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“Camila, look at me.”

“Fuck off, Luke! I fucking hate you,” I scream into my knees, but my throat feels like a thousand knives.

“I’m not Luke.”

“I don’t believe you!”

A hand reaches towards me, but I jerk away. “Please, don’t hit me.”

“Camila.” More stern this time.

“No, no, no, no, no.” My breaths come in rapid and short.

“Angel.”

The tears finally spill. I’m aware of my surroundings as sobs wrack my body, and I’m pulled into a pair of gentle arms.

It’s been hours. It could have been days for all I know. But when I finally pull away from Xander, sitting cross-legged in front of him, my eyes sting as I try to adjust to the blue dusk seeping through the windows. It’s not pitch black anymore, and Xander’s face is lit up by the fading moon.

His t-shirt is covered in blood and tears, but his face glows gently in the light, almost giving him an angelic aura. This man is a walking contradiction.

Xander faces me, and for a minute, he doesn’t say anything. He stares at me so intently, but I don’t know what thoughts are running wild in his head. The look is almost murderous.

There’s no hiding the truth now. He’s heard it. And if I know Xander even a little bit, he won’t let it go.

“Whoever this Luke is…” he starts, jaw clenched. “I will kill him.”

Nothing.

No reaction.

No fear, no rejection.

My heart doesn’t pound. I’m not in shock.

I would expect no less from the man who just shot a guy in the head for me.

“I believe you,” I reply, my voice hoarse.

He shuffles closer, taking my palm in his. “There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you.” He presses his mouth to my knuckles and kisses them lightly.

“I know,” I breathe.

And for the first time, I feel like I can tell someone about Luke. I can finally let him out of the box I’ve kept him locked tightly in.

He kisses farther up my arm. “Tell me about him.”

“Xander,” I start, but he cuts me off, his mouth still trailing upwards.

“I want to know every single detail about him.”

He reaches my shoulder, pressing a light kiss there before pulling away. He wraps his arm round my back and scoops me up by my butt, placing me down gently on the bed. Kneeling, he grabs one of my legs and carefully unties the lace of my heel.

“You don’t have to tell me what he did.” He pauses, looking at me. “But I need to know where he is.”

He continues to unwrap the lace, sliding the heel off my foot and placing it beside him. He starts on my other leg.

“Your parents?” I ask quietly.