Number 8 ~ An Umbrella Academy Fanfiction

Who Am I?

Song from Cameron's playlist:
Disturbia by Rihanna

My name is Cameron Mayne.

And I am ordinary.

At least, that's what I always thought.

My life was pretty normal until I found out I had powers.

Then everything spiraled downhill from there.

It's hard to understand my life, even for me.

But I do know one thing.

I am not ordinary.

My name is Cameron Mayne, and I am Number Eight.

———

Funerals suck.

And yes, I know you're probably thinking, "well, yeah! Someone just died so they always suck!" But funerals enter a new level of suckyness when you're at one for your mom, who was the person in your life who loved you more than anything, who just died of cancer. And you have to try not to start bawling your eyeballs out while giving a heartfelt speech about her while standing next to her casket.

If you haven't figured it out yet, that's exactly what I'm having to go through right now.

I didn't want to do this, but I had to. Jennifer Mayne was my mother, and I was her son. I knew that, once she died, I would be the first person asked to say a speech about her at the funeral. I didn't want to do it because it would have caused me to get too emotional, but do you know how much of a shit I would have looked if I said no?

So here I am, fighting the very strong urge to throw open my mom's casket and sob with her in my arms, finally finishing up my ten minute speech that felt like an hour long one. "Jennifer Mayne was a great wife, daughter, sister, and m-mother. She will forever be in our hearts." Finishing my speech, I quickly turned and walked back into the crowd, mentally cursing myself for stuttering on the word mother. Damn it, as if I couldn't make my pain any more obvious to the relatives around me, half of them I don't even know.

A few more people gave speeches, and then we watched in silence as the casket was buried. I turned away so I didn't have to watch the people pile dirt on top of my mom. Making my way out of the dense crowd, I found a little tree that I could wallow in self pity under.

After a few minutes of me remembering memories with my mother, someone's strong hand landed on my left shoulder. Turning around, I see that it was my dad. He never really had a reaction to mom's death. It was like all the emotion was sucked right out of him the second the heart rate monitor hit one long, continuous beep.

"I'm really sorry about your mother, Cameron. She didn't deserve to go," he told me. His eyes were slightly glazed over and his breath smelled like shitty alcohol. Of course, this is how my father dealt with death. Drinking. Typical.

I don't respond. I simply just continue staring at him in his eyes. He doesn't seem to care. He continues rambling about how much of a great person my mom was. My attention started to drift away but I continued staring into his brown eyes. Soon enough, I couldn't even hear what he was saying. But then something happened. One phrase stood out in between all the jumbled words my dad was throwing at me.

I hate you.

I hate you? Why had that phrase suddenly popped into my mind? Did that mean I hate my dad? No, I don't hate him. I would rather not have him in my life right now, but I don't hate him. I'm just a bit...frustrated, I guess.