Caught (Camren)

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You know that feeling that you get in the middle of the night when you're half asleep and you think you're falling? That feeling is real and it happens all the time. That feeling comes and goes in waves and it sure as hell leaves its mark. Trouble is, you're never actually falling. I mean, you are, but not physically. The ground isn't there to catch you and end everything with a quick snap of the neck. No, that feeling comes when you fall mentally- emotionally- and there's nothing you can do about it. It's scary at first and your arms and legs flail, trying to find solid ground, but eventually you just kind of...float. At least, that's what I did.

I'm Camila. I would give you my entire life story, but it seems to me that my life didn't actually start until my lips touched the biggest surprise of my life, and I can't tell you about that yet. I'll give you the basic rundown instead. I'm seventeen years old, and my parents, teachers, and immediate family describe me as, "the kid from every parent's nightmare." In fact, I don't think they've called me by my real name in years. Now I'm formally known as "Hellion" or "Troublemaker" or "Camila, Please Stop Getting Drunk and Bringing Home a Different Girl Every Night." Yep, I said girl. Why do I act like that? Hell if I know. Maybe it's because my parents are never around or maybe it's because I got sucked into the wrong crowd at school, or it could have something to do with the fact that I just don't care. Well, I didn't.

Anyway, long story short, my second home was basically whatever party I decided to attend on a weekly basis. Alcohol was the pillow that supported my head every night and marijuana- graciously supplied by my best friend- was the sun shining through my curtains in the morning. I was seventeen years old, covered in tattoos, and probably had a higher percentage of liver damage than a chance to live. Notice how I changed from present to past tense? That's because I don't do that anymore. I know what you're thinking- "Aw, she realized she was making bad choices and decided to change-" but you're wrong. I didn't decide anything. I didn't choose to fall. I didn't choose to become involved with someone who was worse for me than I was for her. I didn't choose to fuck everything up, but God, was it one hell of a ride.

This is the story.

...

I turned the dial on the radio and let the speakers in my car rattle as I drove along, the summer wind whipping my hair across my face. The sun was hardly in the sky and the part that I could see was nearly covered by clouds. The earth was damp with the threat of rain and the smell was refreshing as I breathed it in. The air was still and warm. I was alone. I pulled into the school parking lot and cut the engine, throwing my keys in my book bag and pulling out a fresh pack of Pall Malls. I hit the carton against the steering wheel and picked a cigarette from the corner, putting it against my lips and lighting it. I took a drag and listened to the sparks crackle. The menthol burned my throat but I loved the feeling. I opened the door and climbed out of the car, swinging my bag over my shoulder and flicking the ash off the end of my smoke.

I hate this place, I thought.

I was a junior- just one year to go- and it could not have possibly gone by any slower. I started forward and headed for the double doors, dreading the instant my feet would touch the stark white tile inside.

"No smoking on campus, Cabello," Mr. Patterson, our overbearing yet completely carefree principal told me.

"Yes sir," I acknowledged, tossing the smoke on the ground and grinding it into the cement as I pulled the door open.

I pulled my phone and headphones out of my back pocket and turned on my music, drowning out the sounds of the overly excited students crowding the hallway. I stopped by my locker on the way to class and deposited my books, the volume of my music clouding my thoughts. I turned back around and saw that the halls were vacant. The bell must have sounded while I had my attention on my locker. I slammed the door shut and sprinted down the corridor, my worn Converse squeaking against the tile as I ran. I pushed the door open and felt the vibration as it shut behind me, but my attention was trained on my desk in the front corner of the room. I threw my bag down and slumped into my seat, but my heart jumped in my chest when I felt a delicate hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see my teacher, Ms. Lloyd, standing over me. She moved her mouth but I couldn't hear her. I pulled one headphone out of my ear and smiled up at her.