Dear Daybreak

He goes through the rest of the day in a trance. Addison doesn’t speak. Cameron almost doesn't care.

When school lets out, it’s snowing. The sky is gray, the clouds are thick. He will not see the sun until tomorrow’s daybreak.

Oh, how lovely the world is. Aligning its climate just for him.

He takes his time walking home. The cold penetrates his thin cotton socks now. There are no wings to whisk him away, and he tries not to think of Addison.

Things will get better. They will love again, and Celeste will be there tomorrow. She’ll be there the next day, and the next. This girl, this amazing girl, who knew his name and brought back the colour to his eyes.

No one ever speaks to Cameron. He isn’t even sure his teachers know his name, though they must.

She isn’t a no one, though. Celeste is never a no one.

Snow is beginning to fall as he pads up the steps to his house. Not quite dancing - that would be a miracle yet – but there’s a certain energy that wasn’t there before.

Some call it hope.

____________________________________________

Shock would not be a valid word to describe his parents’ reactions as they hear someone cuss quietly from the place their son is standing.

He locks eyes with each of them, briefly, then slips around the two figures and up the polished wooden stairs.

There is a whisssperrr surfacing in the back of his mind, growing steadily louder.

"Sweeeeetheaaaaart," it whisssperrrs. "Sweet, dear boy." Cameron stumbles into his room, throwing his arm out behind him in a clumsy attempt to slam the door. It swings shut gently, hitting the frame but not clicking into place.

Seeds of panic appear in his stomach. Throwing himself at the door slams it closed. His backpack falls to the floor, schoolbooks and notebooks alike spilling onto the carpet.

He isn’t sure why the voice strikes such fear into his actions, but he can’t help the violent trembling as he curls into the corner.

"She tore us apart. I was perfect. I was your everything. You rejecccteddd me," it whisssperrrs again. No, it hisses. Like a snake, with venom and fangs. This isn’t Addison. It doesn’t feel like Addison.

"You’re hated," it spits.

Another joins in. "You took her wings." He can hear more fragments now, echoing themselves and dissolving into his memory. The panic sprouts.

"…even a burden to your parents…
"Stupid to think Celeste cared…
"…teacher made her take care of him.
"YOU’RE FUCKING PATHETIC.
"Even Addison doesn’t love you now…
"You’re all. Alone."

The voices are changing, morphing, melting, sinking, flying into each other. His shaking increases. The panic grows so quickly. So quickly.

He squirms against the wall, trying to escape into it. Into the sweet white wall, the flatsimplesweetwhitewall.

"Whybothergoingtoschoolyou’reafailuretherewhy bother talking to Addison, he was bound to hate you in the end whybotherexistingingeneral? No.one.likes.you. Hahaha. That’s funny. Why would anyone even consider likingyou? What a loser. Such a loser."

His feet dig into the floor, where we can always find something to wear. Socks-wet-with-snow-shirt-drenched-in-sweat.

In a frenzy of panic, he struggles out of his shirt and pants, just in time to retch onto the dirty gray carpet.

Again and again, he spews vomit in circles around him, and the sound of his concentration drowns out the voices for now.

In the background, buried beneath the screaming sounds, a familiar voice is talking quietly. He can only hear snatches, but each one wrenches his heart from his chest.

"…always loved you, Ca..."

Ca? Ca what? No, couldn’t have been saying…Cameron strains his ears to hear the rest, but it just makes the downstairs sounds louder.

Frustration overrules panic for a few precious seconds as he scowls and places a hand on either side of his head. He presses in tightly, blocking out the normal earth sounds.

"…ever meant…hurt..."

A child begins to cry loudly, effectively blocking out Addison’s words. The morning’s screeching car is stuck on repeat, and if he listens carefully, a crunching thud follows.

More sounds converge, everyday sounds like blenders and running water. Water that is running.

Running from what? "From you." Not flying, it’s not. Water-running-not-flying. How could it fly? It has no angel. It has no…no Addison. "You have no Addison." The words are filled with hatred.

Suddenly, the chaos fades away, and one last, sad note is ringing out.

"You took my wings." Addison.

It’s not accusing, angry. It is his admission of defeat. He thinks he doesn’t matter anymore.

“No!” Cameron screams. Hescreamsno. Then the rest of his reoccurring dream appears, the spaces finally filled, and he screams. Just screams.

The downstairs noises intensify. They are coming closer. The downstairs noises are coming closer his parents arecomingcloser and he screams.

"Goodbye."

Lunge. Lunges. He lunges. Boy lunge. Boy lunges. Scrambles. Lunges.

Him and the door collide with a violent crash, a fraction of a second before a strong impact resounds from the other side.

“Hello?” A voice cries anxiously. His mother.

“I’m fine,” he groans, nearly sobs, into the slab of wood. “Just a…nightmare.”

There is a long pause before he hears footsteps retreating hesitantly. The boy slumps against the door, all energy drained.

Thedream, thedream.

"A message. It’s a message. Let yourself be saved from this world. There is no Addison for you here anymore. Save yourself. Save yourself."

This is a kinder voice, a knowing voice. Not Addison, but a friend. The voice knows what to do. Ignore the malice in the tone, ignore the mocking undercurrent. Listen to the words.

____________________________________________

Blood is pouring around him. He smiles, because the blood is warm and the blood is friendly. And then, because the dream is a message, he thinks of Addison. He thinks of Celeste.

Tears fall obediently, but he doesn’t stop. He submerges himself in the memories. Smiling, calm, he submerges himself.

The dark has long since come, his parents long since asleep. The boy is pressed against the window, wearing only a pair of plaid green boxers.

Something is tugging at his mind. Warily, he pulls the floating thought closer and examines its contents.

"I love you," the memory murmurs.

The boy doesn’t answer this time. He smiles again, taking the cold metal from his wrist.

He presses his palm to the glass, wishing, against all logic, that he could see daybreak just one more time.

Suddenly, something catches his eye. With fading strength, he crawls to the door, fingers closing on a crumpled piece of paper that had fallen from his notebook. The search for a pencil seems to take much too long.

His fingers shake, and blood clots the page, but it doesn’t matter. Black curls curiously around the edges of his vision.

As he nears the end, the boy tries to hurry, but to no avail. It’s all he can do as he folds it dizzily in half before his head clunks dully against the window. His impenetrable door doesn’t stop the fall, and he lands at an awkward angle as the paper flutters quietly to the ground.

____________________________________________

I’m crying again on the first word. By the middle of it, I’m sobbing. Seeing my own name, I nearly scream.

But it’s the last words that I choke on. Literally, I choke. My throat closes up, and my tears stop making sound.

The fact that he was so close to the end, that his words were stopped so close to finishing it breaks my heart more than anything else.

They were convinced this paper was meant for me. They dropped it off at the school office. I was called down in an announcement.

My name. Celeste. He told me it was beautiful.

Written all over the back of the note.

All he ever needed was to be loved.

Trying to wipe the tears away long enough to see, I reach for something to write with.

The search seems to take much too long when at last my fingers close over a pen.

In small, printed letters, I write two words. The inky black stands out harshly against the faint pencil.

Dear daybreak,
You see, I’ve always hated you. You were the one who chased the night away.
If the enemy of my enemy is my friend, then the enemy of my friend is surely my enemy, too.
Even if the sky was gray, it wasn’t perfect, because people could see me, and judge me, and hurt me.
He said that no one out there could hurt me.
But he never mentioned that he could instead, Daybreak. He never said it.
I’m a child, you know. I’m never going to get the chance to grow up. But I don’t mind so much. There’s nothing here for me. Celeste couldn’t save me. She didn’t even care.
Anyways, that doesn’t matter. But I’m not going to have another chance to tell you this.
So, I just want you to know:
Despite all your problems
-the traps you set for me; the sunshine you bring; the people who won’t let me go-
Time is running out. And, well...
I'll miss you when I‘m gone.