Polaroid Cancer

Later that night Casey drives over to Caleb’s house; shadows greet her vision. She creeps carefully to the nearest lamp and flicks it on. Giving a long sweeping stare around the living room, Casey lets out a drafty sigh. The scent of spaghetti floods her nostrils and the chime of laughter suddenly fills her ears; bringing Casey back to when everyone had all been together. Happy.

Straightening herself, Casey searched for Caleb in the first place she knew he would be at: his bedroom.

“Caleb…” She poked her head in; pitch black enveloped everything and without a hint of mercy to her best friend, she turned the light on, “Caleb, I’m not buttering it up and I’m not running away this time. You need to go back to your son. He needs his father; I can’t let him grow up thinking Oliver is his true dad. It’s not fair to you and Jayde. She wouldn’t want that unless… unless both of you had died. But you’re still alive. And you need to show that you’re alive for your son! What you did… to Oli, attacking him like that… it wasn’t his fault Niall wanted him! Caleb, you haven’t been there, and I know your wife is dead, but she was my best friend, too. You and her were, and are, my closest friends and now it feels like both of you are gone. Come back, please, at least for your son, if no one else.”

Caleb only laid under the covers, the blanket slowly rising and falling with the rhythm of his shallow breathing.

“I love you, Caleb. And I hate seeing you like this. I miss you.”

Bit by bit, Caleb lifted himself to a sitting position, the duvet falling off in a crumpled heap around him like a puffy hill of snow. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and all he did was stare at Casey. Chills ran up and down her arms as his eyes locked on to hers; she gulped reflexively and took a small step back.

He laid himself back down and disappeared behind the curtain of white again. Casey didn’t know what to make of this so she dispersed herself from his room quickly, being sure to close the door. Mentally exhausted, Casey drove home as speedily as she could without getting in trouble with the police.

Tonight she was going to sleep long and hard.



Morning light filtered through partly opened curtains, revealing a stunning blue sky and wisps of clouds. Casey practically woke up with a smile on her face; she kissed Oliver spiritedly on the lips and bounced out of bed. Feeding Niall a bottle and laying him down next to Oliver, she hopped into the shower, humming Merry Had a Little Lamb.

“Yeh’re awfully… chipper this morning,” Oliver remarks, smiling as Casey did a little dance while she made her way into the kitchen.

“I just… feel great! What do you want for breakfast?”

“Toast?”

“How about an omelet?” Casey offers.

“A’right, sounds delicious.”

Without another word Casey began cracking eggs into a pan and cooking them. She begins humming Mary Had a Little Lamb again as she tosses in shredded cheddar cheese, sliced bell peppers and onions into Oliver’s omelet. Her nose scrunches up at the sour smell of onions and she forces herself to not vomit; onions absolutely repulse her. Twirling around to face the counter, she plops the omelet on a large, sky-blue plate. While her omelet cooks, she brings Oliver’s up to him at the small, fold-out dinning room table.

He gives her a wide grin and waits patiently for Casey’s food to get done.

Niall is poking around at the Happy-O’s on his high-chair tray and shoving his hands into sloppy baby food. Oliver attempts his best at helping the small infant by cleaning him up and feeding him, but Niall screeches in protest and wrenches the spoon from Oliver’s hand.

“Okay… okay… psycho baby,” Oliver mutters. “Oh! I ‘ave something for him. I meant to show yeh last night but I… I forgot. ‘Old on an’ I’ll go ge’ it really quick.”

Casey shrugs as she places her food on an identical plate to Oliver’s and sets it down on the table. She fills up Chum and Oskar’s bowls to the brim and finally places her rump on a chair, ready to dig in. Chum and Oskar come bolting out, growling and eyeing one another suspiciously. For being such a shrimpy dog, he sure is daring, Casey concludes thoughtfully.

Oliver waltzes into dining room with his hands hidden behind his back, a devilish grin on his lips. “‘Ere yeh go.” He holds up a navy-blue onsie made for a baby, there is an image of a cat head and its brains are sticking out and oozing blood. The kitty even has a smile on its face and its tongue sticking out; it looks way too happy to be gored.

“That is really cute,” Casey admits.

“M’glad yeh like it. I was really worried yeh wouldn’t…”

Casey laughs, “I love it! Now come on, sit down and eat. I’m starved!”

Oliver does as he is told and places himself across from his fiancée, a sheepish smirk on his countenance. As the scraping of knives and forks fill Casey’s ears, there is a silent shift in her mood. The guilt came washing over her again like ocean waves and wrapping its icy tendrils around her gut, chilling her to the core. Casey set her fists on either side of her plate, still holding the knife and fork and stared down at her lap, so her eyes are covered by a mass of crimson.

“What’s th’matter, love?”

“I-I…” Casey swallowed, it hurt. Sharp pains like broken glass stabbed at her brain, “I have something I need to tell you.”

Oliver doesn’t utter a word; waiting patiently for her to speak again.

“Tom… Tom and I slept t-… together.” Her fingers are wrapped so tightly around her knife and fork, she’s surprised they haven’t shattered to pieces. Palms slippery with perspiration, she fights the urge to wipe them off on her lap. Casey’s cheeks are burning bright red and her whole body feels like it is on fire; her heart is pounding so loudly in her ears, she’s surprised she even hears what Oliver says.

“What?”

“I-”

“No, I ‘eard what yeh said.” Oliver stands up abruptly. Casey doesn’t dare look at him and she flinches when the crashing of a plate hits the wall to her right. Even though Casey is pretty sure Oliver is saying words, his screaming is so incoherent that it melts into the guttural sounds of a hurt animal. The only thing that Casey makes out perfectly clear is: “I fucking loved you!” Before the shuffling of feet on carpet dissipating into another room and the slamming of the front door as he left.

Niall had remained quiet through out the entire escapade up until he saw Oliver leave; he burst out into sobbing immediately after that. Casey cried inaudibly, watching tears drip onto her lap.

Climbing to her feet, she picked up the bigger pieces from the broken plate and tossed them into the garbage bag behind her. Niall had settled down once Casey had given him his stuffed wolf. It pierced her heart like a thousand sharp stones to see him grip it so tightly, huge tears still running down his cheeks as he buried his face into its bushy fur.

As Casey straightened herself up, an unexpected rush of nausea clutched her intestines and she loped off hurriedly to the bathroom. Chum and Oskar nervously followed close behind, both of them quietly whimpering as they stood and watched her puke up breakfast. Oskar trotted up and pressed the top of his head to the side of her outer thigh. In an unspoken truce, Chum also went up to Casey, right beside Oskar, and licked his master’s cheek, another whimper escaping his throat.

Casey flopped back onto her butt, grabbed the nearest towel and wiped her face off. She looked down at both of them, face pallid and perspiration building up on her cheeks, “I think I’m sick, guys…”

Oskar and Chum lick her hands as she reaches out to pet them.

Collecting herself, Casey went right back to cleaning up the mess. Her stomach turned in tight knots and it felt like there was a hard rock wedged in the base of her neck, giving the illusion of wanting to throw up again. Not knowing who to turn to, Casey gathered up Niall and sat down on the couch with him.

She flicked on the television and in a matter of minutes, both of them decreed to a level of heavy sleep.

RIIIINNGG RRRRRRIIINNGG

Casey snorted awake and flailed around for her cellphone, laying on the floor, beside the couch. Niall stirred to life, making tiny mewling noises as he stared up at Casey, who answered the phone with a sleepy, “Mmyeah?”

“What th’fuck is wrong with Oli?” It was Matt and he sounded frantic and furious, all at once.

Sitting up and rubbing her eyes, Casey asked, “why?”

“He was acting like a right cunt when I called ‘im ten minutes ago an’ ‘e said ‘e was goin’ back t’England. The fuck ‘ead wouldn’t tell me why, so I’m askin’ yeh what th’ fuck is wrong with ‘im,” Matt simmered down as he got closer to finishing speaking.

“Oh… um, well, it’s something between Oli and I. I don’t really want to speak about it. If he wants to run off back to England, let him. Honestly, right now I don’t give a fuck,” Casey sighed, twirling a lock of Niall’s hair, “I am so sick of men right now, I could puke.”

“Ah… a'right,” a drawn silence fell on Matt’s end, “do yeh want me t’ask if Maudie will go over there?”

“That… would be amazing,” Casey said, a smile breaching her features. “Tell her I’ll even make lunch for her sweet little tush!”

“Okay,” Matt chuckled, “call yeh back in a bit, then.”



When Oliver arrived in Sheffield; his hands were still shaking and his legs felt like pure jell-o. He slowly dredged his way into his very empty, pitch-black home and made clear to turn on every light in his house. He flipped on the television and turned it up; then found the stereo and brought that to life, blasting music loudly from it. Anything to block out the swirling, chaotic thoughts that raked their incessant claws on his mind.

His long, thin fingers comb his shaggy, chocolate-color hair. Letting out a drafty sigh, his eyes wander lingeringly around the living room; inspecting every inch and hyperaware of all the dust that stain his furniture. He thought of how nice it would be to have a maid.

Brown eyes shift over to his Iphone sitting idly on the end-table and suddenly an idea hits him. An idea that would be able to block out these horrible, and so very painful, thoughts. Picking up the phone, he quickly began to dial in a number.

Whoever it was, answered on the second ring; Oliver’s eyes light up.

“‘Ey, it’s Oli Sykes, remember me?”