CPOV
I could feel the cold tiles of the floor pressing into my back. I was in one of the many secret passages I had discovered during my time here at Gallagher Academy. Leaning my head on my arm I stared at my wrist, the once pale, smooth skin of my forearm was now stained and covered in ridges from the overlapping scar tissue.
My body ached, just like it always did after I cut. Once the rush had come and gone and the bleeding and stinging had stopped, I just ached.
I allowed my eyes to travel from my scarred forearm to the blood covered blade on the floor. I hated myself for what I had done, I always did. Once I promised myself that I would stop cutting my wrists. And I did, for a little while, but then I started all over again, creating new scars on my stomach, hips and eventually my thighs.
Of course I made sure that my clothes always covered my scars and cuts.
You're probably wondering why I do this? I wonder too sometimes. Does cutting really help? Of course not, but it makes me feel better, even if it doesn't, I can't stop. It's an addiction.
To make understanding why I do this a little easier, I'll tell you a story. A story about a girl named Cameron Ann Morgan. My story.
My name is Cameron Ann Morgan, I come from a family of legendary spy's. There's my aunt, she's Abby Cameron, then of course there is her sister and my mother, Rachel Morgan who is also a legend, and then there is my dad, Matthew Morgan. The three of them make up the family I grew up around.
There was a time it made me proud to have my name linked to theirs, to have people know I was in some way related to them. But now it just creates expectations I can never meet.
People expect a lot from me. I don't just mean my friends and family, I mean people I've never even met. They tell me how much I resemble my family in my looks and mannerisms. I could be just like them one day. One day….
It gets worse though. One thing I truly hate, is that my mom does it too. Put a lot of pressure on me, I mean. You probably think this is normal, a mother pressuring her child to do everything to the best of her abilities. But that's not what she does. She wants me to do my best, but too her, doing your best is being the best and sometimes I just can't deliver that.
The thing is, my mom is the head mistress here at Gallagher, so she knows everything, all the time.
Whenever I'm not the best or do something wrong I'll get called into her office, where she'd just look at me, disappointment evident in her eyes. She'd tell me that I've disappointed her and that if my father knew, he would be disappointed too.
I know things aren't going to get better, especially after running away this summer. It embarrassed her. I know it did.
She probably wishes that I hadn't come back, it would have saved the embarrassment if I become another one of their victims. Just like my father.
There was only one person who saw me for me, rather than for my family. That was Zach. But since I ran away, leaving him behind after he asked me to run away with him, things have been different, tense.
My relationship with Liz, Bex and Macey has changed too. It's been strained. I could see the hatred and disgust in their eyes when they looked at me. I hated myself, and still do, for disappointing them. All of them. And now I've probably lost them forever.
I was pulled from my thoughts as I heard footsteps echoing through the passageway leading to where I was laying.
"Gallagher Girl," His voice rang through the room, bouncing off the walls and assaulting my ears. After not talking to me for months he decides he wants to come find me, call me Gallagher Girl like he used too?
I was angry but far too tired to cover up the blood and cuts on my legs; at this point I don't even care anymore.
I just stared at the ceiling, imagining what Zach would see when he walked in. A bloody knife on the floor, a few meters away from where I lay staring at the ceiling, dried blood on my legs and on the floor.
He shouldn't have come looking for me.
ZPOV
Ever since Cammie got back from Switzerland things have been weird between us. I guess I was… Hurt? Yes, hurt. She told me she wouldn't run away with me and then she just ups and leaves?! That really pissed me off.
When she did come back, she was different. Broken. She had lost weight, she was almost skeletal and had dyed and cut her hair.
I heard, in a private meeting, that I may or may not have been listening in on, that the CoC had captured and tortured for months on end.
After she had physically healed, I still couldn't face her. My mother had done this too her, changed her forever. It hurt to think that my mother had almost killed the one girl I could actually love.
While Cam was away, I guess I realized that no matter what I did, the CoC would still come after her, but I also realized that if she didn't learn to trust a little more, I, nor anyone else, would be able to help her.
I needed to change how things were. I haven't spoken to her since her return, things had been tense between us.
This thought lead to the brilliant idea that I should go look for her. Have you ever had to find a pavement artist that doesn't want to be found? I knew she wouldn't be in her room as Liz, Macey and Bex were there and they hadn't been getting along lately.
I decided to check the other obvious places. Meaning the passages I had found her in before. I didn't think I would find her there, but it was worth a try.
After trying countless other passages there was one, the minute I entered it I knew I was in the right place. The dust patterns were disturbed and the faint scent of her honey shampoo lingered.
"Gallagher Girl?" I shouted through the passage, but I didn't get a reply. I hoped she would realize that I wanted things to go back to the way they were before by using my nickname for her.
I kept walking until I got to a room. I will never be able to forget what I saw there. I saw Cammie, laying there, blood covering her legs and the floor; I could see scars and partially healed cuts.
Her tank top had risen up slightly, revealing the scars on her hips. The scars on her wrists were on full display. A bloodied knife lay a couple of meters away from her.
She lay so still, just staring at the discolored tiles on the ceiling. For a moment my heart stopped, thinking she was dead. But then, I saw her chest move slightly with her breathing.
"Cammie?" I whispered. Her gaze never straying from its spot on the ceiling. "What do you want Zach?" she asked, her voice sounded tired.
I tried to ask her… I don't really know what I wanted to ask her. What had happened? But that was obvious. Did she do this? Also obvious. Why? Honestly, I was scared of what the answer would be. If this was my fault…. I don't think I could forgive myself.
I watched her, trying to formulate some kind of verbal response. I watched as a tear slowly made its way down the side of her face. Followed by another and another. I could feel my own eyes glossing over.
Slowly she sat up and pulled her bloody legs up to her chest, hugging them close. Only then did I realize that I had gone closer to her. I fell to my knees by her side, wanting to hug her but to scared of hurting her.
When I finally spoke she just looked at me sadly before turning away again.
"Why?"