Disclaimer: I don't own/make money off Degrassi, but if I did... I'd have an extra two dollars to my name.
Author's Note: Hi! I made a nifty little playlist based around this story. Three songs, all start off with a bold and underlined texted word. First song is Antony & The Johnsons - Hope There's Someone (LSO St Luke's 22 November 2005), but if you want to use any other version feel free. The second song is VNV Nation - Ghost, which starts about 1:45 into the song. The third song is Radical Face - Names which also has a youtube video made out of it by Buffy Co
Feel free to listen to any/all of the songs on it, as this is based loosely around those songs. Hope you enjoy!
An unintelligible stream of words fell from the mouth of a boy with a mop of brown hair. The figure rolled over onto his side and reached out with his arm, batting the air in an effort to grab his buzzing phone off his night stand. After several unsuccessful attempts, he sighed in defeat and opened his eyes.
He spent the first couple seconds blinking away the sleep that clouded his vision. What's this? He wondered, his chocolate brown eyes focusing on the back of a couch instead of the wall at his home. Home, he struggled with the word. Maya's is more of a home than that place will ever be. Realization dawned in his mind as quick as it could at four in the morning, as a quick sweep of his surroundings confirmed that he was indeed at the Matlin household.
Cam let out a groan while he leaned over the couch, picking the phone off the floor and deactivating the alarm. Plopping back down, his legs stretched out towards the end of the couch, his arms rising above his head as he let out a giant yawn. He gave a lazy scratch to his shoulder as he turned on his side again, his brown eyes finally adjusting to the lack of light in the room.
His gaze rested on the form of his girlfriend on the other couch. Her petite body curled up in a warm, red blanket, her blonde hair lay in a chaotic way with her face pressed against the pillow. Cam felt a warm glow build inside of him as he stayed and watched her sleep in peace. He even gave a quiet laugh when he noticed her drool on the pillow.
He exhaled a long breath and broke his gaze with her after a minute, swinging his legs over the side of the couch and stood up as soundless as possible. He couldn't help but think that if it wasn't for hockey, he could be sleeping in right now. If it wasn't for hockey, he could spend all of his time with Maya. If it wasn't for hockey, he wouldn't have to deal with having every single eye on him the moment his skates touched the ice. The pressure to succeed was immense; his teammates expected him to carry them all on his back, and failure was met with scathing comments on the team's website and blogs on how the team would be better off without the 15 year-old from Kampuskasing - and that was some of the nicer negative comments.
However, the world doesn't stop for one teenager in Toronto every time someone makes a negative comment about him, whether in the press, online, or in person. Cam just wished he didn't have to put up with it anymore.
He ran a hand through his hair and then down his face, then shuffled his way next to Maya. He bent down and moved a few strands of hair off of her face. Throughout the good and the bad, the two things that kept him grounded were his family and his girlfriend. They were both his rock.
He puckered his lips and placed a soft kiss against her cheek, murmuring an "I love you," that washed against her skin and evaporated into the air like it was never said.
Cam felt a pang of guilt inside. How long am I going to keep these words to myself? I love you, Maya. She deserves to hear them! He just didn't have the courage to tell her that when she was awake.
He stood up, catching sight of Maya's stuffed animal, Hoot, out of the corner of his peripheral vision. Looking at the owl, a plan suddenly sprung to mind. He could tell her outside at lunch. It would be perfect. I know just how to get her! he thought, a wide grin appearing ear to ear while he prepared to leave for hockey practice. "Good morning, Maya Matlin!" he practiced his speech inside his head.
A soft click spread throughout Cam's room as he shut the door behind him, a routine of his since the first day he came to liv – no, stayed with the Clarksons. He brought a hand up and placed it over his mouth as he took a deep breath; he sat still and drank in the moment.
Tired feet shuffled along the carpet, coming to a stop at the closet he used while occupying the room. He hoisted his suitcase up and placed it on the bed. The brown-haired teen set to work on packing up his belongings; not wanting to put the Clarksons through the trouble of doing it themselves after he was gone. Every game-day dress shirt and tie, his lucky pair of boxers, the bracelet his little sister made for him before he left. A small smile tugged at his lips as he remembered back that day. Her brown eyes beamed with happiness as he received the gift and told her over and over how much he liked it – and yes, told her again when she asked for a fifth time.
He swallowed thickly and shook his head, as if the motion would remove the memories long enough for him to do what he needed to do. He sat his suitcase down and proceeded to make the bed. A part of him wanted to laugh at the normalcy of which he went about straightening up the room. While he didn't enjoy his stay at the house, he didn't hate it. The Clarksons were nice people. It just wasn't home.
Quickly finishing what he set out to do, Cam stood in the doorway, his right hand hanging on the light switch. He turned his head back towards the room as he flicked the switch down, his brown eyes drinking in the last moments.
If one were to stick their head into the room, it would look as normal as any other unoccupied bedroom would. The bed sat unperturbed, unwilling to tell a soul how many nights its previous occupant had cried himself to sleep. Everything would sit quietly, keeping every secret bottled inside, as if it had never been inhabited by a fifteen year old hockey player, touted as one of the best hockey players to come out of Canada in over twenty years.
Cam hoisted his backpack over his shoulder after sliding on his shoes downstairs near the Clarkson's living room. He licked his lips and averted his gaze when his billet mother came over to ask him where he was going.
He fought to keep his limbs - and more importantly his voice – from shaking as he told her the final lie of his short stay. "Oh, um, I'm... I'm going to go over and stay at Maya's again tonight." He offered her a small smile. "Goodbye."
You won't have to worry about me anymore.
Cam traveled along familiar Toronto streets like a ghost wandering out at night. Soundless, his sneakers carried him on towards his final destination. Still a half mile away, he thought while glancing down at his phone, unsure of why he took it with him. Maya had already left him a string of messages asking him for an explanation for him standing her up and ending their relationship.
He shook his head, unable to give her the answers she wanted.
Further on ahead he reached the second-to-last intersection before reaching Degrassi, his pace picking up in an attempt to make it across the crosswalk before the light changed. He let out a groan of frustration as the light from the crosswalk signaled him to stop.
He stood on the edge of the sidewalk; his lips pressed together, his face full of anxiety while he waited his turn to cross the road. Rays of sunlight broke free from the clouds in the sky, causing his brown eyes to squint at the harsh light shining through unimpeded. He couldn't help but glance to his right, watching the sun teeter on the horizon, fighting valiantly to stay afloat, to shine and keep the day bright and warm and alive with its brilliant rays. The crosswalk sign flickered white, yet he stayed, unmoving, as people walked around him to get to their homes and families, his eyes were glued on the battle that was playing out right in front of him.
Out of all the people walking about, not one stopped to watch what was happening. Nobody cares, he thought. No one but him.
The sun's rays flashed violent colors of orange and red as it continued its downward descent from the sky. Grasping and clawing to stay up in the sky forever. Cam's feet slowly started to move him towards the direction of Degrassi when it became apparent to him that the sun had lost its battle. His eyes cast upwards, watching as the bruise-colored sky ever so surely turned to black.
The stars had already begun to come out on the chilly spring night by the time Cam reached Degrassi. He felt a small tremor run through his frame as the cold, spring breeze picked up, blowing brown stands of hair into his eyes. The teen lowered his head into the gust of wind, his eyes glancing out of the corner of his vision. He didn't want to be caught sneaking into the greenhouse. He didn't want anybody seeing him at his lowest point.
After walking by the school twice, he was satisfied that he hadn't drawn any attention towards himself. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark green jacket and picked up his pace towards the school entrance.
He had never been in a greenhouse before. At any other time, he wouldn't mind having a good look around the place, checking out the various assortments of plants and flowers. The aroma of fresh soil and plants mixed with the crisp air was oddly pleasant, leaving an earthy smell that hung around the air, but wasn't at all overbearing.
Cam fiddled with the green leaf of a plant - a tomato plant, he realized, thanks to it being labeled as such. His finger repeatedly poking at it while he stared through the plant, when movement out of the corner of his eye broke him out of his daze. He turned, watching a small black dot dash across the floor over to where he sat his backpack. He sucked in a breath but had no time to react other than by instinct and in a matter of a second crossed the space to his backpack and stomped the spider into the ground.
He clenched his fist as a mixture of anger and adrenaline rushed through him. His pupils dilated in response, his breathing coming faster. "Damn it!" he cursed. I didn't have to do that. I didn't have to kill you! he thought to himself. I could have just shoo'd you out of here, or moved my backpack. Why did I have it sitting on the floor anyways? That's so stupid, Cam!
The boy collapsed to the ground with a thud, tears beginning to form at the corner of his eyes. When he spoke his voice was weak, tired, broken. "I-I came here to kill mys-self," he sniffled, "you didn't have to die, too."
He sniffled again and eyed his bag, knowing that the content inside held his pass to a better world. He reached his hand out, hesitating, as if his backpack was going to strike. In a quick motion he grabbed the bag and sat it next to him, his breaths coming in quick bursts.
He crossed his legs as he pulled out his pair of skates from hockey. He stared hypnotically at the sharp blade of the skate as it sat unmoving in front of him. He caught his own reflection in the metal piece and gasped. He barely recognized the figure that stared back at him.
Cam brought the sleeve of his red sweatshirt up to rub at the remaining tears in his eyes, then brought his arm down to pick up the skate. He placed it on his lap, taking the time to roll up the sleeve on his left arm before gripping the skate with his right hand.
The edge of the sharp metal skate laid on top the skin of his wrist. His fingers held the boot so tight that his knuckles turned white.
His mind flickered back to yesterday. He could taste the tension in the principal's office. The way Dallas looked at him, with that disappointed gaze. Zig shooting daggers into his skull. And Maya...
"Just jealous?" Maya said incredulously. "You went crazy!"
"No…" Cam said, his eyes holding a vacant stare as he battled his memories of the fifteen years of his life. "I'm not crazy… I'm not crazy…"
"Campbell!" shouted Mr. Knox, his seventh grade math teacher.
Cam flinched away from the man's hard stare and focused his eyes on the bathroom tiles. Shards of glass and blood littered the floor.
"Geez, kid," the older man exclaimed, "look at this mess. What the hell is wrong with you? Don't tell me you're one of those little psychos that hurts himself, are you?"
"No," Cam sniffled. "No sir."
"I'm so pathetic," he berated himself. His eyes squinted shut, a mixture of anger and tears and disappointment flooded him. Why am I so weak?! Why can't I do anything right? I screw up everything!
"And if you cared about her, at all, then you'd get out of her life now. Forever."
"AHHHH!" he shouted in a heart-wrenching sob as he threw his skate against the wall. "I'm such a fucking loser! I don't even have the guts to do this!" His body shook as he let out a struggled gasp. He buried his hands in his face while he spilled his sorrows. "Why can't I just be done with it? Why does it have to be such a struggle?"
He grabbed the other skate from his backpack, his jaw muscles clenched, his brown eyes shined bright with determination.
He bit down on his lip when he felt the cold contact of metal against the flesh of his left wrist. His breathing coming in fast breaths while his whole body tightened in anticipation of what was about to occur.
He grimaced and pulled his arm back for a brief moment, then placed the blade right back on his wrist.
Cam brought in giant lungs full of oxygen as if he had been skating for the past three hours straight. His brown eyes skewered shut, and he pressed down with all his might onto the flesh of his wrist.
The fifteen year old boy fell forward onto his side; a clattering sound bouncing off the walls that didn't even register to his brain as a white hot surge of pain electrified up his arm and into his whole body. He let out a pained scream, his voice cracking while his head dug into the floor in an attempt to block enough of the pain out so he could make a few more successful cuts up the rest of his arm.
"Fuck… fuck… shit… oh God…" he whimpered, crumpling up into a ball on the floor. He let out a pitiful whine as a deluge of pain smashed into him from every possible angle. Physical, this time, instead of mental, but he couldn't really tell the difference anymore. Pain is pain.
And god did it hurt.
A sanguine puddle started to form underneath Cam as the minutes ticked by. He rolled onto his right side, his left arm held tight against his body, coating his red sweatshirt with a darker color. Any sort of movement felt like a thousand knives being shot into him, and he just wanted the pain to go away.
He closed his eyes when his surroundings began to swim and blur, but opened them again to a familiar buzzing noise that sounded through the building.
It was a struggle to open his eyes – he just wanted to rest for a while – but curiosity in his final moments still prevailed. His phone illuminated the enclosed space, and he knew without looking who was calling him.
His heartbeat thundered inside his head, his mouth felt like a desert, every shallow, quick breath he took in caused tremendous amounts of pain, and yet still he struggled, propping himself up on his one working arm, and began to drag himself with his arm and legs over to his phone five feet away.
His left arm became caught underneath him, causing him to almost pass out from the sheer amount of pain. Still he crawled along slowly; clenching his teeth so hard his jaw felt like it was going to break. "Maya," he whimpered. Tears fell from his eyes, he knew, because the droplets that hit the ground couldn't be sweat. He had stopped sweating a long time ago.
He stretched his arm out, his fingertips almost near the edge of the phone, when his vision swam again and he fell to the earth, crying out in agony as the flesh tore even further from the excessive movement.
Soft, ragged breaths left Cam's red lips as his face pressed against the floor. He tried valiantly to reach the phone, just missing the edge by mere millimeters. He struggled to find enough strength to push himself just a bit further, for Maya, but he couldn't. He didn't have the energy to fight anymore. Everything felt so cold and distant.
"Maya," he cried out weakly. "'M sooorry," his words slurred together. "'M sorrrry," he mumbled, his chest barely moving.
Some of the red substance that pooled underneath him had already began to dry in some spots as the hands of time continued on, marching by the last precious moments of Campbell Saunder's life.
He stilled, unmoving. A last gasp of air fell from his lips. A final tear slid out the corner of his eyes and down his cheek.
His time of death was 1:07 in the morning.
Author's Note: I hope you guys enjoyed it! Please review and let me know what you think, good or bad, so I know if I'm doing a good job or not, and if you'd like to see more.
I also have a youtuber who made a Cam video based on the last song of my playlist so if you want to check that out, go to my profile and do so. Let him know what you think of it as well!
Quick note.. if any of you have tumblr, if you'd be so kind as to spread this story around, I'd appreciate it. I know some of you on here have amazing tumblrs so... more power to you if you do that!
And again, please leave some reviews! They are the life blood of every author. For every review I get, angels get their wings.. or something. I might be lying, but you'll have to wait and see to find out ^^
Also, how many little things did you guys pick up in here? Time of death, 67 minutes, his jersey number, things like that. Re-read it again maybe you'll find something new you didn't notice before!