How To Love A Dead Boy

Chapter 7 | Cameron

CAMERON

I lock the door. Sliding my arms out of the straps of my backpack, I put down the toilet seat lid and sit down. I let the backpack and my raincoat to drop to the floor, hoping that it's at least a little bit sanitary seeing that it's morning and school hasn't even started.

I close my eyes and place my head in my hands. Without my consent, I find myself sobbing into my palms. My fingers slowly find their way into my hair, where I dig them into my scalp. I can see him lying there, on the bloody road with the raindrops bouncing off his broken skin. He's there in my mind and the more vivid the memory becomes, the harder I dig my fingers into my scalp and the more painful it becomes.

Eventually, the pain becomes too much and it overwhelms the memory altogether. With the image gone from my mind, I open my eyes and relax my hands against the top of my head.

Somewhere outside the bathroom, the bell for the start for registration goes and I drop my arms to my side. Staring at the back of the cubicle door, I realise that there's still a foul taste in my mouth so I make myself stand up. I take my coat and backpack out of the cubicle with me and place them on the ledge next to the wash basin. From my bag, I take out my water bottle and take a sip. I stand in front of the mirror, swishing and swashing the water around my mouth.

Leaning over the sink, I spit out the water and wash it away. Before I turn the tap off, I splash some of the cold water onto my face, hoping that by some miracle I will look 'fresher' when I see myself in the reflection. It didn't work last week, why would it work now? I ask myself. I shrug in response and sigh.

I'd spent most of my time back at school, for the one day I did go for, last week after the accident listening to teachers speak about his death. Whenever his name was mentioned or someone asked me about the incident it triggered some kind of gag reflex and I had ran to the bathroom too many times in the one day to empty my stomach.

This time last week, I was almost a completely different person. I was more than okay.

You didn't even know him... why has it affected you this much? Surely people aren't running to the bathroom at the mention of the deceased's name, hearing their voices in their heads and seeing hallucinations of the dead, let alone actually communicating with them, after seeing a stranger die.

With such madness, surely I'll be in need of a psychologist... or even...

I meet my crazy eyes in the mirror.

"Cameron," I say outloud.

Without thinking, I rush out of the bathroom with all of my things. I power-walk through the empty corridors and pull out my phone. Texting as I walk, I keep an eye out for any teachers and send a message to Cameron.

Lucy: keep lunch free. i really need to talk to you

I reach my locker just as the phone vibrates in my hand with his reply.

Cameron: sounds urgent. where'd you want to meet???

Lucy: library?

Cameron: i'll be there

Stuffing my bag and coat into my locker, I quickly slip out of my wellingtons and change them for my pair of actual school shoes, which I take from inside of my backpack. I bend down to do the laces.

One knot. Two knots. Three knots. When I run out of the shoelace to tie, I lean back a little from the shoe. My foot still feels lose in it I undo all three knots and tie my laces again. I pull tightly on each string and do the three knots again. I do the same with the other foot, pulling the laces so tightly that my foot actually aches. Upon doing up both shoes, I stand up and reach into the back of my locker to pull out my books.