𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟓𝟐

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO the downfall of romeo & juliet

❊ ❊ ❊

NOW THAT EVERYONE'S eyes were pierced towards me and Rafe, the only option we had left was to run.

Courtesy of Amelia, all attention was now turned onto us, glances of fear and shock bouncing off the walls of the frat house and deflecting back in our direction. It was no secret that I adored attention- negative or positive- but I never saw myself in the position where it could be this bad. As the situation became blurred with the substances I'd taken, an overwhelming nausea took over me, forcing itself to be buried under the layers of adrenaline also coursing through my body.

Signed off with a sharp exchange of eye contact, Rafe took my hand into his and pulled us both off the couch, using his athletic advantage to drag us in the direction of the front door. We rushed past the sea of sweaty bodies, unwillingly brushing limbs with anyone in our path. Discomfort wasn't a weighing matter when running was our primary focus, and we were bound to face heaps of it in order to make our getaway.

"Someone stop them!" I heard the she-devil scream in the same high-pitched voice, "I found the bitch, I want my 20k!"

The sickness in my stomach was becoming more overpowering by the minute, each wide stride I took causing my mind to spin. If not for Rafe keeping me stable and hauling me along with him, the floor would have swallowed me long ago; an ironic phrase used since just moments ago it was the only thing I wished for.

Fading into the moonlit outdoors, the blue lights from the party were now a thing of the past, my eyesight still persisting on fogging the 2 settings together. Less people had their eyes on us ever since we stepped onto the porch, though that didn't stop Rafe from his sprint in the slightest.

He finally slowed down once reaching the driveway, letting go of my hand in order to scour for the car keys in his pocket. The speed of the last minute met with my sudden stop installed an instant set of autopiloted panic into me. My chest staggered to catch a breath whilst my hands manically clutched onto the nape of my neck; no matter how hard I tried to breathe, I simply couldn't.

Suffocating in my own guilt, my body completely shut down. Any straight lines became curves, colours turning to smudges, and my inhales all the more shallow. I no longer had any control over myself, barely realising the tears that flooded my cheeks until they had pooled up on the surface of my skin.

When asked the question of what I imagined drowning to feel like, I'd have no other choice but to refer to how I felt now.

I was drowning in the consequences of love.

"What have we done, Rafe?" I choked on my own tongue, "What have we done?"

The question moved into a repeated shout as my hands trailed from the back of my head, covering my face with them and letting my nails scratch me wherever they wanted. Losing focus on our escape, I was left in the endless spiral of my mind, each of my thoughts cycling back to cause irreversible damage. My skin was starting to slick with sweat, glueing my hair to my forehead and only adding to the asphyxiation I experienced.

Noticing my physical and mental struggle, Rafe immediately placed all his concern onto my state. He clutched onto my hands, using as much force to try and tear them off my face despite the fact they were basically stuck there. I backed up against the cold metal of his car, my balance starting to give out with each passing second.

"Shh, Cami. We did what we had to do, remember? Just breathe." his hand met the surface of my back, circling around in attempts of comfort.

"Rafe, I can't breathe. I can't fucking breathe. I'm gonna be sick." I said, stifled.

"No you're not." he reassured falsely, the hold he had on my hair confirming that neither of us believed him.

"Yes, I am." I repeated, the nauseating feeling resurfacing at its strongest, "I can't—"

Unable to finish my sentence, I directed myself in the opposite direction, regurgitating my regret onto the side of the gravel drive. My throat was coated with an acidic burn, matching the severity of the poison cries that spilled out between heaves. Disgusted was the only description I could use to describe my actions.

Disgusted by how I felt.

Disgusted with what I'd done.

Disgusted with myself.

I swallowed down the rest of what was in my mouth, angling my glassy eyes back onto the boy behind me. He'd managed to keep a straight face through everything, either keeping his composure better than I could or rather suppressing it for as long as possible. Nodding slightly with whatever strength remained, I signalled to him that I was ready to leave. He led me by hand to the passenger seat, my body collapsing into the chair limply.

"I'm sorry." I laughed feebly, still crying amidst the small hints of humour.

"Don't say sorry." he shook his head, keeping his sight on me despite needing to concentrate on driving. "Are you okay?"

"You don't want me to answer that."

"Well, are you gonna be okay?" he rephrased his question.

"Again, I can't give the answer you want me to." I sighed.

In all honesty- and I mean that as if I was under oath- I doubt I could ever be okay after tonight. Whether it was pessimistic of me to say so or not, reflecting on myself in my numb mindset made me realise that I was never really okay.

I was always great, and great was a facade I created to look past my mania. Anyone with the slightest insight to my life paired with common sense probably knew that I was never okay. To put it in simple terms, I don't think I ever noticed how much I lacked the will for existing until now. The only time I felt alive was with a liquor bottle in hand, and other times I was conscious of my sobriety and wanted nothing to do with existence.

This was one of those other times, and it came at such severity that even sedation couldn't smother it.

I wouldn't say it was a direct 'I'm going to kill myself and make people mourn me' way. I had no direct desire to die- though the thoughts lingered rather often- and there weren't enough people to miss me seeing as no one cared for my life anyway. Living was always an effort rather than something that came naturally, and it was bound to be a thousand times more demanding with my public reputation taken into consideration.

How does one live when they've been labelled a murderer?

Maybe they're not supposed to; the death penalty exists for a reason.

"Hey, I love you." Rafe interlocked our fingers, his soft tone pausing my thoughts, "We'll figure this out."

"Do you have a plan?" I asked sarcastically, my internal numbness expressing itself through my monotone voice.

He paused, "I'll talk to my dad, he can fix this. He always knows how to cover up stuff."

"Rafe."

"Yeah?" he shifted his gaze from the road onto me.

"Do you not think it was his plan to pin this on me all along?" we both went mute after my question.

It was always known that Ward Cameron liked getting his hands dirty. As someone who was born and bred a Pogue, his monarchal rise to Kook status was left unmentioned; it reached levels that even Cameron Development couldn't justify. His wealth was bordering filthy, and the secrets he kept were presumably equal in dirt. No one knew what the man was capable of, and no one dared to find out.

Involuntarily, I believe I may have found out just the lengths he was willing to reach for his family. Sure, Rafe was right, he did always know how to cover up his tracks. In order to preserve his pristine family image, he'd point fingers to anyone in his path- unfortunate for me as I'd caught myself right in his trap.

"He wouldn't. You're- you're his employee. He wouldn't—" Rafe scrambled for justification, letting go of my hand the longer he reflected on the fact.

"Rafe, think about it. He wouldn't tell you what he told the cops, because he told them I did it. Maybe he gave me a job and a place to stay, but he never liked me. He never liked us and, when the opportunity presented itself, he took it right away." I continued my reasoning.

"Fuck," he whispered, "Fuck!"

His unexpected yell made my body jitter, raising the pre-eminent shakes in my legs to cover me in entirety. Forcing myself to be convinced that I was cold rather than scared, I reached over to the back seat and grabbed the grey fleece, draping it over my shoulders and folding my arms underneath it.

"Should we sleep in the car tonight?" I switched subjects, "It's not like we can go back to Tannyhill any time soon."

"Cops would find us before sunrise, I can't risk that happening to you." he replaced the touch he previously had onto my thigh, causing me to notice the same underlying twitches on his part, "Uh, Rose has an empty listing on 6th. It's not gonna be permanent, but it's something for the night."

"6th Avenue?" I recalled, "That's... that's near my place. Do you think we could stop there first?"

"Shoupe's probably got the whole place staked out, Cami." he sighed, noncompliant with my ask.

I stopped to dawn on my plan, only noticing the flaws as he pointed them out, "I wanna say a final goodbye. Y'know, visit the place where everything was still somewhat okay."

"Your house reminds me of the first time I met your mom." he chuckled in reminiscence.

"I'd hardly say you met her. The woman was half-dead the entire time." I laughed, unaware if it was with bitterness or humour.

"I know she's not perfect, but I like her. We wouldn't be where we are if she didn't give birth to you, I owe her that." the way he spoke of May made my eyes subconsciously roll.

"Doubt she really did the world a favour when she got knocked up."

"Don't say that." he exhaled, the sound taking the form of a scoff.

"Whatever," I replied, "I'm gonna sleep. Wake me up when we get there."

"Cami—"

"Rafe, I'm tired." I persisted with my partial lie, "I'm not having this conversation with you."

Pressing my face against the frosted glass of the car window, I dismissively moved my leg from his hold, curling my body up into itself. Even though I was strong enough to hold back on the salted flood wave that stung my eyes, all of my sobs poured out silently as I fought to treasure my lack of emotion. It was always better to dwell on your life when blank-minded, rather than having to take the realisation of crying into account.

Thinking that living was a waking nightmare in the past was truly a shock when compared to tonight. That one news article single-handedly wiped out all want for living for me, and I wanted nothing more than to escape. To my luck or lack thereof, I'd only ever been presented with a single example of escaping life's wrath.

My dad.

Though he didn't have the severity of a murder accusation on his back, I knew he had his own vast array of issues, those of which he chose to bury with an excessive amount of Fentanyl. I couldn't ever picture my father as a happy man; the memories I associated with him each displaying his ever-present frown. Seeing my dad smile was like experiencing the pass of a comet: an event that occurred periodically and for a short-lived time period.

With that fact in consideration, I was more like him than I'd willingly admit. I was better at building up walls to mask my misery, but nothing ever stopped the thoughts from haunting my mind. Imagining a world blessed without my presence tended to be a dream as opposed to a nightmare, and sometimes crossing the border to a wish.

Now, there were no longer any lines that parted those 3 ideas. In plain terms, I wanted to disappear. To fade into nothingness; a pile of bones locked away in a casket like the skeletons in both mine and my dad's closets. Those very skeletons had been plotting hard against my family for long enough, and it was only a matter of days before the infamous tragedy of the Fox family became the hot topic of Kildare gossip.

If there was a God out there, he was a man of resentment, and decided to take all of it out on us.

I don't know how much more I could hold out with the cards he was dealing me. Maybe I wasn't meant to hold out. Maybe it was time for the stars to take matters into their own hands, and finish off what they'd written all along.

Just please finish me off, and do so fast.

Please.

❊ ❊ ❊

"Camille, wake up."

Faster than I could handle, Rafe's voice snapped me from my unconscious state. My cheek was still stuck to the window, easily catching sight of the dark blue early morning's sky. Desperate to grasp the sense of time, I darted my eyes over to the radio display, seeing 4:27am displayed in red like a cruel countdown.

"Are we at my house?" I mumbled, wiping my palms on my eyelids.

"We're down the road. There's cop cars pacing up and down, I dunno how long we can drag it out here." his tone was hurried and panicked, pacing his focus on the surrounding street.

"I'll go in by myself. You can like... loop around. I won't be in there forever."

"Cami, no." he objected immediately, "I'm not risking someone catching you. We'll just park here and go together."

"Do you not trust me to make it out alive of my own house? I know my way around better than you do." I was still set on the idea of going in alone, not needing my boyfriend to see the wreck that had been left behind.

"Why are you so fucking annoying? I'm trying to keep you safe whilst there's cops literally on your ass."

Matching his words, flashes of blue and red sirens sped past our car, resulting in me ducking down past the glass to keep myself hidden. The shrill pierced into my brain for a prolonged minute, the sound still echoing once they'd been long gone. In fear of the noise, I plugged either ear with my indexes, looking up at Rafe for reassurance that we were clear.

His face scowled at mine as if to say 'I told you so', my teary eyes fixing to his out of reflex and making me lose all sense of objection as always. His opal pupils had a way of dragging me along, dazed by their colour alone. I was reminded of just why I'd fallen in love with him, and consequently of why I was in this position.

I could escape anything I wanted, but I'd never be able to escape his eyes; they had a magnetic hold on me that nothing could tear apart.

Not even death could erase them.

"C'mon, let's go whilst we still have the chance."

Rafe opened my car door shortly after his own, taking my hand into his and leading me to house number 19 by memory. The sight of the splintered patio and chipped paint on the front door resurfaced every memory of my life inside these 4 walls, the thoughts running back like a montage of my worst mistakes.

Preparing myself with a sharp inhale, I swung open the entrance to the front room, cracked glass and ripped pictures still occupying the majority of the flooring. My foot stepped onto the photo of me and the Pogues, looking down to identify my obstruction and kicking it out of the way as soon as I noticed what it was.

I could guarantee that JJ was getting his kick out of my situation. The second he found out about me and Rafe, our past as non-blood-related siblings faded to black, and the last thing we said to each other was a declaration of how we wished the other dead. Admittedly, it hurt to have ended things on such a note, but reminding myself of how ignorant to my problems they were confirmed that I'd made the right sacrifice.

As the moments passed, he was most likely bragging about how everything he said was right, pleased with how his final words played out in his favour.

My path was set straight onto my old room with Rafe following close behind, needing to rid myself of anything associated with tonight. I picked up any stray clothing I could find, replacing my current lace top with a white camisole. Blindly throwing on a pair of leggings, I noticed an old cardigan scattered amongst the mess of clothing, recognising that it was May's.

Rafe's grey fleece was traded for the wool of a similar colour, the smell of his cologne mixing with my mom's signature scent: cigarettes and beer. I pulled the sweater closer to my body, strangely comforted by remembrance of her mistakes. She was anything but a perfect person, which made her advice more personal as she'd shared each of my experiences.

That was excluding the obvious, but nothing stopped me from desiring to hear her opinion on the matter.

"You okay?" Rafe spoke up.

"I told you stop asking me that, it's stupid." I brushed past him, making my way over to my desk.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" he said in confusion.

"Just don't say anything. You could've stayed in the car like I asked." I bit back, my personal issues beginning to be taken out on him.

He sighed deeply, "Okay, be like that then."

Ignoring how much I felt the obligation to reply with another remark, I directed my focus onto finding the sole thing I came back here for. Since I'd dawned on my dad, I remembered a specific gift he'd given me all those years ago, and made it my mission to recover it before it was too late. Choosing not to leave any traces of his life behind, my dad's abrupt escape from Earth was left unexplained, his past disappearing to what was limited in memories.

As if to guide me to not follow his tracks, he'd given me a set of journals as a Christmas gift the year before he passed, a sign for me to write down my days as I remembered them. There was a book for each year and, without fail, I filled the pages with any and every detail of my life. I wouldn't advise my descriptions to be entirely accurate or reliable, but it was how I remembered things. My accounts weren't the type you'd want to find in a future history textbook, though I doubt I was remotely interesting enough to be remembered in future years.

However, if I wanted my life to be retold, it'd have to be by these books.

After a while of reckless searching, my hands stumbled upon book 17 and 18, the last missing pieces in the puzzle of my lifetime. I traced over the numbers on the soft blue hardcovers, the gold lines spelling out the 2 worst yet best years of my life. If it was even possible, I was the happiest and saddest in that time, my moods constantly fluctuating as a result of the surrounding chaos.

That chaos brought me to Rafe, and that was the only reward I was granted for the turmoil I managed to survive.

I wasn't a reward to him as much as he was to me. He had everything before I came along; a somewhat stable family, a perfect reputation, and one less dependant person to worry about. Being around him started to become the primary reason behind why I'd pulled myself along, and I couldn't bear to put him through that any more than I already had.

It was no unknown fact that everyone was better off without me. If I hadn't encouraged him, Rafe probably wouldn't have turned into the dark person that his anger fuelled. He deserved to find the help I couldn't provide, to get sober, and get his life back on track. No amount of love I had for him could make me provide that for him, even though I hated to say it.

He deserves a second chance at life; one where I won't be dragging him down with me.

I don't deserve to be happy at his cost.