Page 48 of Presence

I sit up from my couch, trembling from the cold, wrapping my arms around myself to stop the shivers. There’s a loud banging at my door, tripling my headache. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to soften the harsh light streaming in from the windows, but even my eyelids hurt. No help there.

Before my bare feet even touch the floor or the crumpled blanket on it, the banging echoes again.

“Just a moment,” I try to shout, but it comes out more like the raspy croak of a raging alcoholic. Except... I’m not an alcoholic, and I don’t have a hangover. I don’t actually have a death wish, despite what I sometimes tell myself. Sleeping pills and alcohol? Big no. Sleeping pills one day and alcohol another? That’s more like it. Last night was a sleeping pills kind of night.

As I stagger to the door, the pain intensifies with each step, like shards of glass pressing against my joints. I brace myself against the wall, feeling the cold plaster under my fingertips. I can’t remember the last time the transition from the dreamscape to reality felt this brutal. But, um… It might have something to do with the fact that I’ve spent more time sleeping than living these past two weeks.

Reaching the door, I pause, taking a slow, steadying breath before managing to pull it open. The hallway light is blinding, and I squint, my eyes watering as they adjust.

I shouldn’t be surprised to see Cam standing there, arms crossed over her chest, but somehow, I am. What does she want from me now?

“Where have you been for the past two weeks?” she demands, skipping any pleasantries. No ‘hello,’ no ‘how are you,’ not even a smile. I scowl as her voice echoes in my skull, amplifying my headache.

“What? I was here all the time…” I mumble. Well, that’s not entirely true since I’ve been hanging out with Echo in the dreamscape as much as I can, but technically, my body has been right here in my apartment the whole time. So... not really a lie. “Why would you...”

She storms past me, barging into my apartment without hearing me out, and shoves me aside when I inadvertently bump into her. Without pausing, she strides into my living room, her eyes sweeping over the chaos that my living space has become.

Empty water bottles, instant noodle packets, and used bowls are everywhere. My clothes are strewn all over, along with tissues, blankets, pillows, and sheets in disarray.

I don’t blame her for throwing her arms up and scoffing at the mess, but it still irks me. I mean, so what if I haven’t kept the place up? There are more important things in life than keeping clean. Happiness, for example.

“I’ve been calling and texting you! I even asked your neighbors if they saw you! Just because they said they did, I didn’t call the cops!” Her voice is sharp, cutting through my haze of pain and discomfort. She turns to face me, looking both angry and worried.

I wince, both from the pain her voice brings me and her piercing gaze.

“I... I was sick,” I say, the words barely a whisper. This, compared to earlier, is not entirely a lie. The transition between worlds, between realities, leaves me feeling drained and disoriented, sick in a way no medicine can cure. In other words, it makes me feel like shit.

“Sick?” Cam asks, clearly not buying it. “Come on, I know you’ve been having a tough time, but this...” She waves her hand around the messy room, with takeout boxes everywhere and blankets tossed on the couch, “...this isn’t just being sick. What’s really going on with you?”

I slump against the wall, the cold plaster feeling sharp against my hot skin. I cross my arms over my chest and try my hardest not to squint.

“Nothing,” I say. My heart hammers like crazy.

Cam exhales sharply, frustration written all over her face as she steps closer, searching my face for any sign of the truth I’m hiding. I used to appreciate how well she knew me—sometimes better than I knew myself. Not anymore. Turns out there’s a whole world inside of me that neither of us knew about.

I don’t want her worry. I don’t want her barging in here, giving me that disappointed look. Most of all, I don’t want her finding out what’s been going on with me and Echo, or how much I hate being alive right now. I just want to be with him.

At first, I kept things from Cam just to protect her from whatever sinister presence has been haunting me. But now, there’s more to it. I know that, unlike anyone else, Camilla wants to keep me here. She wants me to endure this crappy life. She wants me by her side.

“This is more than ‘nothing,’ and you know it. You’re not just ‘sick.’ You’re not yourself. Look at this place!” She gestures again, emphasizing the chaos. “And look at you! You’re a mess.”

She’s right; I am a mess. But explaining to her why I am this way feels as daunting as climbing a mountain without gear—exhausting and, honestly, dangerous.

“Please, Cam… just let it go,” I plead, shaking my head. “I know you’re worried, but I’m really fine.”

She just looks at me.

“Did I do something wrong? Are you... mad at me? Is that why you’re shutting me out?” Her words tremble as she speaks, her hands dropping to her sides.

My jaw drops as I watch her. My eyes are dry and burning, stinging with the pain I can’t put into words. I can feel her sadness; it’s in her voice, and the way her eyebrows are furrowed in distress.

“No,” I say, my voice flat. The emptiness in my response seems to wound her more, as she purses her lips and nods, almost to herself. “You didn’t do anything.”

She takes a deep breath, her shoulders sagging a bit as she takes in what I said. It’s tough to see her like this. The fear of losing me hits her, and I start to feel guilty.

But I’ve been scared and lonely for so long... For the first time, I feel a glimmer of hope. I’m actually excited about the future.

“Whatever’s going on with you,” she begins slowly, “I see you, Claire. You might not want to listen, you might keep scowling, you might show me how much you want me to leave, but I see you. I was there when you ran away from home. I was there during your sleepless nights, and I’m here for you now.”

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