lethobenthos

[LeslieFranc]

Cecil hadn’t slept much, but he still did. He really tried not to; what was worse than sleeping alone was sleeping while in the company of a gun-toting self-proclaimed killer. He kept himself awake throughout the night, waiting for the moment when someone would address what to do with Erika, but it never came. Perhaps he should’ve been the one to say something if he was the one to feel the strongest about it, but he knew enough not to push a scared girl with a gun. So he stayed quiet but kept an eye on her. He would close his eyes for a while then open them again before finding her still in her spot, seemingly asleep. His eyes would roam to the rifle she was with, and a part of him was tempted to quickly grab it away from the loose hold of a sleeping person. Whether he would break it out of anger and fear or use it for more pragmatic reasons didn’t matter, because despite all those rapid thoughts his body wasn’t able to keep up. It didn’t take long before he stopped opening his eyes after closing them, fast asleep.

He opened his eyes again, and didn’t find Erika immediately. When he did try and didn’t see a sign of her and her belongings, panic had easily taken ahold of him. A quick look at Emil and Emmett and finding no sign of bleeding reassured him at least. A more thorough checking of their belongings and finding that none of them were stolen helped to ease the loud screaming of his anxiety. Realizing that she probably left them out of her own volition, Cecil finally calmed down.

Another desertion, but one Cecil didn’t mourn for.

The morning announcements came afterwards.

Too many names that came with vague faces and vague recollections of highly limited encounters, whether it was with only the names or the people themselves. The first name to actually stick out was Bree. He didn’t think much of her, but she was the swimming team captain, and he respected her on that account. Stabbed, apparently, he frowned as he absentmindedly shifted his hold onto his own knife.

Lorenzo Tavares wouldn’t have made much of an impact on him if it weren’t for his two companions’ warning about him, and Cecil dutifully avoided looking at their reactions to someone they obviously had a bad experience with.

Another small wave of names until a surprising pair caught him by surprise. Desiree, a girl he wouldn’t hesitate to say he wished he had never met, was killed by Erika. She was the one Erika shot. Hearing the name of the person she killed didn’t exactly increase his distrust in Erika, but it didn’t abate either. Hate was too strong a word for what he thought of Desiree, but he was unapologetic about her death meaning nothing to him. Nonetheless, he never asked for it. He certainly never asked for any of the deaths of his classmates. He thought nobody did.

The announcement continued along, and two more people were added to the list of people Cecil had actually talked to, and never would again. Non-friends they were, but hearing Kayla’s gruesome end and remembering Mercy as a pretty nice girl left him sick to his stomach.

It was like a countdown. There were already way too many people he had personally talked to that died, and it felt like it was only a matter of time before it reached the people who really mattered. Only a matter of time before they die. Before I die—

Next thing he knew, the announcements ended and Cecil couldn’t find it in himself to face Emil and Emmett. He didn’t want to see if Emmett was going to throw a tantrum or curl up in despair like yesterday. Nor if Emil could maintain forced cheer or worse, falter. If there was one thing he knew about these two, it was that they were so easily open about their emotions. Cecil didn't fault them for it, but he couldn't afford to be the same. Not in front of them, at least. He couldn't depend on them on something like this.

He shakily stood up, still refusing to look at the two of them. "I'm gonna take a walk," was what he dumbly said as he carried his knapsack and started walking away in a slow pace. "I'll be back," he muttered, deliberately leaving his duffel bag to them. A promise to return.

Better make sure to prove that he wasn't going to leave, not only to them but also to himself. He knew he wasn't just gonna leave his own stuff to them that easily anyway.

((Cecil Salazar-Loveless continued from Dangerous Burns))

He didn't cry or anything once he was a good distance away from them. He tried to focus on the sounds and feelings that his surroundings could offer, replicating them in his mind and pushing away the negative thoughts that threaten to break him before he even had the chance to fight back. That was all there was to it: bad thoughts. Nothing real.

Not yet anyway.

Cecil wanted to run away from another threat of overthinking, but he was feeling lethargic enough not to bother even quickening his slow walk. He was taking longer than he should on his detour, but he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment.

What must be happening to them? No, focus on the water on his skin. The way his damp clothes cling to him. God, Declyn, I hope that you're alright. The scent that always comes with the rain. The feel of his fingers combing down his wet hair. His own loud beating heart. Nothing else to focus on. Why did I leave Emil and Emmett? Something might have already happened while I was gone. The footprints he left on the mud. The humid air that frankly felt a bit suffocating if he continued focusing on it. I never had much of a relationship with God, but just, maybe, please— The popping of his bones as he stretched his hands. The cold and wet surface of flat steel of the knife against his thumb. His—Drew was bleeding. Jackson may have helped him, but he could still—

The sight of the village where he had spent his first night in this island.

He highly doubted that it would be that easy to find Drew again, but it wasn't like he was trying at all in the first place. He was just aimlessly wandering around. Not much different if I wasn't with Emil and Emmett. Which I'm not. But I definitely will be. Later.

Cecil walked forward towards the village, inevitably drawn to the more familiar parts.

At least I'm no longer thinking about—wait, no—The wood from the small houses. The path in front of him. The inevitable streaks of mud visible on his boots. It's fine. I'm fine. They're fine. Really. Relax. Stop thinking. The weight of his bag on his back. The feel of the compass still on the pocket of his trench coat. A turn he makes into a corner. But still, it's—

A dead body.

My first dead body.

Cecil should've ran away, back to Emil and Emmett. But he saw her. He knew her. He—she's—No.

No no no no no no no no no no no no no no oh god please no. No. Camila.

It was only a matter of time.

"No," he whimpered before he immediately raced towards her, skidding to a halt on his knees as he desperately reached out, dropping his knife beside him.

There was a long drawn-out moment of stillness while he checked for everything.

No heartbeat. No pulse. Not on the neck, the wrist, the chest—nothing. No breathing. Nothing at all. Nothing nothing nothing she's nothing. She's dead. Dead. She's dead. Camila's d—

Cecil's shoulders started shaking. His whole body did as he he held onto Camila's hand. Deep breaths, deeper than the last, as if he was trying to remove something from his chest through his breaths. It fucking hurt. A sob finally escaped him, and his tears were already flowing and he was shaking and he was sobbing and he was squeezing her hand so tightly and she would never squeeze back. Because she was dead. She was dead. She bled out. Camila is—she's dead. Camila—

Her eyes were open and seeing her like this was so wrong and how why did this happen who did this why her why now please why I thought she could take care of herself she was—

He didn't want it to be real. He wanted to stop. Stop crying. He wanted to stop...stop feeling. He just wanted to stop. Stop it all.

But then he would still continue holding onto her lifeless hand and look into her lifeless eyes and all he could do was cry.

She was his closest friend. His best friend. He thought—he never could've—why he would just consider this now—he couldn't bear to lose her. How could he just realize this now. He saw her everyday. If not at school, then at his own home. She would make fun of his interests. Mock him sometimes. Drag him to social events "for his own good" despite the fact she was just as much of a loner as he was. She frustrated him. But they would swim together. She would eat together with his family. She was there and sometimes they don't need to talk because nothing will change. His family loved her. I loved her.

And now she's—Camila's—

Camila's dead.

He cried for his closest friend, and he didn't know how to stop.

Sobs continued to escape him, even when he finally found the strength to do something for her. Tears were shed as he dutifully wiped the mud and blood from her body as much as he could with the clean parts of his coat and sweater. There were still deep and shaky breaths as he lifted her body up and carried her inside the nearest house. He wiped away the wetness from the rain mixed with his tears from his face just as he laid her down on a bed that somehow managed to hold up amidst the years of abandonment in these parts of the village. He tried to choke back the tears and utterly failed once he finally closed her eyes.

He wished he could do more, but nothing would change if he was just going to let his knees weakly fall to the ground in despair. He might not try getting up again if he did.

So with one last look at the face of his friend and one last comforting squeeze of her hand, he turned around and walked away from her.

Even when the pain in his chest threaten to send him to another breakdown once again in a few minutes every time his memories of Camila continuously popped up, Cecil thought of his next move.

Time to go back to Emil and Emmett, he decided. Find the living first. I should still have tomorrow morning at most to find the one who won't be.

((Cecil Salazar-Loveless continued in Heeling of The USS Dekcuc))