Chapter 2... Cammy has some memories that hurt.
Just as I knew I would, I cried for what seemed like an eternity. I had this coming; I knew I did when I brought the conversation up. Keltie and Ryan were happy together, and I couldn’t overpower it as much as I tried. Nothing could; love was a city of its own, impenetrable from all other cities. Especially that of envy.
I laid in my room and look around at my surroundings. The two walls opposite each other are orange and the other two were a bold blue with yellow polka dots. It was obnoxious if you didn’t like the colors, but I enjoyed them and liked how unique it looked. When I had bought my house, I decided I would do strange things with the décor to make it my own, and I had definitely succeeded.
There was a large bulletin board next to the largest window looking over my side lawn. I liked to draw and to write, so I had my drawings and some of my poetry tacked up on it, along with pictures of the bands and I. I lifted myself from my bed and walked over to it to admire the good moments we had caught on film.
The first picture I looked at was one from a photo booth in the mall of me and Ry; we had one serious picture where we were just looking into the camera, one where we were making faces, one where we were making a heart, each one of our hands a side, and one where I was kissing him on the cheek. I winced at the painful amount of happiness I was having in that picture; being best friends is hard when the feelings aren’t the same.
There was another of me and Patrick (This is a young time where Patrick was still about 20 years old). We were at the park on the seesaw, and Andy had taken a picture with his cell phone. I remember that we were talking about Fall Out Boy’s new publicity they had found, and were laughing while we still had the chance to be normal.
At the far left of the bulletin board was a picture of all of us together, holding hands on the beach. We stood next to each other, me holding Pete and Brendon’s hand and smiling for the camera in the glistening sun. The water shined beautifully in the background, and there were no fans anywhere so we could be ourselves. Ryan was there, too, on the end of the chain, holding Spencer’s hand and laughing. The picture caught the motion, and I longed for that sweet, modest laugh I was so used to.
I looked at my drawing of the Mad Hatter that Ryan had requested; it was a copied version, as I had given the original to him. The lines were delicate and yet so strong, the colors had horrible contrast that made it beautiful, and overall, the picture made sense because it didn’t make sense, if that was possible. And as weird as it seemed, I strangely felt the same way.
I walked over to my desk underneath a window; it was covered in random items I had used over the past few times I had sat at my desk. A few drawing pencils, some watercolors, an open notebook with some scribbles in it, a crumpled up poem, a pile of books, my laptop, some hair ties and a half finished picture of a lonely girl in Las Vegas. I thought of finishing it, but had second thoughts; maybe it was better off that way. It seemed much more realistic.
My closet was open just a few inches and I looked inside. I didn’t have one specific personality that was set in stone; everything depended on my mood. Some days I would dress completely in black; others I would dress in the brightest colors I could find. There were people who loved that about me and others who hated it. Frankly, I didn’t care until that moment.
Noodle scratched at my door again. I walked over and fought back more tears, knowing that the tears I cried were more like acid burning every ounce of hope I had left. As I swung the door open, the little kitten came running through my legs and jumped on the yellow bean nag chair in the corner near my TV. He lay down and rolled over, his white stomach facing the ceiling. I walked over and began to pat the orange tabby cat, smiling weakly at his big, loving, green eyes. They reflected my grief stricken face, and it hurt even more to know that people saw me that way.
The next few days, I spent my time regretfully writing in my journal. It contained my entire life; I poured my heart out into my journal, a black leather book with a lock, old, ripped pages and faded Panic at the Disco and Fall Out Boy stickers on the cover. No one had ever seen what was in that book, and they knew better than to look. It meant the most to me, besides one other thing I refused to think about at the moment.
There’s nothing I can do to make him love me. I know that, and I resent the fact with every part of my body, my mind, my heart. I still wish he could understand. Every time I look into his deep brown eyes, I see something more, something that could change him, that could change us. If I could write tears in a book, I’d do it, because that’s the only way to describe what I see when I look into them. Somehow I know that we’re meant to be, but fate might be blind, and Ryan might be following suit. I love him. There’s no doubting that.
I’m losing hope, and I’m losing it fast. I’ve told him how much I love him over and over again, and when I do, he tells me how much he loves Keltie…It’s painful. I envy the girl with my life, and I would give my life up to be with him. Why wouldn’t I give it up to be like HER? Because Keltie isn’t the person for him. I am. And there’s just about no hope for him to see that.
Do I deserve it? Maybe. Do I deserve him? Probably not. Do I love him more than life itself? Yes.
Maybe life isn’t worth living if I’m living it like this.
Regretting Every Word,
And then I remember his words.
How they stabbed me in the heart.
How they could wound me more than a knife ever could.