There's no point to confusion

Quiet elegance tiptoes through the tinted clouds, reflecting a wave of rising sunlight and lacing the air with a promise of warmth. An ashen teenage girl lies pressed against the window, wearing only a long sleeved plaid button-up shirt that had once belonged to her father. Warily, she plucks a floating thought from her head and examines it as the memory it holds fills her mind.

Blood echoes in the cavernous spaces between what she can remember, and the girl nearly shudders as she feels the familiar cold metal press against her wrist. Outside the vision, her gaze automatically drifts to her palm, which is pressed to the glass.

Savoring the final daybreak's chill before summer takes over.

Morning, Addison, she thinks absently, addressing the thoughtful voice that has been conjured up.

A useful distraction, I should hope. Stop reliving those dreams, love. That's the last thing you need right now.

Perhaps, she replies, now tracing the imprint of her fingers on a frosted windowpane.

Ghostly pale blonde hair creates lines in her vision, dividing the world where sun has intruded from the world where night is being chased. The lines are dirty, greasy. She smiles.
When that face smiles, it is like nothing else. You feel as if the earth has been swept from your feet. You feel as if there are four walls around you and light streaming through.
You are hanging. The walls are closing in. The spotlights are on you.
Trapped. So trapped. Like the soul who smiles, you are trapped. She is empty; you are trapped.

Come on, now. It's time for school. Up and at 'em.

The smile still playing at her lips, she obeys. In the impenetrable door to the outside chaos, her eyes meet hollow windows, impenetrable doors themselves.
They are framed by dark circles and gray skin, but the girl recognizes them for what they are. Portals to her demise. Wretched things that would hurt her if they had the chance. She doesn't turn away.

Someone is staring through me, Addison.

You're staring at yourself, sweetheart. Now I beg of you, get dressed and ready, or your mother will come.

At the mention of her mother, she breaks the stare, turning her head to the floor. There is always something to wear on the floor.

The floor, the floor. Floor, door, impenetrable door, quiet door, invisible door, door satanic. Shore, shore is, is shore not of any illusion every. Intrusion intrusion allusion control intrusion confusion…

No, no confusion. That isn't right. There is never any confusion. Addison knows everything. There's no point to confusion...

Illusion, intrusion, conclusion. Better. Illusion, intrusion, conclusion. Illusion, intru-

Pants.

She makes no indication of having been interrupted, but steps and robotically gathers jeans from the corner.

Shirt?

She didn't forget shirt. She never forgets shirt. She waited for Addison to ask, though, because she loves the sound of his voice.

This voice, anyways. Sometimes Addison speaks in different voices. Sometimes he says things that don't make sense. Sometimes he even has conversations with himself, using the different voices. How strange of him.
It doesn't bother the girl. Addison loves the girl. He would never hurt her. Nothing can hurt the girl.
The girl, the girl who loves Addison. The girl loves Addison. The girl would never hurt Addison. Anything can hurt Addison. The girl can't hurt Addison.

The girl that can't hurt Addison hums to herself as she slips on a long sleeved gray shirt.
As her hand reaches out to grab old and tattered shoes, Addison stops her.

You look so nice with just socks on.

The sky is blue today, but she watches the cloudy horizon with a knowing gaze. Autumn is drifting past; the first snow will come today.
She pulls her hand back and stands up.

If you don't hurry, you father will notice you.

Again, the threat of her parents is enough to send her flying out the door. Flying with wings. With his beautiful Addison wings. Just the two of them, flying on his wings.
You don't need shoes to fly. Fly with wings. Wings with fly. Wings fly, fly wings. White fly wings. Angel fly white. Angel Addison love. World hate love break no fly angel Addison love.
The cement is hitting her feet. The girl moves to the grass. Morning dew drenches her socks, but she never notices the growing numb, nor the cold, nor the wet. Nothing can hurt her.
Ahead, a child is crossing the street. The child is not flying. How could he fly? He has no angel. He has no Addison.
Suddenly, a car comes flying out of nowhere. Flying, the car is flying. Flying with no wings.
It lurches forward with the poison-sick-no-wings and it attacks the young boy. It hits him, punches hem, shoves him. It sends him flying. Flying with wings. Addison gave her those wings.

Jealousy rips through the girl. Addison is hers. Addison is her forever and always. Her wings. Her Addison. For her. Always for her. Not his. He can't have wings.
The cement hits him with a crunch. It takes his wings. He lands, and it takes his wings. His wings, his Addison gift of wings. Addison gave him those wings.
The cement took his wings. It was the cement. Of course it was the cement. Now he is gone, because the cement took his wings. How mean. How cruel.

The girl falls. She curls on the grass-wet-with-dew, socks drenched and wings gone. Sunlight is streaming down, and she hates this place. So trapped, so trapped. Dark is the home of the free. Night is the house of the dark.

Come home, come home, come home! she screams inside, writhing in agony on the grass-wet-with-dew. No one notices the girl. They are watching the boy whose wings she took, and this is her prison, her punishment.

Then Addison speaks.

A little girl's voice, one she doesn't know.
You're a killer, heshe says cheerfully. You're a killer and a murderer and a freak. Everyone hates you. You're invisible. Why should you be here? You took his wings.

She screams again, and despair is tearing down her heart. It's long since done its job, but it just keeps tearing and scratching, and the girl keeps screaming.
She groans, clawing at her chest in an attempt to send the monster away.

Sweetheart, says a voice. Addison's voice. Sweetheart, come here. Stop that. The despair stops tearing. I love you, I didn't mean it. It's alright, it's all going to be alright. Let's go to school. It's going to be alright.

Standing up, slowly, she looks around. The boy is gone. The car is gone. Addison says things are alright now, but her wings are gone too.

The girl gets to school late. Dirty floors reflect dirty lights as she pads through the dirty hallway.
The door to the classroom looms in front of her. Nothing can hurt the girl.

Everything can hurt the girl. You took his wings.

Moaning, she clutches the door handle. All at once, it swings open. She can't figure out if she did it or the other person did.
The other person, her teacher, is facing her. She can't remember if this is a nice teacher or not.
"Why are you late? Do you have a late slip?"
Not a nice teacher, then.
She slips past the not nice teacher, and protests echo behind her back.
"You can't come in here unless you have a late slip!"

To the back of the room. People will watch her less there. People won't see the portals to her demise, the dirty, greasy lines, the socks-wet-with-dew.

"Get back here right now." The girl hears venom in her teacher's voice. He doesn't like being disobeyed.
She sits at the back. People are watching. The lines become a veil as she sets her head on the desk.

"I think she's sick. Maybe we should let her be." A new voice. A girl. Was that concern she heard? Concern, laced through waves of sunshine and beauty. She liked this new girl's voice.

I'm sorry. She knows Addison's sorry. Her friend doesn't mean to say those things; he can't help the words. That doesn't make them less true or hurtful, though.
I love you. Addison can always hear her thoughts.

"Fine, but she's your problem, and she'll need to get a late slip at some point."

The veil is now reinforced by a wall. A thin, bony wall. Pale wall, pressing her vision into darkness.
The light that sneaks past her wall illuminates criss-crossed scars. In her mind, cold metal presses against them again. There are less spaces between memories now.
She remembers the pools. Red, diluted with salty clear. They enclosed her in a cocoon, saved her from the world.
The girl doesn't want to be saved from the world. Addison is only here, in the world. Addison will never be saved from the world.
Someone is breaking through his invisible shield. The one of silence.

"Cameron," the intruder murmurs.

She lifts his head quickly, staring without seeing, eyes filled with shock.

"Cam?"

Suddenly, the eyes regain a fraction of their colour.

Colour that you gave to me.

For the first time in her life, the girl is ignoring Addison.

No, not the girl. That isn't her name. She isn't the girl.

"Say it again," she breathes. She speaks. She talks. For the first times in months, she talks.

"Cameron."

The word is full of colour. Her eyes are shining. Blue, such a blue, they are shining.

"Who are you?" Her throat is raw, her words cracked, and it takes such an effort . But nothing can hurt Cameron.

Half an hour later, she knows that the girl with concern is named Celeste. Such a beautiful name. Such a colourful name. Celestial. Like the millions of stars she hasn't seen since Addison.

I gave up the stars for you.

I gave up everything for you.

You stole my name.

You gave it away.

And my voice.

I never told you to do anything.

No, you didn't. She looks down sadly. Not even the things I needed.

Her best friend does not reply.

"Why aren't you wearing shoes, Cam?" Her voice matches her name. Brilliant, shining, clear, like the stars. It rebels against her name, too. It isn't alien, it isn't far off, like a distant galaxy. It's down to earth. It's beautiful.
She is all the things Cameron is not. Things she never was.

"Addison told me not to," she mumbles.
"Addison?"
"My..." Shee trails off. Her voice is still hoarse. It doesn't bring the bells that Celeste's does.
"My." Cameron nods firmly, eyebrown drawn thoughtfully.

My. Mine.

As she opens her mouth to answer, the teacher yells out to be quiet.
They ignore him. He's been yelling at them the whole class.

Whisper, now. Whisssperrr. The word swishes against his mind. Vocabulary he hasn't used in a year.
"Whisssperrr," she murmurs out loud. The word brushes against her tongue.
"Cameron…" Celeste begins, hesitantly. "Is Addison here now? Is he listening to us?"
"Yes," she whisssperrrs, eyes aglow. She understands.
"He was the perfect friend. The perfect everything. My everything."
"Was?" The beautiful Celeste raises her eyebrows carefully.
"Is," Cameron corrects quickly. Seeds of panic appear in the pit of her stomach. Is. Is the perfect friend. Always the perfect friend. He is her Addison. He is her everything. Her always.

But not her wings.

The panic sprouts. Give it water and it will sprout.

I make good water, don't I, girl?

I am not girl. A girl. Thegirl. No. I am Cameron. Cameron Isabelle Towns.

The panic is growing at a steady pace, now.

"A perfect friend. That sounds wonderful," she sighs, easily chopping down the panic.

Her head tilts slightly at this miracle. Hair like a rich, soft dirt. Like a steady, strong tree. Hands that can cut down his trees. Eyes likes the grass-wet-with-dew, the grass that held her as she cried and screamed.

This grass holds her, too. Precious, green grass, that holds his unworthy portals with warmth.
Celeste stares through her own impenetrable doors, rectangular glasses that rest on her nose and magnify that brilliant gaze.

Looking at her, she smiles.
When she smiles, it's like nothing else. Celeste feels that the earth has been swept from under her.

And she is flying. Flying with wings. Together.

*******

She goes through the rest of the day in a trance. Addison doesn't speak. Cameron doesn't care.
When school lets out, it's snowing. The sky is gray, the clouds are thick. She will not see the sun until tomorrow's daybreak.

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

She takes her time walking home. The cold penetrates her thin cotton socks now. There are no wings to whisk her away, and she 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 her name and brought back the colour to her eyes.

No one ever speaks to Cameron. She isn't even sure her teachers know her name, though they must. Cameron is a no-one.
She isn't a no-one, though. Celeste is never a no-one.

Snow is beginning to fall as she pads up the steps to her 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 her parents' reactions as they hear someone cuss quietly from the place their daughter is standing.
She 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 her mind, growing steadily louder.

Sweeeeetheaaaaart, it whisssperrrs. Sweet, dear girl. Cameron stumbles into her room, throwing her 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 her stomach. Throwing herself at the door slams it closed. Her backpack falls to the floor, schoolbooks and notebooks alike spilling onto the carpet.
She isn't sure why the voice strikes such fear into her actions, but she can't help the violent trembling as she 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 his wings. She can hear more fragments now, echoing themselves and dissolving into her memory. The panic sprouts.

even a burden to your parents;
Stupid to think Celeste cared
teacher made her take care of you.
To think you even thought of liking her;
YOU'RE FUCKING PATHETIC.
Even Addison doesn't love you now;
she doesn't love you, now you're in love with her;
Addison? He's abandoned you;
You're all alone.

The voices are changing, morphing, melting, sinking, flying into each other. Hers shaking increases. The panic grows so quickly. So quickly.
She squirms against the wall, trying to escape into it. Into the sweet white wall, the flatsimplesweetwhitewall.

Why bother going to school you're a failure there why bother talking to Addison, he was bound to hate you in the end why bother existing in general? No.one.likes.you. Hahaha. That's funny. Why would anyone even consider liking you? What a loser. Such a loser.

Her 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, she struggles out of her shirt and pants, just in time to retch onto the dirty gray carpet.
In the background, buried beneath the screaming sounds, a familiar voice is talking quietly. She can only hear snatches, but each one wrenches her heart from his chest.

always loved you, Cam...

Cam? Cam what? No, couldn't have been saying;Cameron strains her ears to hear the rest, but it just makes the downstairs sounds louder.
Frustration overrules panic for a few precious seconds as she scowls and laces a hand on either side of his head. She presses in tightly, blocking out the normal earth sounds.

never meant hurt...

The child begins to cry loudly, effectively blocking out Addison's words. The morning's screeching car is stuck on repeat, and if she 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 Addison. You have no Addison. And you have no Celeste. They don't love you.

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

You took my wings.

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

"No!" Cameron screams. Then the rest of his reoccurring dream appears, the spaces finally filled, and she screams. Just screams.
The downstairs noises intensify. There are coming closer. The downstairs noises are coming closer his parents arecomingcloser and she screams.

Goodbye.

Lunges. She lunges. Girl lunges. Scrambles. Lunges forward.

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

"What happened?" A voice cries anxiously. Her mother.

"I'm fine," she groans, nearly sobs, into the slab of wood. "Just a nightmare."

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

The dream.

A message. It's a message. Let yourself be saved from this world. There is no Addison for you here anymore. There is no Celeste. Save yourself. Save yourself. Not even Celeste can save you now. 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 her. She smiles, because the blood is warm and the blood is friendly. And then, because the dream is a message, she thinks of Addison. She thinks of Celeste.
Tears fall obediently, but she doesn't stop. She submerges himself in the memories. Smiling, calm, she submerges himself.

The dark has long since come, her parents long since asleep. The girl is pressed against the window, wearing only a long sleeved plaid button-up shirt that had once belonged to her father..
Something is tugging at her mind. Warily, she pulls the floating thought closer and examines its contents.

I love you, the memory murmurs.

The girl doesn't answer this time. She smiles again, taking the cold metal from her wrist.
She presses his palm to the glass, wishing, against all logic, that she could see daybreak just one more time.

Suddenly, something catches her eye. With fading strength, she crawls to the door, fingers closing on a crumpled piece of paper that had fallen from her notebook. The search for a pencil seems to take much too long.
Her fingers shake, and blood clots the page, but it doesn't matter. Black curls curiously around the edges of her vision.

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

********
~Celeste~
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 she was so close to the end, that she 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. She told me it was beautiful.
Written all over the back of the note.
I think I loved her.
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. She doesn't care for me like I care for her voice.
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 whenI'm gone.