14. Shards of Glass

Did I ever mention how much I hate being in the real world? I'm pretty sure I did. Well, now I hate it ten times more. This time, unlike before, I actually forgot how it feels to be here.

Gods, this fucking sucks…

Everything hurts. And when I say everything, I mean it. The tips of my fingers, the shells of my ears, the soles of my feet—everything aches.

It's not a good pain, either. It's the kind of pain car accident survivors feel when the meds wear off. An overwhelming, ever-present, shitty feeling.

I sit up from my couch, trembling from the cold, wrapping my arms around myself to stop the shivers. There's a loud banging at my door, tripling my headache. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to soften the harsh light streaming in from the windows, but even my eyelids hurt. No help there.

Before my bare feet even touch the floor or the crumpled blanket on it, the banging echoes again.

"Just a moment," I try to shout, but it comes out more like the raspy croak of a raging alcoholic. Except... I'm not an alcoholic, and I don't have a hangover. I don't actually have a death wish, despite what I sometimes tell myself. Sleeping pills and alcohol? Big no. Sleeping pills one day and alcohol another? That's more like it. Last night was a sleeping pills kind of night.

As I stagger to the door, the pain intensifies with each step, like shards of glass pressing against my joints. I brace myself against the wall, feeling the cold plaster under my fingertips. I can't remember the last time the transition from the dreamscape to reality felt this brutal. But, um… It might have something to do with the fact that I've spent more time sleeping than living these past two weeks.

Reaching the door, I pause, taking a slow, steadying breath before managing to pull it open. The hallway light is blinding, and I squint, my eyes watering as they adjust.

I shouldn't be surprised to see Cam standing there, arms crossed over her chest, but somehow, I am. What does she want from me now?

"Where have you been for the past two weeks?" she demands, skipping any pleasantries. No ‘hello,' no ‘how are you,' not even a smile. I scowl as her voice echoes in my skull, amplifying my headache.

"What? I was here all the time…" I mumble. Well, that's not entirely true since I've been hanging out with Echo in the dreamscape as much as I can, but technically, my body has been right here in my apartment the whole time. So... not really a lie. "Why would you..."

She storms past me, barging into my apartment without hearing me out, and shoves me aside when I inadvertently bump into her. Without pausing, she strides into my living room, her eyes sweeping over the chaos that my living space has become.

Empty water bottles, instant noodle packets, and used bowls are everywhere. My clothes are strewn all over, along with tissues, blankets, pillows, and sheets in disarray.

I don't blame her for throwing her arms up and scoffing at the mess, but it still irks me. I mean, so what if I haven't kept the place up? There are more important things in life than keeping clean. Happiness, for example.

"I've been calling and texting you! I even asked your neighbors if they saw you! Just because they said they did, I didn't call the cops!" Her voice is sharp, cutting through my haze of pain and discomfort. She turns to face me, looking both angry and worried.

I wince, both from the pain her voice brings me and her piercing gaze.

"I... I was sick," I say, the words barely a whisper. This, compared to earlier, is not entirely a lie. The transition between worlds, between realities, leaves me feeling drained and disoriented, sick in a way no medicine can cure. In other words, it makes me feel like shit.

"Sick?" Cam asks, clearly not buying it. "Come on, I know you've been having a tough time, but this..." She waves her hand around the messy room, with takeout boxes everywhere and blankets tossed on the couch, "...this isn't just being sick. What's really going on with you?"

I slump against the wall, the cold plaster feeling sharp against my hot skin. I cross my arms over my chest and try my hardest not to squint.

"Nothing," I say. My heart hammers like crazy.

Cam exhales sharply, frustration written all over her face as she steps closer, searching my face for any sign of the truth I'm hiding. I used to appreciate how well she knew me—sometimes better than I knew myself. Not anymore. Turns out there's a whole world inside of me that neither of us knew about.

I don't want her worry. I don't want her barging in here, giving me that disappointed look. Most of all, I don't want her finding out what's been going on with me and Echo, or how much I hate being alive right now. I just want to be with him.

At first, I kept things from Cam just to protect her from whatever sinister presence has been haunting me. But now, there's more to it. I know that, unlike anyone else, Camilla wants to keep me here. She wants me to endure this crappy life. She wants me by her side.

"This is more than ‘nothing,' and you know it. You're not just ‘sick.' You're not yourself. Look at this place!" She gestures again, emphasizing the chaos. "And look at you! You're a mess."

She's right; I am a mess. But explaining to her why I am this way feels as daunting as climbing a mountain without gear—exhausting and, honestly, dangerous.

"Please, Cam… just let it go," I plead, shaking my head. "I know you're worried, but I'm really fine."

She just looks at me.

"Did I do something wrong? Are you... mad at me? Is that why you're shutting me out?" Her words tremble as she speaks, her hands dropping to her sides.

My jaw drops as I watch her. My eyes are dry and burning, stinging with the pain I can't put into words. I can feel her sadness; it's in her voice, and the way her eyebrows are furrowed in distress.

"No," I say, my voice flat. The emptiness in my response seems to wound her more, as she purses her lips and nods, almost to herself. "You didn't do anything."

She takes a deep breath, her shoulders sagging a bit as she takes in what I said. It's tough to see her like this. The fear of losing me hits her, and I start to feel guilty.

But I've been scared and lonely for so long... For the first time, I feel a glimmer of hope. I'm actually excited about the future.

"Whatever's going on with you," she begins slowly, "I see you, Claire. You might not want to listen, you might keep scowling, you might show me how much you want me to leave, but I see you. I was there when you ran away from home. I was there during your sleepless nights, and I'm here for you now."

My fists clench, nails digging into my palms. "Please, Cam… just stop, okay?" I whisper. I can't handle this.

What did I just say? She wants me by her side. She doesn't understand how much I've endured alone. She saw the good moments, the times she brought me some peace when I desperately needed it. Yes, I was a mess. But she doesn't know how much worse it was in solitude.

What about those moments when I felt trapped in any room, the walls closing in on me, as if there was an abyss below me and I was falling endlessly, unneeded, unwanted, uncared for?

In those moments, I felt like nothing more than a burden, putting my problems on other people. Sure, after everything that happened with my mom, Cam and her family gave me shelter. Their presence was a speck of light in my hopeless life, but the surrounding darkness was so vast, so overwhelming, that the light seemed to drown in it.

I don't want that darkness to take hold of me again. I don't need her telling me I can get over it. I want an escape.

Cam might be open to understanding my pain, but she's never lived through it. I never fully opened up to her, never spilled all the hopelessness that dwelled inside me. But what good would that do? Hearing something like "it's going to get better"? How is that supposed to help me?

"I won't," she says firmly.

She knows me, at least a part of me, that much is true. But I know her too. As her eyes fill with tears she quickly blinks away, trying to show strength and resolve, I see how fragile she really is.

Camilla, with her loving, stable family and protective older brothers, is delicate in ways she doesn't even realize. She could never withstand a parent abusing her. She'd have broken a long time ago if she were in my shoes.

My head spins.

What if… What if she stayed only to watch me like I'm some animal in a zoo during my darkest times? Maybe she wanted a wounded animal like me to be dependent on her.

"Leave," I mutter quietly. My voice can't carry any louder, but the harsh tone conveys my message clearly enough. "I don't want you here. I'm fine, and I don't need to be coddled by you or anyone else."

Cam's face hardens for a moment, the hurt evident in her eyes, but she doesn't move immediately. She stands there, weighing her words and pushing my buttons without realizing it. Every moment she stays here hurts me.

I just want to go back to sleep, dammit!

"I'm not trying to coddle you," she finally says, her voice steady but softer now. "I'm just trying to be here for you, because that's what friends do. They show up. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard." She nods to herself, as if reaffirming her resolve is more important than the fact that I want her out of my space. "And that's exactly what I'm going to do."

I almost roll my eyes at those cliché lines. But when she steps toward the table, alarm bells go off in my head.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice suddenly louder.

She doesn't say anything. Instead, she grabs the bottle of sleeping pills she gave me two weeks ago and shakes it. What used to be full is now nearly empty. But that's not what makes my heart race and a cold sweat break out on my skin. It's the fact that she turns on her heel and heads to the bathroom.

"Camilla?!" I shout after her. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"I'm getting rid of these," she says, stopping at the bathroom doorway and facing me. "If you want me to leave, I will. But first, I'm flushing these pills down the toilet because I never should've given them to you in the first place."

My heart squeezes like it's about to explode. I'm standing straight one moment and then lunging the next.

"Don't you fucking dare do that to me." I clench my teeth. "Give them back to me."

I reach for the bottle, but she steps back, her back slamming against the bathroom wall. Her hand pushes me away, the heel of her palm digging into my collarbone. But pain is the last thing on my mind.

If I don't get those pills, I'll be vulnerable to the presence. I won't see Echo quickly enough for him to protect me. Hell, what if I can't fall asleep ever again? What if I never see Echo again?

I can't let that happen. I need those pills. My life depends on it.

"Shit, Claire!" Camilla cries out. "Stop clawing at me! You're hurting me...!"

Only when she yells do I realize that I'm actually hurting her. My nails, long and jagged from neglect, scratch at her hand—the one holding the pills. But even though I realize it, there's nothing pumping in my heart except adrenaline.

She's the one hurting me here, not the other way around. Why can't she see that?!

Her face turns pale, not just from the physical pain, but from something deeper. Maybe it's the shock of seeing me so frantic, or perhaps she's finally realized that she might be in the wrong here.

Regardless, she releases the bottle, and it falls onto the tiled bathroom floor, bursting open. Pills scatter across the floor with a clatter.

Shit!

My eyes dart from the spilled bottle to Camilla's face. She just stands there, silent, breath catching in her throat, hands trembling, but she doesn't make a move for the pills.

Thank fucking god.

I drop to my knees, lightning fast, securing the bottle in an iron grip and scooping the pills back inside, one by one, my fingers trembling. But I'll be damned if I don't get them all back.

Finally, with the pills secured, I stand up on shaky legs and gaze at her.

"Your neighbors told me you've been acting strange lately," she says quietly, swallowing hard. She doesn't meet my eyes, focusing on the floor. "They said you caused a scene with the elevator maintenance crew, nearly walked into traffic, frightened an old lady at the store, barged into restricted areas…"

I stay silent, unsure of what to say. I had hoped the shadows taking over my reality would remain unnoticed. That hope was in vain.

"I didn't want to believe them," Camilla continues, her voice soft but strained. "I thought they were just being mean. People can be mean to you for no reason. But now, seeing this... I realize they were right. I don't recognize you anymore, Claire. I really don't."

A pang of guilt hits me, but it fights against the huge fear of losing the only thing that makes me happy. I need the dreamscape. I just need it.

"Cam, please," I start, my voice hoarse. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. It's just that—"

She interrupts, shaking her head. "Don't." She sighs, raising her hands. "Just… don't."

With those final words, she exits the bathroom, her steps measured and heavy. Each one feels like a chasm widening inside me, but I can only stare past her, frozen.

It's only when I hear the distinct click of the door closing behind her that I look at the bottle in my hand and feel tears start to form. I already broke my one unbreakable rule. Now, I've broken something even more important.

I often say I don't want to be mean, that I don't intend to ruin relationships... But didn't I want to sabotage this one? To completely cut it off? Because without Camilla by my side, there's nothing left to keep me here.

And shit… Maybe that's exactly what I wanted.