ʷᵃᵛᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵒˡᵒʳ / ᵇⁱˡˡⁱᵉ ᵉⁱˡⁱˢʰ

chapter five

The days after the party were mostly uneventful. I stayed in my bedroom for the majority of the time. Once, I went out and met Hugh for some sleeping pills. 

I painted often. I had at least four half-empty canvases leaned up against my walls, swirls of bright colors that were still forming the final picture.  

And I slept. God, I got so much sleep that sometimes I would wake up and think that I was still in a dream. It was heavenly. In sleep, I was away from all my problems. No runaway fathers or broken mothers could reach me when I was lying in bed, eyes closed, mind completely blank.

I didn't really see Billie. I was eating little, which I knew was a bad thing, but I couldn't bring myself to go downstairs into the kitchen. I was too scared I would run into someone and have to talk to them.

Then, one afternoon, I woke up from my third nap of the day to my phone ringing with a call from Hugh. I answered, groggy and disoriented.

"Camille! Hi."

"Hi," I grumbled. I was battling the strong urge to just hang up on him.

"Sooo. There's this concert thingy happening at a bar downtown. I'm going with some friends. And I think you should come."

"What? No thanks. I'll pass," I said immediately. I hadn't even known there was a downtown to this place. Nonetheless, it did not sound the least bit intriguing. 

"C'mon. Please?" Then he lowered his voice. "I've got some new stuff that I think you'll want."

At this, I faltered. I was running low on my sleeping pills. Without them, I turned into a strung-out insomniac. Being unable to sleep is like experiencing a gruesome, slow death--all you want is for everything to go dark, for you to be put out of your suffering. 

"Fine. I'll come. But only for a little bit," I snapped. 

I could hear his smile as he said, "Good. I'll pick you up at eight."

I hung up on him then, without saying anything else. Flopping back into bed, I swallowed another sleeping pill dry and rolled onto my stomach, shutting my eyes and letting the emptiness engulf me fully. 

*

When Hugh picked me up, the sky was beginning to turn hazy and grey, signaling the beginning of a nighttime storm. We drove in silence, the windows down. Someone was having a barbecue--I could smell it. There were little kids sitting on the curb outside one of the houses, eating ribs. The sauce was all over their faces.

"You're gonna love the bar," Hugh said to me. We were beginning to descend into what I assumed was downtown--the spaced out beach houses were beginning to morph into stores and restaurants, the crowds of people thickened. To me, all the days seemed to blend together into one endless fog--but according to my phone, it was Saturday night. 

"I doubt that." I wasn't trying to be rude, just honest.

"Seriously. They do shows every Saturday with local bands and stuff. It's great. And they don't really check IDs because basically all their customers are underage."

"Sounds fun. But I'm really only here for..." I trailed off, worried that with the windows down, someone might overhear our conversation.

Hugh pulled the car into a parking spot outside of a small, squat brown brick building. It had a black awning with worn out red letters on it that read "Oceanview Bar."

"I know, I know," Hugh sighed. "But please--just stay here a little while. Maybe you'll actually have a good time."

I shrugged. I didn't have enough energy to contradict that statement. In the days I'd know Hugh, I quickly learned that he hardly ever took no for an answer. He was hungry and ambitious, which was admirable at times, but also really fucking annoying.