Day 008: Mourning
Summary: Cameron deals with memories and loss
Date: 17 5 2017
Related: Partius Interruptus Love
Cameron 


Day 008 — The Woods around the Camp


He laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed. She laughed too, even as she patted his cheek and said his laugh was like the sun. They were playing a game, hide and seek, and even the young boy he was, he always won. He didn't once think she let him. She didn't once let him know she had.

Cameron walks alone in the woods, having slipped out of the tent he shared with Morgan. He cried before sleeping, soft, silent tears, and Morgan held him. But sleep was fleeting. His dreams were of her.

He knew he'd get in trouble when he snuck away, but he didn't care. The walls always seemed so close, so small; he wanted to run, to run, to RUN. And so, he did. He went crashing into one of the Guards, and collapsed onto the ground, and was promptly escorted back and given a stern lecture by Daddy. Mommy, though, she looked at him with her eyes alight. She couldn't be mad at him. He knew that, too. He grinned, and she tried really hard not to grin back.

He's carrying his sword, though it was out of reflex. He's a careful guy, a precise guy, a reliable guy: he doesn't lose his cool, he doesn't lose control. Its not safe to be out of the camp unarmed, so he's armed. It didn't even really register that his muscles were still so taut that they would feel like steel to anyone touching him. He didn't really realize his heart was beating so fast that even in the cool night air his forehead was wet with perspiration.

She smiled, her whole face lighting up, "Oh, Cam, it's beautiful." She held the sheet of paper that he spent hours and hours drawing on in her hands, she held it like she treasured it, and he knew she did. He was so proud he could burst, his energy so radiating off of him he couldn't stop from jumping up and down.

Cameron didn't really mean to hit it. He didn't even remember swinging the sword. He was walking, and the next he knew there was a gash in the wood of a tree near him, and he was swinging again. His arms hurt from the impact, as he bent every inch of his strength to hitting again.

He struck it again, and again, tears streaming down his face as memory after memory swept through him.

This time she was mad at him, this time she said he must be careful, that it could be considered a crime what he did— he took apart a machine and made a kind of art out of it. She covered for him and repaired it, but she was so stern. He had never seen her really upset with him before. But as tears slipped down his face, she took him in her arms and held him, rocking him, telling him how very, very much she loved him. He held on like his life depended on it.

Everything hurt. Every muscle in his body, every tendon, even his skin where it clung to the sword's hilt. He's covered in sweat, but he's still swinging that sword. Dozens, maybe hundreds of gashes are in the tree, biting deep. He doesn't know how many. He doesn't know how long its been. He longs for the pain, the agony in his bones and flesh, he longs to destroy the tree, kill it, remove it as if it were responsible. Will either thing make him feel better? He doesn't know, but he doesn't know what else to do, either.

"Happy birthday, to you. Happy birthday, to you. Happy birthday, dear Caaaaam, Happy Birthday, to you." She laughed and clapped as he blew out the single candle (there was never more then one, of course) on the soy-chocolate-ish cake, and she hugged him and he reveled in the warmth and safety he felt in her arms.

The sword falls out of Cameron's hands, as he no longer has the strength to hold it. It doesn't stop him. He attacks the tree, slamming it with the heels of his fists, scraping him and giving him splinters, but he doesn't care. He hits again and again, and still he cries.

Lydia seems to relax then, her entire being sinking back into the makeshift hospital bed. She turns her hand out to his, allowing her fingers — fingers that are getting colder by the moment — curl around his. She holds his hand with a gentle, kind pressure. Then she smiles. "Oh… I love you too, baby." Her smile starts to soften, and her eyes grow distant. Her fingers go limp, and she goes very, very still.

It's hours before Cameron can rise up from that place on the ground where he huddled, crying silently, holding that tree as if his life depended on it. He'd wake up in Morgan's arms, and he won't cry again.

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