Studies hint that a network of supportive friends is helpful even for disorders like bipolar.
Henri LeVieux reveals existence of second son Camille when asked about possible suspects.
It had been an uneventful past couple weeks with Camille living in Noah's house, other than a few brief moments when something triggered Camille and Noah was scared that he would have to take Camille back to the hospital. But every time Noah informed Dr. Evans about the events, the psychologist just came over to have a casual session with Camille and switched one of the medications to see if it would help at all. Often, the switch did help, and the time between Camille's freak-outs grew longer.
Noah was grateful for that. It terrified him to see Camille in states of such unresolved pain or anger that seemed to come out of nowhere.
Camille was normally a sweet, gentle person. He hovered around Noah whenever he was home, almost like a sort of guardian angel. His always freshly-washed golden curls did nothing to take away from that image, and neither did his perfect skin. After spending fifteen minutes doing skincare in the bathroom, it was not surprising that he ended up with flawless skin, but Noah was still a little jealous. And whenever Noah made a comment about Camille's appearance, the omega just laughed like each of Noah's words was a joke in itself. He seemed to accept that other people found him attractive but treated their attention as if it was something amusing.
In any other person, Noah would have called it a pick-me attitude put on by someone so self-obsessed that no one was good enough for them. But he knew Camille was anything but that. Pick-mes were almost always gold-diggers, and gold-diggers did not waste their time pretending to be hookers. Besides, Noah had discovered that Camille had in fact worked as an escort at The Helix Nightclub, just as the omega had admitted that first night in the ER. There was no pretending going on, even though Noah wished that Camille had only faked giving himself away to who knew how many alphas. But he had gone down to The Helix and talked with a couple of Camille's former coworkers and, after some persuasion during a phone call, Rowan had confirmed it as well.
So now he saw that past in every move Camille made and every compliment he laughed off. He wanted to be able to look past it, but he could not help wondering how much of Camille's bipolarity had to do with the environment he had been forced to live in. Because it was obvious that he had been forced. His family name had meant nothing to alphas who only saw him as a fragile toy that could give them some slight satisfaction. Camille had been broken so many times at this point that he was made more of cracks than wholeness. And Noah could not make himself overlook that.
He tried to be as gentle toward Camille as Camille was toward him, but Camille seemed to be an expert at ignoring the attention he could not accept. Camille took Noah's care with open hands but somehow managed to sift out all of the affection Noah poured in. He seemed determined to keep Noah relegated to a caretaker. Anything more probably scared him.
Today, when Noah arrived home from a grueling night shift that he had only survived thanks to Chloe allowing him to steal some of her coffee, Camille jumped up from the couch at his appearance, throwing aside the blanket and tossing the book he had been reading onto the coffee table. "Do you want something to eat? There's leftover oatmeal in the fridge I can heat up."
Noah smiled tiredly at Camille's sweet offer. "Thanks, but I think I'd fall asleep with the spoon halfway to my mouth. I'm going to sleep."
"I'll be really quiet," Camille promised in a whisper, promptly returning to the couch.
"I'm not mad at you," Noah clarified, afraid that Camille had taken his words the wrong way. "I'm just really tired."
Camille nodded without a word, obviously intent on thoroughly keeping his promise.
Noah was too tired to address that completely different issue and plodded upstairs to collapse into his bed. He did not even shut his bedroom door behind himself before falling into the heaven of sleep.
When he woke up, it was to the feeling of a cool cloth gently clearing the sweat off his face. He had been rolled over onto his back, changed into his most comfortable pajamas, and tucked under the blankets. It was like his mom had suddenly materialized at his house with no warning. But when he forced his dry eyes open, it was his angel who was sitting on the side of the bed.
Camille looked so beautiful as he bent to dip the towel in his hand into the bowl of water on the floor. Every motion he made was elegant, like a dancer curving gracefully to pick up the roses of adoration tossed up onto the stage. He wrung out the towel, sat back up, and startled when his eyes met Noah's. He smoothed over his surprise with a nervous smile. "Sorry," he whispered, the apology barely audible. "You just looked so uncomfortable."
Noah caught Camille's wrist as he tried to get up and run away. "Do you ever listen to yourself?" he asked softly.
Camille froze, his back partially turned. The hand holding the towel wrung a handful of water out of the cloth, the droplets plinking like rain into the bowl. "What do you mean?" His voice landed somewhere between fear and knowledge.
It cut Noah down to his soul. "You keep shying away from anything remotely affectionate I say or do, but then you do things like this. Can you not make up your mind? Or are you trying to mess with me?"
Camille's whole body locked up as Noah spoke, his every muscle stiffening with each subsequent word. "Noah…" His voice died, and he could not seem to find an adequate answer.
Noah sat up, keeping his hand wrapped around Camille's wrist. He could encircle it easily with his thumb and pointer finger, and he almost let go so he did not break any bones. "Do you or do you not understand what I'm saying?" It sounded harsh, but he was done dancing around the issue.
Camille did not move. "Yes." The one word was spoken clearly with no indication of the fear Noah could see with his own eyes. He was compartmentalizing his emotions: feeling one thing but speaking without revealing it in his tone. "I understand."
"Then what am I saying?" Noah pushed.
"You're angry that I'm sending you mixed messages."
He was, but that was not what he had wanted to communicate. "I'm not angry."
"You sound angry."
Noah sighed. "Fine, I'm a little angry," he admitted. "Can you sit back down? I'd much prefer to talk to your face instead of your back."
Camille slowly turned back and resumed his seat by Noah's knees. He did not resist when Noah took the towel from his hand and dropped it into the bowl. He kept his face hidden by tilting his chin down and letting his blond hair screen his expression. "I'm making you angry," he said in a choked voice. It sounded like he was forcing himself to throw up the words.
"I'm angry because you're doing opposing things," Noah explained as patiently as he could. "You're confusing me."
"I'm sorry." Camille's voice was even quieter and more strained. He did not curl into himself like Noah had expected, though.
Anytime Noah had angrily confronted an omega, they had always curved into themselves as if his anger was a physical threat. Sometimes it was, but not often. And Camille was so soft, quiet, and gentle that Noah had assumed he would react to a raised voice like it was an assault. "Can you please stop sending me these mixed messages? Just pick one side and stick with it. Either treat me like I'm a health professional hired to look after you or return the affection I've shown you."
Camille looked up but did not move his head, so the glance felt dangerous. "Which do you want?"
Noah knew that was a trap. So he sidestepped. "It's not what I want. It's what you want."
Fear spiderwebbed across Camille's face like Noah had thrown a stone into the glass wall of his composure. Then he squeezed his eyes shut. "It's never what I want."
Noah blinked in the following silence, too stunned to speak for a moment. "It's always what you want here with me," he countered quietly. "And if you need to distance yourself from me relationally in order for this to keep working, I won't make it difficult for you."
"Do you want me?"
The question caught Noah in the chest like a bullet. "I…"