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Hell is other people.
Hell is Palamedes Sextus brokenly mumbling, I don’t know how to do it, Cam, reaching out a hand to find hers.
And what is Camilla Hect supposed to say to that? I don’t want to talk about it. or I’ve been avoiding this conversation for 51 days. or I don’t want to talk about it, but tomorrow is the last day we’ll see each other. or This feels like cutting off my dominant hand. Don’t do this to me. The words crowd her throat, twisting her lips. Something in her guts feel hot and wrong.
But because she is his other half, has been for the last thirteen years, she nods instead.
“You’ll learn. You’ve always been good at that.”
He goes quiet at that. He sits, staring down at his lap, grey eyes looking thoughtful and considerate. The fading lemon-blue of dusk silhouettes him, touching his soft brown skin and pooling in the shadows of his angular body.
Instead of anything profound, all her brain can come up with is he looks cold. At least she’s wearing a long sleeve, a gaudy red and yellow sweatshirt with their high school logo on it. All he’s wearing is a white t shirt and jean shorts, an ensemble he wears well into Autumn. With another pang, she realizes that this is yet another of his idiosyncrasies she’ll miss.
As if he can feel her eyes on him, he looks up and gives her a small smile. When he opens his mouth and breaks the silence between them, it is with something terrible.
“Nothing I’ve learned until now has prepared me for this.”
And it hurts to know what this is. This is separation, it is leaving, it is the plane ride tomorrow that will cut them off from each other, it is the truth that this moment is their last respite.
“You’ll learn.” She repeats. That is all she can manage to say.
“What if I don’t want to?”
His voice has taken on a bitter, sharp tone she doesn’t like. But when she looks into his face, all the anger drains out of him. All that’s left is a beautiful, lost boy. He looks back down at his hands.
“Come here.” She murmurs, and reaches out a hand to touch his thigh. Without a word he huddles closer to her, hand finding hers, head relaxing into her shoulder. She needs to feel him as much as he does; the contact is reassuring. For a moment they sit, familiar bodies set together.
It’s not romantic. But it’s nearly perfect, and Camilla supposes she can live with that. His breath is warm on her cheek. A tinny speaker in the corner of her truck bed plays all their favorite songs. The blanket spread under them is thick and warm. She closes her eyes, savoring the moment.
“Cam?”
“Mm?”
She still can’t see him, but when he swallows there’s a small nervous click. He tries again.
“Cam?”
He falls silent again. Camilla doesn’t push him. Never has, really. Thirteen years is long enough to memorize someone’s rhythms, patterns, to fall into each other’s orbit and never want to leave it. Just as she knows he doesn’t like being prodded to answer, he knows she can wait. And wait, she does.
(Her heart beats a little faster the more it stretches between them, wonders what vulnerability would inspire this embarrassment- but no matter. She waits.)
His voice has the slightest tremor to it when he says,
“You know I love you?”
She opens her eyes. The sky is a dark indigo now, yellow only barely staining the clouds.
“Of course I know.”
Oh, she does. He’s said this to her over and over. Sleepily mumbled into her hair after their first sleepover. Mouthed to her across classrooms with a grin and wink. Choked it out after silly dares involving Slurpees and lots of ice. Written in countless birthday cards and late night text messages. She knows what loving Palamedes means. (No one will fit me like you do, how could I understand someone like I do you?) He knows what loving her means, too, she’s sure.
She stares at him, and his eyes look frantic. When she looks down, his fingers are shaking between hers.
“I couldn’t love anyone else like I do you.” She tries again, and the steady assuredness calms her own nerves. She searches Palamades’ face, wanting to know if he can fully understand her sincerity.
He nods, slowly, and his own eyes are roaming hers. They flicker down to her lips and stay there for a moment too long. Something in her flutters- but she doesn’t know what, or how.
The next moment happens. Camilla will turn it over endlessly, lying alone in the dark of her dorm bed and interrogating it with never-ending questions and half-certain answers. It will eat away at her.
But for now, it happens. His lips meet hers in a shy, slow gesture. A voice in the back of her mind is babbling and time stretched out like taffy, like candy, it slows down, it feels like forever, her heart stopped.
None of it rings true. She pulls away.
“I,” She hears herself say. “I don’t-”
He knows. He knows without her saying so. He immediately reads what’s written on her face, and drops his eyes.
“It never has been.”
He nods, and his eyes go glassy and wet.
“I understand.” He says hoarsely, and nods again before slowly climbing down. The passenger side door opens.
“We should go. Early morning for the both of us.” It closes with a quiet click.
“Okay.” She echoes, and stares down at her lap. A desperate part of her wants this moment to last.