Healing Nova's Heart

five: yesterday

CHAPTER FIVE: YESTERDAY

❝ yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away
        now it looks as though they're here to stay ❞

THE BAGS BELOW his eyes sagged more than usual.

They had always been somewhat prominent, showing up like the shadows following his footsteps. Just a dark blob. They were always there, sometimes more distinguished than usual. Take today, for instance.

He hadn't bothered to shave, so his jawline was sprinkled with scruff, and his strands of coffee-brown hair greasy and matted, looking like a bird's nest. His shirt was messily untucked from his sweatpants and he stunk of beer, pizza, and guy.

Take care of yourself, she'd say to you, Cam. Take care of yourself, because even though they don't care, she does.

At least, he hoped she did.

Nova, he mentally announced to no one. I'm doing anything but.

His throat felt dry and scratchy, his voice hoarse when he tried to speak. He reluctantly rolled out of his comfortable bed, his hair sticking up in every direction like he was struck by lightening. He rubbed his chestnut eyes with the pads of his fingers, trudging over to his desk. He had thought about the photos of them, the first he'd thought about them in a while, right before falling to sleep. The first thing on his to-do list was to take them out before he forgot where they were again.

He pulled out the old Adidas shoe box from the third draw, sitting on his bed with the box. Lifting the cover off of it, he held the stack of photographs in his hand before spreading all hundred or so out. These were the ones he didn't use on his wall he had named The Great Wall of Novam, Novam being the 'ship' name Meg had given them when they were a thing.

The first picture he saw he recognized immediately; Nova was slightly standing on he tiptoes with her head rested on his shoulder, her arms looped around his neck, while his arms were wrapped around her waist. Delilah was the photographer, the photo taking place in the hallway leading to Nova's kitchen. It was Prom, and she was absolutely stunning.

A blue satin dress flowed to the floor, running like waves over her shining silver heels so you couldn't see them. The dress was strapless, flaring out slightly at the hips. Her hair was curled and twisted into a bun, tendrils leaking out and resting on the sides of her head. She wore little makeup, simply because she didn't need it. Her eyes looked hooded, almost, a smoke color resting on her eyelids making her gorgeous hazel eyes pop. Her lipstick was as bright red as Taylor Swift's, something that he was sure was going to get all over his own lips sooner or later.

He was in a tux, something he later realized that she found to be very spiffy. His hair was fluffed and calmed down with hair gel.

In the picture, she had a bouquet of roses within her grasp as she hugged his neck, and she wore a giant smile. Her teeth were blinding and her eyes were glowing brighter than the full moon that he remembered would appear outside that night. Her cheeks were rosy and dimpled, her pale skin flawless in the photograph.

He saw, in the picture, a real smile of his, not the ones he faked for the stupid paparazzi as their cameras flashed, yelling, "CAM, DO YOU HAVE ANY RECOLLECTION OF YOUR PARENT'S-" or "CAMRIN, DO YOU HAVE ANY CURRENT NEWS ON THE TRADE YOUR PARENT'S MADE WITH-".

It wasn't one of the fake grins he sent the way to his friends either, the one that shrieked I'M NOT OKAY.

In that picture, he looked carefree. Happy. Hell, he looked exuberant.