Denial

Chapter 3

Cam's POV

Today, I thought to myself, was going to be better than yesterday.

At this point, I have to tell myself that every single morning to keep myself from giving up, and from losing my sanity. Unless you're mindset isn't in the right place when you have a life like mine, you won't make it, simple as that.

I turned over in bed to whack my alarm clock's snooze button that seemed to beep louder and louder every morning. I gave myself my morning pep talk, and decided that today, March 15, 2014, was going to be as good as a day as I could make it.

Ever since the bullying started, good days have been sparse. I can look back and recount several bad days, several days I came home with purple blotches on my skin and red scratches on my arms and bumps that nestled themselves on top of my bones.

Of course, my dad isn't alarmed by any of this. He never seems to notice, not since that day in November. When I walk past him, he gives me a look, a look of a mildly concerned dad that has no idea where to start, and when the words are looking like they might roll off the tip of his tongue, like things might start getting better, all he manages to say is, "Good day, champ?" and pats my shoulder as I walk silently upstairs. I wonder if sometimes I should make more of an effort to look hurt, to finally tell him, "Dad, something isn't right. You aren't doing half the shit you're supposed to do for a son that needs someone, anyone, and who even says I want it to be you, I just need someone to help."

But no, no, thats not how it works. I come home and say "It was alright, dad, thanks for asking. I've got to go upstairs and do some homework." And I go upstairs, roll into bed, and play my music as loud as I can to try to forget the pain I go through each and every day since November 13.

Dad has Sierra, my older sister, to worry about anyways. She's a genius with a pretty face and naturally she gets anything she wants. Dad was always closer with her, anyways, and now that she wants to go all of the expensive, elusive colleges she acts extra daddy's-little-girl with him than usual, and he adores every second of it.

After getting ready, which was throwing on a tshirt and scruffing my light brown hair, I got in my car and drove to school, where I met Kinley outside before heading to class.

Kinley, she's the best thing that's ever happened to me. She was there for me on that night and she has been there for me ever since. She's a genius, she's hilarious, she's kind, and she gets it. I don't know what "it" is, but she and I both mutually understand each other in some really cool, unspoken, weirdly telepathic way.

"Hey dingus," she said with a smirk. "Don't even," I said nudging her. At least she can make me laugh. "Ready to head to class?" she asked, making her way towards the large school door that seemed to have a never ending river of students going in and out the double doors. "Yeah, I guess, how are we going to move through this Red Sea of people? I don't have my staff on me," I say. I hope she understands in World Religion class, or she really won't find that very funny. "Funny, Cam!" she said sarcastically, easily wiggling her way into the crowd. I followed after her.

As we made our way through the crowded hallway, I lost sight of Kinley for a second when a really tall guy in a thick letterman jacket stepped directly in front of me, interrupting the flow of people in the halls. I stammered backwards into someone, and heard the clamor of textbooks falling on the ground.

I turned and locked eyes with the most piercing shade of blue I've ever seen.

"Hey, uh, its fine," he said quickly, gathering his stuff. He walked onwards, and I watched him the whole way.

Oh my god, I realized. I know him. That's Nash, from that day in November. The one who talked to me and made me feel like maybe everything wasn't lost, life is still worth trying for. I hadn't seen him since that time we talked, I had never seen him before then either. But now, something in me wanted, needed to see more. He almost saved my life, and I need to find out why he would have done that for someone like me.

I have to find Nash Grier.