Secret Lucidity(11)

He takes my hand in his, and affirms, “This is your place. Right here next to me.”

I shake my head. “I feel empty to you because I am empty.”

“You’re not. You may think you are, but I see everything inside you.”

“You don’t,” I refute. “It’s just easier for you to believe that rather than seeing the truth.” We deadlock on each other for a moment before I confess, “I can’t even cry. What kind of heartless person can’t even cry over her dead father?”

“A girl who’s afraid. But there’s nothing to be afraid of when you’re with me,” he says. “Come on, Cam, I’ve known you since you were six.”

“I can’t give you something that I don’t have.”

I’m hollow.

And numb.

“Tell me what to do here. I used to be able to give you what you wanted. I used to make you happy. But I need you to tell me what you need. Nothing I do is working.”

“I just need time.”

“Away from me?”

“Away from everyone,” I whisper.

Dropping his forehead against mine, he breathes heavily as the air around us thickens.

“I don’t want to lose you, Cam.”

I wish I could say that I don’t want to lose him either, but I’ve already lost my whole world.

I love Kroy. I just need space to find my way out of this constant hovering cloud.





(August)



TIME TICKS BY.

I’m no better. No closer to healing. No closer to accepting.

Days pass as I remain while I watch my mother spiral down, down, down.

Her daily glass of wine has manifested into a daily bottle, but now, she’s traded out wine for vodka. I barely exist to her aside from the moments she needs me to fill the pantry with food, do a load of laundry, or anything else she can’t manage because she’s too inebriated to function. It’s as if we’ve switch spots, and I’m the adult caring for the child. I keep my mouth shut when my frustrations boil because I know the feud will be worthless.

Once pristine lives are now sloppy. Because that’s what she is—a sloppy drunk.

Her boss at the accounting firm she had been working at for the past fifteen years fired her today. When I asked her why, she gave me some BS story about company layoffs, but I saw through her lie. He fired her because she stopped showing up, and when she did drag herself into the office, she’d be unkempt and hungover.

“I ordered us pizza for dinner,” she slurs from the couch in the living room when I walk into the kitchen.

“I’m sick of pizza.”

She doesn’t respond.

I pour myself a glass of water, take a seat at the island bar, and open up my laptop to check my email. My schedule for next year hasn’t been sent yet, so I click on an email from Coach Andrews, which is the swim team’s pre-season two-a-day schedule that starts next week.

My chest tightens, knowing my days are numbered until I’m forced to step back into the life I was violently thrown out of when I flew through the passenger-side window. Summer has allowed me to linger in the void, but in just two weeks, school will start, schedules will resume, and swim meets will be announced. I’ll have to face everyone after hiding out for most of the summer.

The doorbell rings.

“There’s cash in my purse, darling.”

I roll my eyes, annoyed with her.

“Hey!” Linze beams when I open the door. She stands brightly against the night with her platinum blonde hair and personality to match.

“Hey, Linz. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to pick you up.” She steps inside and closes the door behind her. “But you can’t wear that,” she says as she eyes me from head to toe.

“What are you talking about?”

She takes my hand and practically drags me up the stairs toward my bedroom. “If you’d answer your phone, you’d know that Kyle and his friends are throwing a bonfire party tonight. Everyone is going to be there.”

“I don’t want to see everyone,” I mutter under my breath, but my objection is ignored.

Linze takes it upon herself to rummage through my closet, pulling out a few tops and tossing them onto the bed. She then digs through my dresser and grabs several pairs of shorts, adding them to the pile.

“My mom just ordered dinner for us.” It’s the only lame excuse I’m able to grasp on to through my mounting dread.

She turns to me, tipping her head to the side and propping her hands on her hips. “So?” she says, dragging out the word.

“So, I can’t bail on her and leave her here alone.”

“Since when did you become her babysitter? She’s a big girl, Cam. And this is the last big party of the summer.”

I stare at her, willing her to understand.

“Come on. You haven’t showed up to any parties this summer. You’ve been avoiding everyone.”

“Excuse me for not being in the partying mood,” I defend with hostile undertones.

She leans against my dresser and sighs. “I know it’s been hard, but I also know it’s been nearly three months since the accident. Don’t you think it’s time to get out and move on?”

“Move on?”