Silent Pantomime

Chapter 56 | Kind of need to breathe

Chapter 56✨: cw- talks about blood

"You know, male authors always show their female protagonists at their lowest when they are seen with an empty beer bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. And they are so wrong. I'm not at my lowest. I'm at my bloody highest."

"It's not a beer bottle, it's a Coke because you refused last minute any kind of alcohol; and it's not a cigarette, it's a Candy Stick you're pretending is one. What's next, pretending Pez are pills? And anyway, I thought you said you were at your lowest earlier?"

"I changed my mind you dimwit."

Okay, my extreme on the spot creativity was actually perfect. My lie about sitting on a rooftop with my psychotic boyfriend, which ended up with me in a hospital as a doll was a bit of a stretch - but it was starting to feel pretty close to the truth. I mean, I ended up being sat on top of a roof with my dead boyfriend's psychotic best friend who sewed my mouth shut.

In the hospital I didn't want to cause a scene in front of everyone to avoid questions, and I didn't mind lacking that attention. Not because the current attention I had from Rebekah was enough, but because soon enough I was expecting an applause, as it felt like I was far into Act 2 of my pantomime, because if Cameron had tried to make me look like a pretty, porcelain, silent doll - clearly he had been doing it.

Cameron had to be the one writing my letters.

The dirty sod.

I didn't particularly want to be stuck on a roof with Cameron, I loathed him more than any other being out there. They say opposites attract, but they never say if their collisions cause an explosion with lots of fire and burns that leave scars unless they fly away. Or they might say that - but I didn't take chemistry for A-Levels for good reason. But as the forces of nature or the stars or pure god damned bad luck would have it, as I grabbed Cameron's wrist and dug my nails into his arm, the large light above me on the ceiling in the hospital ward crashed down. I managed to jump out of its way immediately, but the crushed up glass and electricity was sat right where I had been standing. I could have been killed immediately.

I had taken another step forward, not taking my eyes off the light, but not mentioning it to Cameron as I took yet another step further into the corridor, my nails still seeping into his arm. Surprisingly, I didn't feel scared, but I had been surprised when the second light quickly fell down just like the first one. Creak. Fall. Crash. Death. I'm supposing that was the plan, but I ran as fast as I could out of the corridor as I heard the rest of the lights fall down in a unison with intervals. Remember when I did one run in the rain and decided it was an obsession that I barely continued with? Turns out running after getting hit by a car, having stitchings in your mouth, and forcefully getting yourself discharged from a hospital early isn't that fun. Your lungs and mouth don't work properly, and you kind of need to breathe to run for you life.

I made it out of the hospital doors with Cameron on my heels, probably scaring the poor people at the desks to death, like seeing an asylum escape from a horror movie. As Cameron had previously shown his lack of liking towards me, and me begging to wash my hands and to just die myself to him the night before, I made the educated guess that he was the one who tried to give me the death of a light crushing me to death. Hazel Fitzgerald may well have been featured in the "stupid deaths" song from Horrible Histories. Maybe he didn't get the memo that I wanted to die in a spotlight, not an ER light, but I suppose he got the gist. Maybe he thought the doll he'd made had become possessed like Annabelle, and he thought sending her into the light like Carol Anne from Poltergeist would exorcist me or something.

But as we stormed out of the hospital, before I had even had the chance to scream at him, he asked me if I was being serious about going on a rampage on a roof. Even though I had been low enough to do the other thing I had said, I realised that I had nearly died both in and out of my control, so why not be killed in at least one story that was at least slightly true? Therefore, the plan to buy a rose for mummy dearest had been put on hold. I thought Cameron most likely knew about my mum anyway. I was officially done with the letter's torment and the fear it had wrapped me up in after such a short time. I hadn't kept my eyes wide and mouth shut like I'd been told, I had done the complete opposite. And if I was going to get killed, I wanted my life to go out with a bang, so the firework would catch the eyes of people and the sparks would be seen by the stars. Or maybe I wouldn't die, I would just sit on the roof with Cameron and leave unharmed afterwards. Just because I wasn't wearing a pretty dress and my hair wasn't blonde didn't mean I was a fragile doll. You have to hit a vase a few times for the flowers to fall out. And I still had a good few hits left in me before I toppled over and smashed forever - no matter what I thought when I had my extreme suicidal mood swings because of silence and the overwhelming driving force to meet my sparkling gods.