War ⇔ Cashton ✓

My Love

CALUM

The house is always silent at the early hours of the morning, when it's still so deathly dark out, the imperfect skull of the moon illuminating the sky as the stars trawl for something to hold on to. I've always loved that time of the day, knowing that my chest is the only one breathing uneven breaths throughout the night. I sometimes wonder if Ashton is out there staring at the same sky I am, gazing at the moon with all its dented craters and its vacuous depth.

At times, I hope he isn't. I only want him to be sleeping, unconscious through the horrors of the night and at the terrors that might strike at him. I want him to be calm, his bones resting and his eyelids swollen as he lets his mind rest. That's all he deserves, but something tells me that he is up and stomping through mud and debris, a loaded gun cradled in his hands and his eyes alert. It makes my chest hurt to think about.

So, I simply don't think about it. I make use of the endless amount of time I have on my hands by photographing flowers and doing my schoolwork, trying my very best to keep out of everyone's way and slide by unnoticed. I'm a ghost traveling through empty hallways and alleyways, my breath cold and still in my chest and my bones made brittle like a bird's.

Today, I decided to change up my schedule a bit and wake earlier than usual to get coffee before class starts. School is horribly boring, filled with teachers and loud students and it takes a lot to keep myself awake.

There's a small coffee shop downtown, only a block from the school. It's filled with small booths with leather seats, books lining shelves against the walls and old tables for people to work on. It's one of my favorite places to go to, despite how busy it seems to always be. It used to be quieter, older. Nobody really knew about it until it was suddenly discovered and they suddenly got a lot more business and they ordered televisions to hang up on the walls and suddenly it wasn't really a quaint old café anymore.

Not that I mind. They workers still recognize me as that quiet kid in the sweater who would always sit in the back and read a book from their plentiful collection.

I walk into the café quietly early in the morning, the sun illuminating bright swirls of color through the sky, like a watercolor painting. The air is chilly, the Australian sun not yet met with the clouds. It feels nice, opening the door to my favorite shop in the breezy air, ruffling my dark hair from my eyes.

"Calum!" one of the old ladies behind the counter calls to me as I step inside. I look up to see Anne, a lady who's been working here longer than I've been alive. A smile breaks onto my face as I walk up to the desk. I lean against the counter as she smiles at me, wrinkles crinkling at the corners of her eyes.

"Hi, Anne." I say softly, trying not to break the quiet atmosphere for the few customers around the shop. She smiles again, plucking a coffee cup from the stack beside the cash register.

"Coffee? With cream and sugar?" Anne asks, having my order memorized from heart by now. I nod happily, twisting my fingers while she prepares it. Being in this shop always puts me in a good mood, no matter what I just experienced at home. Everything is quiet and gentle and soft, unspoken words filling the air as we breathe it into our lungs.

I watch Anne fill the coffee cup with freshly brewed coffee, steam rising from the warm liquid. She pours a bit of cream in and stirs, mixing it a few spoons of sugar. She does it with gentle fingers, a smile gracing her lips.

"Here you go, dear." She says tenderly, setting down the coffee in front of me and pressing on a lid. She then sighs, leaning against the counter for support as she lifts her eyes up to me. "So, how are you doing? School good? Home good?"

I haven't told her about my parents. I don't tell anyone. There really is no point to, considering there isn't anything to do about it. All they do is neglect us, nothing more. It's horrible, and it breaks down every muscle in your body until you are left gasping for breath on the floor, but there isn't anything you can do about it.