DIVIDE. // Bakudeku

Thing.

I AM FEELING a tickle of dread.
Something isn't quite right.

I am feeling gone in the head.
My horror can sleepover night.

___

Camie yawned unceremoniously as her legs trudged through the front door of her home.

"Aki, I'm here."

If you had told Camie a decade ago that she'd end up working in retail, she'd probably never believe you.

Hell, maybe she'd think that she'd achieve her hopes and dreams. Laughable, yes.

Her aunt responded from the kitchen. "Hey, kiddo."

The term of endearment oftentimes made Camie cringe. Not because she didn't appreciate the fondness behind it; they'd been living together for a few months now. No, it was because Camie oftentimes, in silence, obsessed over her age. Over the things that had passed her by. Over her youth.

Aki had once caught onto this, and tried to reassure her niece.

"You're twenty-eight!" She'd said. "You're still plenty young. You know, they say your twenties is like your second adolescence. There's still a lot of time for you, Camie."

Camie didn't feel that she had a lot of time left.

She sighed, trying to shake her thoughts away as she headed into her room, plopping down on the small bed.

An hour seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, and the young woman ended up dozing off just like that, still half dressed in her work attire.

As she drifted off to sleep, Camie began to think. About cold prison cells and guard mistreatment. About withdrawals and puke and seizures. About wishing she could just get a taste of what she squandered. About Katsuki on the television screen, surrounded by lights and intrigue. About Katsuki.

Her fists tightened. It wasn't fair. It didn't feel quite fair, she thought. At one point, she and Katsuki were nearly one and the same. How did everything end up so well for him? How had he been married for almost a decade? How much time had really passed?

She'd done a bit of googling on him after seeing him on the television. His band with his little friends were gaining international success. That Izuku guy had become a best selling author and poet, and even ran popular social media accounts about his art and dancing. Camie had backed away from the laptop, barely pushing down the bile that'd tore its way up her throat.

Camie couldn't compete with that. She hadn't done anything in seven years except sit through intensive therapy sessions and haphazardly cheat the politics of prison. She was twenty-nine, barely scraping her pathetic little life together.

Camie oftentimes wanted to kill herself.

Aki lightly tapped on the door before entering. "Mimi?"

Camie stirred. "Mmm?"

"I'm done with dinner." Aki stepped further into the room, briefly observing the humble space. It was a tad messy; stray clothes piled into a corner of the bed, dusty windows, a cup or two on the dresser top. But considering how much of a mess Camie used to be (at least in comparison to now), it was relieving to know she bothered to clean every now and then.

Aki restrained from grabbing the broom to do it for her. Camie was still a grown woman. Besides, she couldn't let it become a routine. After all...

"Mimi, sit up. I want to tell you something."

The woman in question sighed deeply, her exhaustion clearly not wearing off just yet. She obeyed nonetheless. "What is it? Is the fridge bugging out again?"