Page 39 of Bring You Back

I push off the counter and make my way around the island to the hall, keeping my stare straight as I pass Camille, to prepare for this damn night.

I have some steam to blow off.

10

Breathe Through It

Camille

I blow a heavy breath through my lips and watch the flames sway from the barrel in front of me. Several bonfires are scattered about, and I’ve managed to snag a solo. I have my bitch face in place so no one can inaccurately assume they’re welcome to join me as I scan their faces, shadowed by night, then lit up by the warm glow of fire as they approach.

Keep it moving.

Thank you.

People that I grew up around, my fellow eighteen-year-olds that I would’ve walked across the small stage at the high school with had I stayed, and older ones who have since graduated, either having stuck around or dropped back in for the summer, hoot and holler as they drink, dance, stumble around, fall in the sand. I’m waiting for security from the legal festivities happening several yards over to finally break one of these up.

It hasn’t happened yet.

My brother used to joke that it was the fault of the sand dunes. You come to this side to be invisible.

We’re contained, unable to be seen from the main part of the beach.

Caleb went to every one of these senior bonfire parties starting his sophomore year. Which begs the question, why is it labeled for seniors when anyone can come? Same for the movie, then live concert happening a ways on thevisibleside.

Caleb had a joke answer for that, too. When you’re the senior, this becomes special. Takes on a new meaning when you’re the reason for the celebration. This is your moment, probably your last time before you’re sent off to do bigger and better things.

Caleb’s senior moment here on this very sand turned out to be his last time. A decision made for him by a careless driver who justhadto respond to a text on that same dark, winding road my brother was using to return home.

His death wasn’t caused by his own reckless, adrenaline-seeking behaviors. Those didn’t kill him. It was a normal, mundane vehicle that gets you from A to B that killed us both.

Only I’m the one left to breathe through it.

No reckless thing killed me, either. And no other driver plowed into my car as I sped along that same dark, winding road many times after the fact.

Fuck cars.

Fuck texting in cars.

That son of a bitch should’ve died, too.

You shouldn’t get to kill someone, then walk away unscathed.

You shouldn’t get to take something from someone without having something taken from you in return.

The man’s still alive. I’m waiting for the news of his death so I can have a real celebration.

Tommy’s not the only one who knows how to keep tabs.

I could use a beer. The thought immediately sours my mouth. Drinking doesn’t help in the long run. It’s a temporary salve for wounds you’ll feel even stronger when you come down. It’s a tool for idiots, like Banks, to make an even bigger idiot of themselves.

He’s beside a bonfire diagonal to mine, yapping at Julian. He waves the beer bottle in his hand as he relays all the oh so important things from his animated life that Julian missed out on for however long they weren’t speaking, cracking up at every annoying word that flies out of his own mouth. He’s swaying with the fire, and if he moves any closer to the barrel, he’ll sway too far and land in the flames.

Those same flames highlight Julian’s smile as he listens, the mouth of the beer bottle he lifts for a drink drawing my stare to his lips. It’s a slow closing in, reminiscent of the way those lips sought mine for a kiss that was ripped away before the impact.

I lick my lips, biting down as the bottle connects with his. His eyes shift then, connecting with mine for a brief moment before jerking away, his hand lowering the bottle, his jaw tightening around a swallow.

We haven’t spoken since the house, but we don’t have to. He speaks to me through stares, in every moment his eyes have found mine.

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