Suffocating

Chapter 5

TW: Mentions of death, homophobia/hate crime, sort of PTSD? and grief? idk

He just felt empty. Not sadness, or anger, or pain. Just nothing. They say that cold is just the absence of warmth, sadness is just the absence of happiness. But what about when it's just the absence of anything at all? How do you fix that? To fix sadness, you invite happiness. To fix cold, you invite warmth. How do you fix this gaping void of nothing?

Antonia had called her sister to come and look after her, so Cameron waited with her at the hospital. They didn't speak; there was nothing to be said. Nothing that could ease the soul-crushing pain in both of their hearts.

When Antonia's sister Mirabelle arrived, she took Antonia into her arms and they wept together. Cameron would have felt awkward, like he was intruding on a very personal moment, if he was able to feel anything at all. 

Once they had both calmed down enough to speak, Mirabelle offered, "Would you like me to drive you home, Cameron?"

He quickly shook his head, "Thank you, really. But you both need to be here, with each other." He wished he could say he declined the offer purely out of the goodness of his heart, but the main reason was actually that he couldn't bear to be around anyone else right now, couldn't bear to hear their cries and see their tears. He just needed to be alone.

"I'll take an Uber," he added. "You two... take care." He gave them both a hug, more out of obligation than desire to comfort them. 

Then he walked out of the emergency room, not really caring if he was being unfair to them. They needed any comfort they could get, and hear he was deserting them. But he was feeling this loss too, and he knew that if he stayed, he would be of no use to anybody anyway. They didn't protest when he left anyway, confirming that no one really wanted him around. 

He organised his uber and waited alone on the dark curb. 

He still hadn't shed a tear over Jaia. It didn't feel real; the harsh truth hadn't really sunk in yet. Obviously, he knew it was true. He knew Jaia Miller, the light of his life and most amazing boyfriend ever, was dead. He knew it, but he didn't feel anything. It was like his body was trying to protect him from the overwhelming pain he would feel when the reality finally did sink in.       

When his Uber arrived, he got in without greeting the driver, a middle-aged man with buzzed grey hair. 

He stared out the window, gazing up at the stars. He used to feel awe when he admired those same stars from Jaia's front yard. Now all he felt was a bitter twinge of sadness. He and Jaia would never share another night curled up on a picnic blanket learning the constellations.

The Uber driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, forehead puckered with concern. He'd probably put two and two together; a kid being picked up from the hospital at an ungodly hour, looking like he'd been sucker punched in the gut. 

He asked cautiously, "Rough night?"

Cameron almost laughed. 'Rough' didn't even begin to describe his night. He shrugged in response to the driver's question and didn't offer further explanation. 

The drive felt like it went forever. Cameron checked the time on his phone-- 3:56 am-- and noticed that he had twenty-one missed calls from his parents and text notifications from multiple of his school friends. 

He shut his phone off and dropped it in his lap. He did not have the energy or the inclination to talk to anyone. 

The car stopped moving, and it took him a second to realise he was home. He stared out the window, already dreading walking inside and facing the shit storm that was no doubt waiting for him.