Roller Skate || Alex Gaskarth a.u.

Chapter 34: Cam's Story

Kit

"Tell us."

Cam didn't reply. In fact, he didn't react at all, apart from the obvious action of him crying silently. This was about the sixth time someone had asked him to tell the story of Alex's final moments, and this was about the sixth time he had ignored them. Eight of them were crammed around Mrs.Gaskarth's battered oak table, clutching chipped mugs of hot chocolate. Seven pairs of eyes were on Cam, and seven pairs of ears were listening, waiting.

"I-I can't." Cam stammered at last, tears continuing to stream down his face. "You'll hate me."

"We already hate you, ding-bat." Quinn growled, sending him a dark look. It made Cam wince.

Mrs.Gaskarth slapped Quinn's hand lightly before turning her soft gaze back to Cam.

"Please tell me what happened to my son."

Cam whimpered, and squirmed, and then he started to cry even more, but nobody looked away. He began to fidget with his fingers, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. Then slowly, just when Kit started to lose hope, Cam took a deep breath and parted his lips.

~

"Cam!"

Cam didn't move an inch from where he was crouched down. The noises overhead were scaring him. Bombs, bullet shots, thunder, lightening, pretty much everything was out to kill him. He didn't care about cowardice being a crime in the platoon. He didn't care that he was crying. Everybody could go to Hell for all he cared.

"Cam! We've got to move! Roll call!"

Somebody crouched down in front of him. He didn't dare look up. He just continued to sob hysterically as the person in front of him tried to prise his fingers off of the wooden stake he had latched himself onto.

The Lieutenants were mad. Bonkers. Completely insane. The rain was coming down in heavy sheets that chilled him to the bone. You couldn't even see properly! How were they supposed to blow up a camp? And they were pathetically outnumbered. There was no way he was going out on the next mission. Not in this rain. Not ever. He was surrounded by freaks in a freak show.

Crazy. Everybody was crazy.

Everybody, that was, except Alex.

Alex was the hero around here. Alex was the one everyone looked up to. How he had managed to stay sane, Cam didn't know. He had felt his brain turn to mush ever since he had seen the man with no limbs, begging him to save him; or better, finish him off.

How could Alex not get in over his head? How was Alex able to sleep after what he had been through? He had seen Stan die, for Christ's sake. Even the mere thought of experiencing that was enough to make Cam want to puke up his guts.

Thunder clapped overhead and Cam winced, gripping the wooden stake tighter. He couldn't take this anymore. He needed to get out. He needed an escape.

"Cam! Listen to me!"

Slender fingers wrapped around his wrist, but Cam snapped his head to the side and bit the hand that was trying to take him away savagely. Why couldn't the person just piss off? Who was the person anyway? Who fucking cared so much about him? He was the coward of the platoon, after all.

"FUCK OFF!" he roared, letting go of the wooden stake and curling himself into a protective ball, placing his hands over his ears to block out the terrifying sounds. He was trembling, he was crying, he was falling apart.