Chapter Nine ^

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Tw: this chapter contains mentions of self harm (a small mention of something that happened long ago), and a bipolar episode if that needs a warning. Really just angst. felt like hurting your guy's hearts cuz im dying lol. slowly going insane.

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155 Franklin Street, New York City, New York

December 6th, 2015

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The chatter of everyone around her fades as she stares at the casket.

It's small. Too small.

Caskets should never have to be made that small. Casket's should never have to be made for someone who hasn't gotten to live their life yet.

Somebody sits next to her, their perfume invading her senses so strong she wants to throw up for the second time today. The first time was when she woke up to the sound of a baby's cry, and for a second she had two sons. Not one. The bile rose in her throat when she walked into the nursery to see the sight of the second crib dismantled in the corner the same way it had been for a year. Carlos hasn't had the time to get rid of it, and Camila has spent most of her time drinking or crying herself to sleep.

Kaylee's been over every single day to take care of Jasper, a part of Camila feeling bad for leaving the burden of a one year old on her friend but the other part of her being too busy drowning itself in its feelings and booze to care. Her husband and best friend have begged her to get up out of bed, to put the whiskey bottle down and save herself. If not for them or for herself, for her son.

But she can't. The alcohol which burns as it slides smoothly down her throat is the only thing keeping her from trying to take her life the same way she did when she was thirteen. When she was that old, and she'd watched her father flatline, she'd run away and had been found three days later in an alleyway, stomach and arms littered with cuts and scratches she inflicted on herself.

"Battle scars" Her siblings had called them in a attempt to make her feel better.

"Proof of failure." She would always bite back.

She didn't do it this time. She didn't hurt herself despite feeling the pain of losing a child. She couldn't.

Instead, she spent three weeks drowning herself in alcohol and silent tears before one day getting up from bed, brushing her teeth, throwing on a nice black dress with matching heels, and telling her family she was ready for her son's funeral. They all looked shocked. Nobody expected her to come. They didn't say anything though, just helped her into the car and drove her to the church which is placed across from the cemetery her father is buried at.

Now, sitting in the farthest pew from the casket that's about two and a half feet, a hand gently lands on her shoulder and she fights the urge to break it.

"Camila." The voice says, slightly forcing her hearing to come back so she can listen to what they're trying to tell her.

In the front row, Kaylee and Carlos sit side by side thanking everyone that passes them for coming. Baby Jasper is in Kaylee's arms, loudly crying and for a second Camila believes he is mourning his brother. It's a silly thought though. He doesn't understand why they're in this dreaded place or why his twin is in a casket. But for a second, she hurts even more by believing he feels the same pain she does.

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