I'll See You When I Fall Asleep

Chapter 2

The moment Cammie stepped out of her first final of the Fall Semester, she felt both a weight of relief spill off of her and the crushing anxiety building up from her next exam. She made it through one exam, almost filling two entire Blue Books full of arguments and defenses of multiple Supreme Court cases. Her hand felt as if the fingers would simply fall off, refusing to belong to a person who would not abuse them so much.

As the door closed behind her to the exam room, her head once again began buzzing with an impossibly long and unceasing list of every piece of information she now needed to remember of her Foreign Policy class. Vocabulary words and relationships between countries swam across her vision when she closed her eyes to shut out the headache that had been plaguing her for the last two days. She pressed her fingers to her temples, but not even clutching her head seemed to calm the torrent of information.

She pulled her phone out of her backpack and plugged her headphones in, deciding to drown out everything with music. She turned up the volume so that the entire world was drown out by the lyrics and thumping of drums. Her mind slowly began to quiet, inundated with distraction. University had a strange way of both invigorating its students and sucking the life out of them simultaneously. Today, Cammie felt as though the notch was turned up to the highest setting and all of the life was being drained out of her.

She hopped on her bike and mechanically peddled her way home, her body moving to the rhythm of the music, carrying her home on a wave. She collapsed into her bed in a heap of exhaustion. She promised herself that she would allow a quick fifteen minute power nap before hitting the books once again. She meticulously schedule every last minute of her day into an organizer so that she was able to maximize her studying time. She could take a quick nap, no longer.

She closed her eyes, but she was unable to turn off her mind. It buzzed like an angry hive of bees, angrily hissing in her ear she could get more done if she didn't rest like she was. She was just being lazy, she could push through. After tossing in her bed, trying to quash the bees, she jolted up. She was never able to sleep when she was stressed or anxious.

Groggy from the failed attempt at sleep, she made her way to her desk and began to open all of her books and tattered notebook. Not a moment later, her phone angrily buzzed on the top of her wooden desk. A giant grin illuminated her screen. Adam.

She cursed before sliding her thumb across the bottom of the screen to unlock the phone. She wasn't quite ready to talk to him, unable to pull herself out of her head just yet. But she had a study date with Adam and if she refused it would crush him. They lived about seven hours apart. Though not ideal, they lived in the same state, and were able to take one freeway to each other. The length of the drive coupled with Cammie's incredibly busy schedule made it difficult to see one another in person. Instead, they settled for virtual dates on their phones.

Cammie took a deep breath and screwed her face into a pleasant shape. Adam joyously greeted with a huge grin.

"Hey, Babe!" Adam's big blue stared back at her, his blonde waves recently cut back from falling into his eyes. He was wearing a comfortable gray US Davis sweater that Cammie had tried to steal the last time she was there to visit him.

"Hey."

"Did you just wake up?"

Cammie blew a loose strand of hair out of her face. "I wish."

Adam frowned at Cammie's sour mood.

"I tried to sleep, but couldn't."

"I'm sorry."

Cammie fought against he urge to roll her eyes at Adam's lack of emotional intelliegence. He was such. . . such. . . a guy! Adam didn't understand the urgency of her studies or her level of exhaustion or her inability to quiet down her thoughts. She decided to save that conversation for a later time; it was more important to spend time with Adam and study than argue when she knew she was tired and stressed. Cammie also doubted that Adam would understasnd why she was frusterated anyway. Better to just leave it alone.

"Should we get started?" she asked instead, pulling a worn book with the edges frayed.

Adam smiled, resigned. The two had agreed to Skype at least weekly for what they called "study dates." Adam liked to spend these "dates" chatting and catching up, admiring the beauty of his girlfriend, while Cammie wanted to do exactly what the title implied: study. It was argumable more difficult for Adam to be in this long distance relationship than Cammie. Adam did not take his studies as serious as Cammie and was perhaps more dedicated to her than he was to his grades. He wanted to spend every minute with her possibly could. He had even cried when they both left for college the summer before their freshman year. He knew that he loved Cammie more than anything in the world and not being able to see her every day, hold her, kiss her upset him more than he knew. Cammie was not quite as affected by their separation as Adam believed she should be. Despite this, Adam knew Cammie loved him deeply. Adam knew Cammie well enough to understasnd that she was not the best at always being "present" as her mind traveled beyond comprehensible speeds, always reminding her of what needed to be done or what new thing she suddenly had to obsessively worry about. Adam had finally learned to accept that this was just the girl that he loved and decided to accept any and all forms of communication Cammie offered him, which meant being okay with looking at Cammie face while she was bent over a book with a word passing between.

Adam knew Cammie was just a busy person, but he secretly hoped that once his girlfriend finished law school, things would be easier for them. He also knew he would go wherever Cammie went to law school to be close to her. They had both decided to go to different colleges because it had been the best for them, but Adam hated the distance and he was ready for it to be over. As soon as they graduated, Adam had plans to move in together. Afterall, they would both be twenty-one and would be sure they would be together.

As the two worked, Cammie glanced up at her boyfriend on the phone. He was staring.

"What?" she asked.

Adam chuckled. Sometimes Cammie's tone came across as aggressive, although she did not mean it. When she was in the zone, she was in the zone.

"Nothing, I'm just admiring how beautiful you are."

Cammie rolled her eyes and got back to work. She did not take compliments well, even if Adam had been giving them to her for four years. He also was not nearly as skilled as Savannah at the art of distraction.

Not much longer later, Savannah walked into their apartment.

"Date with Adam again, huh? Surprise, surprise."

Cammie glared at her friend. Savannah shrugged.

"Nice to see you too, Savannah," Adam called from the phone.

Savannah poked her head into the screen and waved. She glanced down at Cammie who was aggressively highlighting works that had no meaning to Savannah. She placed her hands on Cammie's shoulders and felt the muscles balling themselves into tight knots.

"You should take a break."

Cammie did not bother to reply. With a sigh, Savannah made her way to her room to watch TV. Sometimes she wished that Cammie would join her. All of that stress couldn't be healthy for one person.

When Savannah had shut the door behind her, Cammie threw a glance over her shoulder and then back to Adam.

"Hey, do you think I'm boring?" Cammie asked, feeling that this was an important enough conversation topic to pause studying.

"Boring? No way. Why do you ask?"

Cammie chewed her lip, mulling over Adam's response. "Okay, how 'bout predictable?"

This gave Adam pause. "Yeah, I guess."

Cammie frowned.

"That's not a bad thing though." Adam watched Cammie's brow furrow and the chewing of the inside of Cammie's lip commenced. "Why do you ask?"

Cammie relayed the conversation between Savannah and herself in the coffee shop a few days ago.

Adam's eyebrows scrunched. "Like I said, I don't think predictable is a bad thing. I think it's pretty easy to figure out what you'll be doing on a day-to-day basis, but like I said, that's just who you are. You're a Type A personality and plan out every detail. It's just how you are." As Adam spoke, he noted the growing disdain on his girlfriend's face. "Again: not a bad thing. Look how successful you've been because of it."

Cammie chewed on her lip as she thought. Did everyone think she was predictable and boring? She knew no one had actually used the word boring, but she could not help but equate the two as synonymous.

She hummed and dropped her eyes to her notes, but her mind was anywhere but. She found after a few minutes of silence that it would be impossible for her to focus, despite her most valiant efforts. She created a lame excuse, something about needing to eat dinner and Savannah and her had plans to go out to eat. The excuse was jumbled and it was clear that Cammie was not all there.

"Was it something I said?" Adam asked.

"No, no." Cammie was never a good liar. "I just need to eat. And I'm tired. It's been a long week." All of this was true, especially during finals week, but both Cammie and Adam knew that she was perfectly capable of handling the stress that she put on herself.

"Okay, I love you." Adam said slowly, unsure of how to proceed.

"Love you too."

Cammie ended the call quickly. On the other end, Adam tried not to ruminate on the conversation too much. He knew Cammie too well to believe nothing was wrong. Cammie was caught up in her head more often than not and held in all of her emotions and thoughts. He sometimes wished she was more like Savannah so he would know what was going on in that head of hers.

He sighed, also hoping he hadn't said anything offensive to his girlfriend. She could hold grudges like no other.

Cammie sat back in her chair and chewed her lip while she stared blankly at the wall. This was her signature Deep In Thought expression. She mulled over both what her boyfriend and best friend had to say about her.

Predictable. Boring.

It was in Cammie's nature to obsess. She did not obsess over the usual array of teenage girl obess worthy items, such as makeup, boys, or the newest pop culture scandal. Instead, Cammie obessed with the way other people perceived her. This had been an issue for her since she was a young child and was permanently scarred when she figured out in the third grade that she held her pencil funny. Some troublesome eight-year-old named Mikey had pointed out this fact to the entire class while the teacher was looking away. Cammie had been so ashamed that she forced her fingers to cradle her pencil in her dainty fingers in an awkward fashion until she was satisfied that she was blending in with everyone else. She had finger cramps for about a month until her hand learned to cooperate with Room 216's pre-approved Pencil-Holding Standards.

And while Cammie believed that the ridicule stopped because she finally blended in with the Pencil-Holding Standards, it was Savannah's little secret that for that week she was "out of school with the flu", she had actually been suspended for beating up Mikey and stomping on his fingers.

He could never hold a pencil properly after that.

Now, twelve and three-quarters years later, Cammie had a new quirk, apparently: she was boring and predictable. Sure, Savannah was the one that had told her this, but Savannah never lied to Cammie. If Savannah was thinking it, surely everyone else did.

Even Adam confessed to Savannah's observation.

It was true that Adam had attempted to defend and even promote Cammie's trait of predictability, he had still confirmed the mounting fear that Cammie held since the coffee shop. Two of the people who she cared about most had commented on a trait Cammie did not want. Although Adam told her nearly every other day that he admired her adventurous spirit and her willingness to tackle any new obstacle in her path, wasn't it his job to say those things? Boyfriends had to encourage and uplift their girlfriends. There never seemed like there was any insincerity in his affection for her, but Cammie couldn't help but doubt his words, especially now that Savannah had brought everything into question. Isn't it funny how out of the thousands of words that are spoken every day, a few of them can cling to the front of consciousness? It was like in eighth grade, when Savannah told her that she complained about everything. Cammie hadn't particularly thought so, but the words meant something, anyway: she was the World's Greatest Optimist for the rest of the year.

And so, in the four days that had passed since Savannah had christened Cammie boring and predictable, Cammie had obsessed over it. She thought about it from every possible angle, wondering how she was perceived by others. Was she interesting? Why did people even like her? These thoughts spiraled out of control, enough to give Cammie had a headache.

A worse thoughts entered her mind: would Law Schools find her boring? Was someone who stuck to routine and schedules and did everything by-the-book be a bad candidate? Would these schools even want someone who was, on paper, perfect? Or did they want candidates that were out of the ordinary? Maybe failed a few classes in college but turned their lives around with some triumph story?

Cammie stood so fast that the chair toppled over behind her. She had to do something; get out of their apartment. The walls felt as if they were closing in on her, she was going crazy.

Cammie pulled out her new, sleek, silver iPhone that Adam had gifted her two weeks earlier as an early birthday present. Until now, Cammie had the unfortunate habit of misplacing her phone or damaging it beyond repair. The latest in the long line of deceased iPhones was of the Damaged Beyond Repair variety when Cammie eagerly tried to take a picture of a beautiful sunset out of the window of the car that Adam and Cammie were driving in, when Adam hit a pothole and the phone slipped out of Cammie's hands and under the vicious tires of truck. She was determined to make this phone last, even if it meant taking more "traditional" pictures.

She pulled up a search engine on her phone and typed faster than she knew possible. After her results yielded the confirmation she needed, she quickly dialed a phone number. A man answered with a slight accent that sounded Russian.

"Do you have an appointments available today?" Cammie asked, her heart hammering in her chest.

The man on the other side paused and Cammie heard papers ruffle. "I have an opening for a walk-in between seven and eight tonight."

"That's perfect. Can I take it?"

"Sure."

Cammie relayed her information to the man and hung up the phone. She made her way to Savannah's door and knocked on the door.

"What are you doing?" Cammie asked, though it was more of a command than a question.

"Studying for our Bio final that's in three hours." Savannah was always the crammer; when a professor announced to the class that something was due tomorrow, Savannah's brain would unconsciously transform the first word into "do."

Cammie hesitated, not wanting to pull Savannah away from her studies, but she knew that if she did not act right this moment, she would back-out. Savannah needed to be educated out of her cramming habit, anyway.

"Why, what's up?" Savannah asked after Cammie's moments of silence. She came to the door and swung it open.

"Come get a tattoo with me." Cammie reached out to grab the words and shove them back into her mouth as she said them, but it was too late.

A devilish grin plastered Savannah's face. She wordlessly spun on her heels and collected her phone and wallet. Studying could wait.

Cammie's hands trembled as they exited the apartment structure's parking lot onto the main road. Her windows were half-cracked, just enough to let in the comforting summer breeze. Savannah grinned at this sudden turn of events—her middle name was practically Rash Decisions. Well, not quite, but even that would have been better than her unfortunate middle names. Maybe her parents knew that S.H.I.T. would be fantastic initials for a girl who instantly regretted most of her decisions. Savannah was grateful for her transition into college when the nickname "Oh, Shit" died out.

As they drove, Savannah chatted Cammie's ear off about everything but the tattoo. She knew that if she talked to Cammie about it, Cammie would rationalize herself right out of it; from Cammie's expression—the lip biting, leg bouncing, constant position of shifting hands over the steering wheel told Savannah that Cammie was once again trapped in the web of her head. So Savannah schemed and distracted her friend until they pulled up to the tattoo parlor, chatting about a new psychological disorder she had learned about in class this week.

When the car was finally pulled into a parking spot on a side street a block away from the tattoo parlor, Cammie made no moves to exit the vehicle. Instead, her hands seemed to cement themselves to the steering wheel. She did not even bother to unbuckle herself.

Cammie followed many tattoo artists on her Instagram. She herself used to draw and paint in her youth, though she found little time for it now, and she found tattoos beautiful, fascinating, and the people who created them were beyond talent. She had wanted a tattoo since her sophomore year of high school when she passed by a senior with a detailed compass freshly etched into his forearm. She passed by him every day on her way to fourth period and each day admired the black ink. She knew from that day that she wanted her own tattoo. Her mother, however, had a different idea. When she brought it up at dinner a few weeks later, her mother seemed appalled by the idea that her perfect daughter would mar her skin with such a ridiculous trend. Cammie tried to argue that she really loved the art and would love to have a piece on her. Her mother, ever the strong personality that Cammie had barely inherited, ultimately won the battle and Cammie decided she could never get a tattoo because it would displease her mother so deeply.

Since that ugly debate, Cammie settled on simply looking at tattoos on other people, especially Savannah. She had a few small pieces on her body, which Cammie jealously admired. She wished that she had had enough freedom from both her parents and her mind. She had been checking this particular artist out almost daily, mesmorized by his lines and attention to detail. She had decided long ago that she wanted a tattoo by him, but she never guess that she would go through with it.

Now that she was here, however, with heart hammering and palms sweating, she began to construct a million reasons why she she should leave.

"Ready?"

Cammie's eyes were wide with panic. She hesitated before answering, but found it in her strength to nod her head, just barely. Savannah leaned over and clicked the release button on her seat belt. With a weight in her stomach heavier than Thor's hammer, she reluctantly pulled her jelly-like limbs out of the car.

The two girls walked into the building, the only thing tethering Cammie to her commitment was Savannah's confident stride. The two were greeted by the mechanical buzzing of the guns grazing over skin. Art was plastered all over the walls, displaying the artist's most extravagant work. Several brazen women were proudly displaying themselves in the pieces.

"Hello," a young man of perhaps thirty called, coming out of the back room. Cammie had seen many people with tattoos and had seen several artists before. They were all covered from head to toe in thick, black ink. This man was nothing like other artists. He was clean shaven with a hat on his head. The only visible tattoos he had were on his arms and there were not many. The most notable one was a palm tree leaf on the back of his left forearm.

He introduced himself reaching out for Cammie's hand. It was clamy.

"What did you have in mind?"

Since she was fifteen and she first spotted that forearm tattoo, Cammie had doodled small tattoos in her notebooks, her planners, or any scrap paper she had. She filled sketchbooks with ideas and imagined where she would place them. She had always wanted one on her forearm, just like the boy, but she knew if her mother saw that—which would be immediately—she might lose her place in the family. So she had decided to hide it, something that would be hard to spot and very small. Plus, she wanted it to easily conceal; the last thing she wanted was a tattoo to ruin her future career prospects.

Finally, Cammie settled on a small and simple piece: it was a small hummingbird, thin, delicate.

"I think I want this one."

"Where do you want it?"

Cammie pointed about halfway down her rib cage on her left side.

"Do you have any other tattoos?"

Cammie shook her head.

"Are you sure you want it there?" he asked. "That is a very tender spot. I don't recommend it for the first tattoo."

Once Cammie had made her decision, however, she was not likely to change her mind. She simply nodded her head in affirmation, not trusting her voice. The nerves finally spread through her body like jumping into a cold pool: suddenly it sensation spread everywhere once your body was enveloped by the water.

He nodded and walked to his studio where he began making a stencil, prepping his gun, and disinfecting the chair. The smell of alcohol invaded her nose and her heart began its escape plan, banging against the walls of her insides. How badly was it going to hurt? What would it feel like? How long was this going to last? Why did she ever think this would be a good idea?

The buzzing of needles filling the room began to assault her, each buzz screaming at her to leave. She broke out into a sweat.

Savannah nudged her. "It'll be fine."

Cammie gave a weak nod.

After a short ten minutes that felt longer than the worst day at the dentist, he returned with the sketch on a small page in purple ink. He had Cammie lay on what appeared to be a massage table and lift her shirt. It was quite comfortable and made Cammie feel more at ease. The artist cleaned Cammie's side with disinfectants, prepping the skin to be as clean as possible. He placed the stencil on her and pulled it away, leaving the ghost of the tattoo in bright purple ink.

"How does that look?" he gestured to the full-length mirror. Cammie hopped out off of the bench and examined the drawing on her skin. She did like it, it was cute, like a little doodle. She felt like it fit her.

"I love it."

The artist smiled. "Alright, let's get started."

Cammie laid back down on the work table, the nerves shifting into heir highest gear. She began to perspire. The artist prepped his instruments, turning his gun on and calibrating it. The sound of buzzing twisted Cammie's stomach.

He turned, black latex gloves covering his hands. "Ready?"

A weak "mhm" escaped Cammie's lips, that sounded more like a whimper than an answer. Savannah sat next to Cammie, gripping her hand. "You'll be fine, it doesn't even hurt." Savannah had seven tattoos and counting. She did not mention, however, that the tattoo on her rips hurt the worst. Cammie could figure that out later.

"I just need you to keep your breathing steady, that way I can work with the movement of your ribs."

That didn't seem so hard. Cammie took a deep breath, and the needle grazed her skin.

Her face softened. It wasn't so bad.

And then the needle drew closer to the bone. Cammie inhaled a sharp breathe and gritted her teeth. Savannah placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"It'll only hurt for a sec."

The artist smiled, choosing instead to stay silent.

In its entirety, the tattoo took about twenty minutes, which was a relatively short time to sit for a tattoo. It felt to Cammie, however, that she was sitting in the depth of hell and her punishment was repeated torture that, for every minute spent under the knife of pain, her time was doubled.

Roman had a light touch, spending five seconds on the skin and five seconds off. Cammie endured the pain by counting whenever the knife-like needle was dragged across her sensitive skin. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four Mississippi. Five Mississippi. Break.

After the eternity of hellish torture, Roman finally wiped away the last traces of stray ink. "All done."

He gestured to the full length mirror on the wall that Cammie had used to judge the placement of the tattoo. Now, Cammie used the mirror to admire her new—and permanent—tattoo. In line with her heart was a small hummingbird, mid flight. It's beak pointed as if it it would take nectar from between her ribs and into the heart itself.

Cammie loved it. A grin split her face. She had done it! She had a tattoo! She finally pushed herself out of her comfort zone and it hadn't gone completely AWOL. Maybe being a little more spontaneous wasn't such a bad thing. She glanced at Savannah who had a devilish glint in her eyes.

Cammie had finally gotten a tattoo, a goal of hers for years. Now that she did this, what else would be do? The possibilites were endless, and Savannah was going to be sure to exploit this new Cammie to the fullest.

As they walked out of the small building with Cammie grinning ear to ear she turned to Savannah and said, "okay, time to get home to study."

Some things never changed.