An eight year old version of myself was hiding behind the couch, knees pulled up to their chest, with slightly chubby arms wound around them, trying to pull them closer in an effort to comfort them self further. The shorts worn on their body was on the short side and matched the loose tee-shirt fairly well enough, considering at that time I would probably think purple and yellow may go good together. Their hair was scraggly and out of place, not in any way looking neat or proper, and strands were in front of their face, not that they seemed to care too much. The sound of glass breaking caused the small version of myself to cover their ears, blocking out the sound and whatever voices could be heard. It felt like my own older ears had been clamped over, for the world seemed a lot less noisy. The smaller me's eyes opened to wide and glazed, looking like tears were threatening to fall at any moment. The small body twisted and I could feel my heart leap up into my throat, I would finally know. I would know what had happened. Closer, closer, oh just a little closer! Peering around the side of the worn yellow flowered couch, I saw a flash of brunette hair, blood, and the lingering smell of alcohol.
Blue eyes opening to stare at the ceiling above me, I brought hand up to my fast paced heart and focused on that, hoping it would calm me down to some extent. With my other hand, I wiped the sweat from my forehead, in a futile attempt to see if it at all calmed me down. The only thing it seemed to do was let me skin flare up again at my warm hand against my steaming forehead. After a small while of trying to calm myself down, my panting ceased to what could be called as 'normal natural breathing'. The blanket I had slept with tightly enclosed around me was thrown on the floor, indicating that I had probably moved around a lot in my small dream memory. Picking it up with a shaky hand, I pulled it around me once again and let my head lye back on the pillow, staring at the moon visible through my window. Letting my eyes drift close, I was almost asleep when I heard shuffling in the hall, and what sounded to be a bag dragging along the floor. Being curious as the 12 year old I was, I threw the covers to their temporary spot on the floor and padded to the door, opening it slowly to peek out. There was no movement anymore in the hall, but I let myself wander beyond the comfort of my room to the living room to explore further.
There was my father, the only thing out of place in the whole room, scribbling down on a crinkled piece of paper what appeared to be a note. He paused, and ran a hand through his hair, grim smile plastered onto his lips. Carefully, I crept closer and once I was close enough, basically a step into the actual living room area, I watched his hand shake as he continued to write. There was an envelope beside his hand and I saw the name written loud and clear. Eyes widening, I could feel my heart rate speed up again and the whole room seemed to stop. The letter was half a page and once he had sealed it into the envelope, I dared myself to speak.
"Daddy?" He twisted his neck so quickly to look in my direction it made me jump. Piercing grey matched my sorrowful blue and I watched as he let the envelope, holding a letter that seemed so insignificant at that point, flutter onto the table.
"I can't do this anymore Cami." He said, using my nickname, a supposed term of endearment. Defiantly, I didn't speak and let him come closer, his gaze still locked with mine. I searched through them as best I could, but only saw something of sorrow and a fleeting glint of guilt.
"I tried so hard to get over it, but it isn't working." He spoke once he realised I wasn't going to, "She meant everything to me, I'm sure you know that. We loved each other very much and it's hard to imagine life without her now, still by my side." There was a wistful smile in replace of the grim one a few moments ago. What are you getting at? What are you saying?
"You're so strong Cami. Not once did you cry in my presence, even when your grandmother came to the funeral, only to give her condolences to you." This was said with disdain as he took his gaze from mine to look at the floor, "You remained steadfast and refused to break down in front of anybody. You barely talked, not letting anybody get to you or get at you."
"Why are you telling me this?" It was a whisper, compared to his voice that now seemed like a boom echoing through the house moments ago. Wincing, my father kept his gaze locked with the wall over my shoulder and brushed past me. Not wanting to miss out on anything, I followed him and now noticed the bag near the door I'd failed to notice before, which must've been what I'd heard in the hall.
"Where are you going?" I asked once more, my vow of silence broken as I watched him tie the laces on his shoes.
"Away." It was indifferent, as if he was speaking to a stranger. What was wrong?
"To where?" My curiosity was being overthrown by a silent fear. There was more silence, which seemed to follow everything I asked.
"I loved her." He was breaking down, as his grey orbs now shone with unshed tears, "And she's gone because of a stupid accident. There's nothing here for me, I can't bear to be around this house, to be around y-" He stopped and looked away, grabbing his coat from the rack on the door. From me, the one who looks so much like her in your eyes.
He turned to the door and I couldn't do anything at that moment, except to watch him open the door, allowing the cold night air to drift into the room. I could feel it wash over my skin in waves and goose bumps raised up on the surface as my skin turned to ice. Without warning, he dropped the bag he'd had in his hands and knelt down to sweep me up into a sweet embrace. I didn't hug him back.
"I love you baby girl." He said, and when I was about to lift up my own arms to hug him back, he was gone. Swept away into the night like a whisper on the wind, the door closing behind him.
---
That had been two years ago, a hard memory for me to recall anymore. If it hadn't been for the landlord coming up to check and see if rent was ready the next day, I'm sure the outcome would've turned out far worse. Without me having to tell her anything, she said that I could still live here, but only if I agreed that her niece and her daughter could live here too. The terms were that I make sure the young girl was ready for school and I was accountable for her at all times. The niece would be busy working and didn't have a whole lot of time to do it. There wasn't any payment involved, except that it would count as rent and food for myself. There wasn't anywhere else I could go, so I agreed. When I told her this, she watched me with her keen eyes and spoke with such concern I almost missed it.
"What about your sister, couldn't you stay with her?" Shaking my head, I told her how my sister was trying to finish up college so she could get a degree in journalism, which was what she'd wanted for most of the time I could remember, and she was doing it at her own house, sending her work to a college professor in another state who agreed to mark it. She went to night classes too. If she had to take care of me, she wouldn't be able to do that. There was an understanding in the woman's eyes.
"Here." She had placed the envelope my father had left on the table in my hand, my name printed on the front in loopy handwriting. Staring at it, I felt my heart break again, but refused to cry. Both of them, they were both gone.
"Why don't you take it." I thrust it at her, but she gently pushed the outstretched hand back towards me and made my fingers circle into a fist around it.
"This is something your father wanted you to have." She was so kind to me, it was unbelievable. That envelope was still in the drawer, where I'd almost stuffed it immediately into once I'd gotten up into my room. I didn't want to know his reasons, or his empty promises, if he'd made any, or his empty words of sorrow. There was no caring in my father for me, so I'd show him none in return.
The landlord told me to call her Emily, rather than the formal name I'd been calling her for the period of time I'd known her. I told her to call me Camille, since it was my full name, and I saw her eyes flash with something unexpected. Maybe she knew the nickname my father called me, and knew I didn't want to be called that.
The past two years have felt like a dream, like I was floating on a cloud that was thinning as each day passed. One day I'd fall and I'd hit the ground hard, but for now I lay on my back and watched the other clouds around me, happy to be on one myself.