Expect the unexpected.

Look out.

I saw him, he had been walking towards the individual restrooms, but Cam being Cam he had helped a nurse carry in supplies for the Doctors. Except I saw him walking out of the closet, with almost panicked look on his face. His deep brown eyes gleaming with uncertainty, a glaze of sweat over his brow. His hands trembling. I knew something wasnt right.

When he continued to walk down the hallway, I followed him. Not trying to be creepy.. Just to make sure he is okay. Ive known Cameron the longest out of all of his friends, I know when something is up. I saw him go into the bathroom, and when I tipped toed next to it, I heard an un-wrapping of something.

I was thinking, thinking for almost over an hour before I realized, a scalpel, in the supply closet. He must feel all of the guilt piling onto to him.

(* In case you havent noticed this is in your POV *)

I pounded on the door.
"Cameron unlock this damn door, right now."

I could hear a few muffled sobs, and paper towels being dispensed, and ripped. I kept poundning on the door.

"Cam, if you dont let me in and help you I will get a nurse to unlock this door right now." I said through the door, loud enough for him to hear, but quiet enough not to let anyone hear my words.I heard the door handle click, seeing the handle jiggle around.

He unlocked it.

I could not open the door fast enough, it was like the world had lost all gravity, as if I were pulling open a door that was hundreds of pounds. I need to get through the door faster. I rush a panic came through to me as the door was open enough to see Cameron.

His hands trembled, with the sharp knife in his hand. His eyes were red, wet with tears, the tears of all of the stars; He looked at the floor the knife pointed away from him. Tears rimmed around my eyes as I looked at him. He was sitting on a small bench inside of the bathroom, it was like a changing room for long visit visitors.

I walked to him, observing. No blood on his wrists, nothing on his arms, but what did he need the paper towels for? I glanced over at the trash can, only wet paper towels damp from people drying their wet hands were there. I took the knife from his hands, but instead of throwing it away, or hiding it, I put it into my pocket. He hadnt noticed. Like I was drawn to it.

I grabbed his hands, took them into my own. They were soft, as I once felt before I moved. It felt warming. He looked me in the eyes, a look of shame for himself. I pressed my forehead slowly against his slowly, something we did when one of us, or even both of us were upset. it was like we shared our thoughts, switched them out as our foreheads were pressed together.

"We need to get out of here." I said calmly, still resting my forehead against his. He nodded slightly, but not wanted to end our moment. I stood up, his hands still in mine, thinking of the past. What we used to have done when one of us was stuck in situations similar to this.

I grabbed two tissues from the small table, I held Cams hand with my right hand, wiping off the tears with my left. He started to laugh, a small laugh came from him. I ignored the chuckle, and finished cleaning off the tears. Throwing the tissues away, I stood up, pulling Cam, slowly, along with me. Cam has always been known to be very psychically weak after a small panic attack, or something similar to this. We walked towards to door, opening it, walking out of the building hand in hand.

I missed this, well us being hand in hand, not what was happening in his own mind at sea.

''~~''~~''~~''~~''~~''~~''~~''

I brought him to the house, and into the bathroom, its a fairly large room.

"Shirt." I sternly said to him. I know he used paper towels for something, meaning there are cuts, newly forming scars, some where on his body.

He took off his shirt, no new scars to be found, none that I saw anyhow. I pointed to his shorts.

"I would think you just want to see my ripped body," Cam joked while taking the shorts off.
"Not saying I dont want to.." I whispered to myself, but I wasnt the only one who heard. Then I remembered. His under arms.

"Lift up your arms." He was hesitant to this. And there they were. Fresh cuts, the "under biceps" of his arms were bleeding, I dont know how I didnt notice. I got the first aid kit out from the cabinet over the sink. I got out the gause, and the tape, and taped it to his skin.

"I knew it," I muttered.
"You knew what? That I cut myself? That I'm still the same loser you met in highschool?" He asked.
"That this would come in handy." I said with a fake smile, holding up the scalpel with my left hand. I ran the sink, putting the scalpel into it, taking off my hoodie, and my shirt. He eyed me with the eyes of galaxy he has. Looking all over my body he finally realized what I was doing.

"No." He pleaded. "No, Don't."
I ignored him, taking the scalpel to my left side. A small trail of red appeared as I cut up my waist.
"STOP." He begged, tears in his eyes.
This is what we did when the other was guilty of harming. We made the other feel pain, for what they did, by harming his, or myself.

I did one more line before he stood up, took the knife from my hand and threw it out the window. Luckily it was just towards an ally way, and not a street.

He took a washcloth from the sink and rubbed off all of the blood. He rested his chin on the top of my head.

"Don't ever do that to me again." He said to me, begging.
"Diddo." I replied calmly, my side burning.
He kissed me on the forehead and patched me up, where we then went to watch a movie. Cuddling like we used to.

I liked this. I felt infinite.