before she knew where she was going, Charlotte wrenched open her door and stepped into the candle-lit hallway. The air was cool and a little damp from the rain that fell outside. It was the perfect atmosphere for her dour mood.
She walked, not in any particular direction, but in search of enough space to let her thoughts go. With the rest of the castle already tucked in for the night, there was no one to stop her or question what she was doing. Only her footsteps echoed against the stone floor.
It wasn’t until she was standing outside of the library that she realized where her feet had taken her. She almost laughed at herself, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it sooner. The library was the perfect place to escape to. She would be able to curl up on one of the sofas and lose herself in a story where a happily ever after was guaranteed.
There was still a sliver of light peeking out from under the doorway that made her curious if someone else in the castle had the same idea. She had half convinced herself that there was merely a forgotten candle that needed to be put out as she turned the handle and let herself in.
To her astonishment, she couldn’t have been more wrong. There was no forgotten candle, but rather a candle giving some much needed light to whatever Cameron was working on.
He was engrossed in the pages of his book, his shoulders curled into himself and his head tucked down. He didn’t even pick up his head to acknowledge that she had walked into the room. Her earlier desire to be alone faded as she walked further into the room, studying Cameron.
Since she had left him at dinner, he had not changed, though she could see his jacket tossed onto the sofa beside him. The hems of his sleeves were hastily rolled and pushed up, exposing his arms to his elbows. For a brief moment, her eyes stayed on the thickly corded muscles, highlighted by the veins that threatened to poke through his tanned skin. Peeling her eyes up to his face, she smiled at the way his hair was ruffled and messy, one hand tugging at the short black strands.
“Good evening, Cameron,” she said softly, not wanting to frighten him.
She hesitated by the arm of the sofa he sat on, waiting for him to look up at her. But a minute passed and then another, and still he said nothing. She knew the feeling of getting so lost in a book that the rest of the world fades and she knew how frustrating it could be to get interrupted. So instead of trying again, she left him on the sofa and went off in search of her own story to get lost in.
Her fingers skimmed the spines once more as her eyes darted over the embossed letters of the titles she touched. There were several she had read, others she had heard of, and shelves full of tomes she knew nothing about. She selected a few, wanting to read the first few pages of each before making her decision. She knew that ultimately, she could borrow all of them and no one would know the difference, but it was an excuse to stay in the library a few minutes longer, to see if Cameron would ever notice her.
It was between two books when a noise from over her shoulder startled her. Only Cameron was in the room with her, his shoulders still hunched in focused concentration. As she watched him, she realized that he was the one speaking, or mumbling rather. He paid her no attention as his lips moved slowly over a word, pushing out broken syllables.
“M-miss,” he stuttered.
His brows were furrowed and his hands clenched in frustration. She took a step closer, not sure if she should interrupt or offer her help. Her own books were still clutched in her hands, but were forgotten.
“Miss-c-cel…miscell-” he broke off again.
An impatient hand scraped through his hair, as if the strands were to blame for his frustration. He tugged at the ends of them hard enough to make her wince.
“Cameron?”
She kept her voice low, well-aware that he was still oblivious to her presence.
“Miscell-a-”
A growl, deep and guttural bubbled up in him. There was no registration on his face that he even knew he had made the sound. But she knew it was a sound of frustration and agony. She stepped toward him again, placing her books on a nearby table. Hesitantly, she reached out a hand towards him.
“Cameron,” she said again, this time a little louder, a little more firm.
Still her calls went unanswered. The tension in the room was palpable. It was unlike the tautness she had felt with Alec only a few minutes ago. This was not anger directed at her. In fact, she had the sneaking suspicion that if Cameron had known she was even in the room, he would never have let such raw emotion show. But he had not heard her, already too lost in his task to notice her presence.
He grunted as his hands slid from his hair to cover his eyes. She watched carefully as his shoulders rose and fell along with his chest, making room for the breath he sucked in and let go. He was trying to calm himself, trying to get a grip on his slipping emotions. She watched, feeling utterly helpless. At this point, she didn’t know if she should just slip out of the library and let him have his privacy, or if he needed her to step in. He had been so willing to let her help him at dinner that she thought he would be just as willing now. But he hadn’t been fuming then, merely resigned to his lack of knowledge. This was a different beast entirely.
His hands dropped from his face, clutching the book with a grip that was none too gentle, and stared at the page once more. His eyes scanned the word he could not make out over and over again, as if he was demanding the letters to arrange themselves in a way that made sense to his mind.
“Mis-cell-a…miscela-”
His jaw slammed closed.
She almost finished the word for him, fighting the urge to utter miscellaneous out loud, just to ease the strain in his shoulders, in his jaw. Another small step towards him and she could reach out and touch the arm of the couch. He sat on the other end, but still he did not notice her.
Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, anything to get him to break out of the cycle of frustration he had looped himself into when he spoke again. No, not spoke. Yelled.
“Argh,” he shouted, throwing the book onto the floor a mere few feet away from where she stood.
Her eyes went wide as she watched it land on its pages, the paper crumpling under the weight of the leather binding. Her gaze darted back to Cameron wondering if he realized what he had done. But his head was in his hands again, looking less and less like himself by the second.
