Between a Rock and a Hard Place // c.h.

16 - Breathless

Have you ever gotten the air knocked out of your lungs? Like you got hit or you fell just right so that all the air was just gone? Calum was my air, and my lungs were collapsing. I never had imagined myself dying from suffocation, it had been the least likely way I'd imagined death. But there I was, heartbroken and breathless, slowly dying. I'd only been with him for a week, yet nothing had ever hurt as much as losing him did. As the days after our breakup dragged on, I expected myself to get better, but I didn't. Actually, I felt as if I was moving backwards, only breaking more every minute I was without him.

'I had to do it.' I repeated the thought in my head over and over. Leaving Cal had been one of the hardest decisions of my life, but I had done it for him. He was on a tour, which was almost through America. Soon he'd be in a different country, possibly on another continent. I didn't want to be a liability, and I knew that by staying with Calum, I would be. I loved him, that's why I let him go. I thought I'd done the right thing, but lying in my bed crying so hard my throat stung, I missed him more than anything I'd ever missed anything or anyone. I hadn't left my bed in days, time had become almost meaningless. I didn't change position much, all I did was lay in bed, alternating between sleeping and crying. I drank water from the sink in my bathroom, but I didn't eat once. I hardly ever checked my phone, I was too worried about what I might find, messages from Calum or more horrible tweets from fans celebrating the fact that me and him weren't together anymore. He'd played four shows since the night I walked away, and though I was desperate to know how they'd been, the idea of seeing him again hurt me so much. I loved him, I'd made the worst decision of my life. The bands last show was in Seattle, then they'd leave America to play in Australia, where they'd finish their tour. I wondered if I'd slept through the Seattle show, if Cal was already gone back home, happy in his life without me. The only fresh air I got was achieved by opening my window, which I did rarely in the time I was locked in my room. My parents were used to me staying in my room, and I was a legal adult, which meant they couldn't force me to school anymore, so I didn't go. I stayed there, breathless, and nearly dead. They didn't check on me. My family was busy in their own lives, but it hurt that I wasn't enough of a priority to be checked on. I laid in bed, desperately wanting to escape the hell in which I found myself.

I don't remember much of the days I spent secluded in my room, I slept most of them. One thing I do remember was the release of pictures of me and Calum, ones the paparazzi hadn't been able to take. They were cell-phone shots of me getting into the boys' van at the school, and there was one of Calum laying on the ground somewhere, blood trickling from his nose. The pictures infuriated me, but I couldn't do anything about them. They were on the internet now, there was no going back. Needless to say, the stress associated with the pictures was just another notch in the depression belt, carving deeper and deeper into me, bleeding me out, suffocating me. After that, I shut down even more, turning off my phone completely, blocking myself off entirely from the outside world. All I wanted to do was die, but I couldn't die. I couldn't do that to my parents, I couldn't follow in Bailey's footsteps. I couldn't let my family find me dead in my room. It would've scarred them if I'd killed myself, the same way I was scarred. Those thoughts are what prevented me from doing it. But lying there, in a sobbing, sore, half-dead, scarred body, death seemed like a nice option, a nice release from the hell that was life. A nice relief from the reality I had put myself in.

   My friends had attempted on several occasions to bring me out of my room, once they'd tried to visit me, only to walk in my room, see me crying, ask me what was wrong, and leave after waiting for me to answer when I didn't, I didn't think I would be able to respond with or crying, so I didn't respond. Abby was the last to give up on me. She came back to the house once or twice, but after multiple failed attempts she said to me, "This is your life, Cara, you have control over it. I don't understand why you left Cal, but he misses you. He misses you like hell." After she'd left, I'd started sobbing uncontrollably. Words wouldn't describe the pain that filled me, it filled my chest, filled my lungs, filled my heart. It was killing me. I'd cried myself to sleep that night, a heavy heart in my chest and a razor blade in my hand.

   'Why did I do this?' I thought to myself on multiple occasions, misty-eyed, tears stinging my cheeks. I knew I'd done what I'd done with reasoning, which had seemed good at the time, but I didn't care. I hated myself for it. I hated myself for losing Calum, the love of my life, so soon after I'd found him. As far as I knew, I'd never see him again, and it was all my fault.  Worry plagued my sleep, often causing me to dream of him. Sometimes the dreams were good, about me and him together, in love as we were. Most other times things didn't go so well. The worst dream I ever had was of him and another girl, one who looked almost  identical to me, but better. They were in love, and he liked her, as most would, because she was better. I woke crying.

   All I wanted was to have him back. But it was too late.