Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.
"Campbell Saunders is dead."
The words replayed in her mind over and over, torturing her with their weight. How could four simple words carry so much weight? How could these words mean so much to her? To anyone, even?
Her cello played a harmony so perfect, but she was on autopilot. The sound from her strings had no soul, no meaning. It was as empty as she felt.
She couldn't understand it. How could he be dead? How could he not be waiting for her somewhere, waiting for her kisses, her hands to lock into his? How could he be out of her reach for good?
She made a promise to herself: she wouldn't cry. Not for a boy who didn't love her enough to stay. Not for the four words that sat upon her heart, slowly crushing it till she needed to gasp for air to remember that she was alive. She refused to cry for the boy who couldn't stick around for one more kiss, a hug, a smile… a goodbye.
She'd laugh to herself bitterly in her sleepless nights where she'd keep the tears at bay, trying desperately to forget him. She knew she always knew there had to be a catch for the great Campbell Saunders to want her.
She didn't sleep anymore. He was always there, haunting her. He'd always be just out of her reach, mocking her in his distance. She'd reach her hands out, trying in vain to catch him, curl him into her grasp. But when he'd be in reach of her fingertips, the distance would increase.
She'd wake in a cold sweat, his name shakily on her lips, tears threatening to spill. But she didn't cry.
She wouldn't cry for him, or his distance. She didn't need him.
A lie it was, yet one she felt the need to believe.
Whispers of her flew around school.
There she is, they'd say as she passed, there's the girl of the guy who killed himself.
She hated them, every single one of them.
She wanted them to pay. To feel the way she felt inside, underneath her new façade.
Behind the heels, and the tops, and the alluring face that had brought boys crawling to her, she was empty. She was constantly trying to fill a bottomless hole in her heart. A hole existing inside her in his stupid form that has ripped through her heart and soul, leaving her broken and repairable.
It was like a black hole, sucking everything in that mattered, and leaving darkness and grief behind.
She could feel it inside her, the sucking and the pulling, and some days she wanted to stay in bed and let the void suck her in, too.
She wondered why this monstrosity wouldn't take her, too. She just wanted it to end her suffering and leave nothing of her behind but memories – if they'd even matter anymore, because as she learned, memories weren't enough. Memories made things more painful, more real, and then sooner or later they'd fade. Memories become ruined, changed over time, and then suddenly they leave you completely, because the mind doesn't realize that their importance. It doesn't realize that those precious memories are all you have left, and they're claimed by the void, never to be retrieved or missed by anyone.
The first memory she loses is his scent.
She realizes it as she's walking to English, her mind drifting aimlessly, and she suddenly was struck by the time he threw his arm around her shoulder and kissed her, she knew he smelt nice, but couldn't remember the scent.
Her body froze, causing people to walk into her and sidestep her, hissing angrily at her to get out of their way, but she doesn't hear them. She's a shell, and her mind is screaming, furiously trying to find the memory of his scent.
Her hand flies to her mouth, and she's dragged back into reality, her head snapping in every direction, trying to figure out what she's doing and where she is.
Don't cry, her mind chants viciously at her, the inner voice snarling and tangling itself down her spine like a snake. Remember when you promised not to cry? Remember when you said he wasn't worth your precious tears?
A gasp escapes her, and it's chocked and forced, and she squeezes her eyes shut. She's in pain, but she doesn't know if it's physical or mental. It's like a blow to her, this loss. How could she forget his scent? And if she forgot this, what else would be lost to her.
She is sometimes hit by memories at random times. She'll be sitting outside, eating her lunch, and suddenly she'll hear him call to her.
She looks up – always falling for her mind's dirty trick, squinting around for him, as if his ghost lingers here, and she's heard his soul's whisper.
She never believed in ghosts, but if she did, she knew Cam wouldn't be one. He wanted an out, he'd never come back. Not for her, not for anyone.
Each time she hears his voice, a piece of her breaks and the vow she makes becomes harder and harder to keep.
She's so stubborn, because crying would be easy. To just let go and finally sob would be the most freeing thing in the world. What she'd give to get this weight of guilt resting over her heart off of her, even for a brief moment of relief.
Her eyes flutter shut, and she sees him waving at her, she feels herself wave back and smile.
Is he happy where he is? Is he happy there without her?
She grits her teeth, opening her eyes she berates herself for such a stupid thought and gets up, leaving his ghost behind.
She doesn't need him, she never needed him.
She is struck with the memory of his wanting to go home – the moment where she talked him into staying.
It's your fault, you know, that voice in her mind says, and she can almost see it shrug uncaringly, a smirk playing on this evil voices lips. You told him to stay, but imagine if he didn't? If you hadn't been so selfish to realize just how sad he was, he could be home right now, alive.
She hates herself, and that night, she also a sob to escape her. She doesn't know if she's crying for him, or if she's crying for herself. For all she knows, she's crying for someone else he left behind, because this voice is right: she killed him. It was her fault, always her fault.
The sob shakes threw her, and when she's done the weight is heavier, and she feels weaker than before.
She just wants the pain to go away.
"Was this how you felt?" She whispers, as if his spirit is lingering in her room. "Did you feel sadness like this? Or was yours worse?"
There was no answer; there will always be no answer.
She hated him, but really, she just hated herself for letting him make her this way.
"You're stronger than this, Matlin," she says to herself through gritted teeth, trying to move on with the heavier weight over her heart. An uphill battle, but it's not impossible. She'd get better. She'd show him that he couldn't break her.
She wouldn't let him ruin her.
She couldn't.
She finds another guy. He's meaningless, and his friend is nice to an extent. They party together.
With Talia and Harry, everything is easy.
There are drugs, there is alcohol, there can be conversation, but for the most part, it's just a mindless game they play.
Harry's kisses are rougher than Cam's timid ones, and they take some getting used to. He tugs at her clothes, and she doesn't like it, not really despite the fact that she sometimes moans. She doesn't like his haste. She misses Cam's hesitance. He'd never touch her waist, or slip his hand into her pants and touch her bottom. He'd never dream of doing the things Harry wants from her.
She isn't even sure if she likes Harry as a person. He's not talkative – that's more of Talia's scene.
Harry is one of action.
He wants things from her she knows she isn't ready to give, and wouldn't give to a guy whose last name she didn't know.
Or she hopes so.
She is afraid of whom she is when she's escaping and the drugs and alcohol infect her system. She's there, but it's like she's watching a distant dream of what she's doing.
She isn't her anymore.
Maybe Cam was out to ruin her all along.
Maybe that was the great Campbell Saunders' plan. To just simply take her and ruin her, leaving her shattered everywhere for the world to see.
She was like a joke.
She wished she could hate him, but deep down where the tears rested, waiting her weakness to take over, she knew she loved him. Always had, and always would.