Bad Things

33. It Really Was All Worth It

First thing first.

Happy birthday to my sole inspiration (I mean, Camila too) of stories, Shawn Mendes!

May your 21th be another milestone in your life to achieving more great things!

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Did you know that it's true,

That everything is possible,

There's nothing we can't do,

It's a wild and beautiful fire,

And I believe in you.

- Shawn Mendes.

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Pain.

Excruciating. Nauseating. Debilitating. Pain.

It was all Camila knew, all she could feel, all she could fathom. It seemed never-ending, like she'd be stuck in it for the rest of her life. Like it was her penance, her true karma, her destiny.

There was nothing else for her. No Shawn with his arms around her, her name on his lips, his mouth to her head. No mother crying salty tears onto her face and clutching Camila's clothing so tightly it almost cut off circulation. No small crowd surrounding her, voices echoing everywhere, exasperating the already piercing agony in her head. No unborn son, squirming and kicking in shorter, more frantic movements than Camila was used to.

There was only the pain.

The only wish she had was for it to stop. At any cost, she didn't care what. Just make it stop, she screamed inside her mind.

And then ...

It was gone. Just gone. And she was floating. Not outside or above herself, but inside. It was the strangest feeling, knowing she was there, she was still there, but she wasn't all at the same time.

The voices that had once tortured her were nothing more than muted, garbled sounds, as if she were hearing them through several inches of thick wall. It was peaceful and painless, finally.

Finally.

But then Camila noticed something else. The calmness that had taken her over was too calm. Much too calm. The numbness was too numb, and she started to realize that this was not normal; this was not the way she was supposed to feel. She'd spent so much time hurting and being sick that feeling nothing was almost worse. At least feeling those things meant she was okay, that her body was doing what it was supposed to be doing.

Feeling nothing was the exact opposite of good.

Panic started to overtake her. She tried to open her eyes, but they wouldn't stay. Light flitted in flashes across her vision as her lids fluttered with her effort. She attempted to raise her hand, wiggle her fingers, call out, anything. Anything. But there was still nothing.

Her body did not respond, did not belong to her anymore. She could feel everything happening to it: the jostling as she was lifted from the ground and placed on a hard, unsteady surface, the snap of elastic on her cheeks when a mask blowing cold, sterile air slipped over her mouth and nose, the pressure of something squeezing her arm almost to the point of pain. And then there was so much commotion: yelling and scrambling, frantic movements, and Shawn's panicked voice near, but so far away at the same time.