Fantasies

Cardigan (Part 2)

Another week goes by and I've kept up neglecting my work, my family and friends and my phone.  Nothing makes sense anymore.  I was starting to thin out and lose muscle, but I didn't care.  The gym wasn't going to bring back Camila.  Food wasn't going to bring back Camila and a shower was definitely not going to bring back Camila. At least not in the way I had hoped.

The one thing that I did do was sleep with Camila's cardigan wrapped up in my arms because the scent of her brought me some sort of peace as my heart tries to mend itself.  Dreams of her play night after night, all of them ending with me kissing her goodnight under her porch light, watching her wrap that baby pink cardigan around her shoulders before giving me one final glance, or the vision of her face after a make out, or of them times I held her in my arms after we'd just finished having sex.  All of my favorite memories with her; playing like a broken record in my dreams.  Haunting me, adding to the trauma.

A few more days pass and when my own stench starts to make me nauseous, I decide the least I can do is take a shower and find something to eat.  For some reason I decide to turn on my phone too.  I have hundreds of missed calls and texts from my parents and my sister. My friends texts all telling me to open my goddamn door.

But one text splits my heart in two and patches it all together all at the same time.

Mila:  Open your damn door so I can hug you Peter!

The text reads.  A text that was sent two days ago.

Two days ago.

It had been more than two months since the black SUV had visited the Cabello's house.  What kind of sick joke is this?

Camila is dead.

Letting out a disgruntled chuckle, I throw my phone across the room and watch it drop to the ground, my screen completely shattered.  Deciding it's best just to take a shower and move on with my life, I drag myself to the bathroom, undress and let the steaming hot water beat against my back as I try and relax, regulate my breathing and push all thoughts of Camila out of my mind. I shave for the first time in a long time, and when I have trouble lifting my shampoo bottle; I know I've let myself go too far.

That text wasn't real.  She's dead. I saw the car, I saw the men, I saw her family crying in their doorway.

I'm just imagining things.

A loud knock startles me, but I just ignore it.  I need my peace. I've finally decided to break free of the hold my grief has on me. I just want to enjoy the quiet a little longer.

Minutes later, the knocking continues.  A door slamming breaks me out of my trance and makes me shut the shower off and wrap myself in a towel.  Quickly drying off, I throw on some shorts and grab my old baseball bat from my closet.

Only one other person had a key to my apartment and she's dead, so this must be a break in.

Slowly, bat raised, I move out of my room and into the living room. 

The sight in front of me instantly makes me drop the bat from my hands and freeze where I'm standing.  I feel my blood run cold and my skin turn a sickish pale color.  I go to scream and I can't; I go to talk and nothing comes out.

Good thing the tiny brunette standing in my living room is a nurse.

Everything happens in slow motion after that.  I fall to my knees as I watch her turn to face me, her big chocolate brown eyes meeting my hazel ones.  Her beautiful smile filling up her whole face as she comes towards me, kneeling in front of me as I try and get myself out of this dream.  My mind is playing tricks on me, Camila's dead.  I'm seeing her ghost; I think I've officially lost it.