39

EMBER

The clinic is barren at this time of night. When I walk in and don't see Michael, my breathing picks up. I shuffle to the front desk, but no one's there. I touch the little silver bell and a ping! echoes throughout the waiting area. No one answers. I do it repeatedly until an elderly woman in a wheelchair rolls in behind the desk.

"Shit I'm sorry," I blurt, stepping back.

She grunts, "How can I help you?"

"I'm here because of Michael," I tell her. She blinks at me, hands waiting on a keyboard. "Uh...I'm here for Michael. Michael Lund." She types quickly, then looks up.

"His pickup is thirty minutes late."

"I know and I'm so sorry. There was a mixup. Is he okay? Is he here?"

"Confirm your name please."

I nod. "It's Em—" I cough, my eyes widening. She said confirm, not what is your name. "It's Cameron," I say slowly. "Cameron Sun. The pickup was for eight." She squints at me. I twitch a smile. "Can I see him?" I prod, itching to make sure Michael's not missing a kidney. Something about this place is sketchy.

"Calm down and I'll have Doctor Rind bring your boyfriend out," says the lady, rolling her eyes.

"Thank you," I reply, not even thinking twice. Why would I care what she thinks? I just need to get my hands on my friend and make sure he's not abandoned.

It feels natural now—to use the word 'friend'. While I'm not sure I deserve the warm feeling in my heart, I hold onto anyway. I savour it, sucking up every joule of energy as I wait for him—my friend.

He eventually shows up, wheeled into the room in his own wheelchair.

I pull my phone from my jeans, snap a picture, then slowly take my cap off and hold it to my chest.

"My god," I whisper, shaking my head. "You pathetic thing."

Michael sits curled up in the wheelchair clutching a stuffy rainbow that has a smiley face on the clouds. His eyes are closed, mouth tilted up in a little smile as he snuggles his toy.

I look up to the doctor. He looks like Luigi from Mario Bros. Pointing to the little boy in the chair, I ask, "Did you take half his brain or something?"

Dr. Rind laughs, patting Michael's shoulder. "He took to the gas a little too well. I'm guessing you're Cameron, his bisexual friend from...China?" He runs his eyes over my frame, a brow raised. "I heard an odd amount about you."

"Chinatown," I correct him with wide eyes, walking forwards. "Do I just...put him in the car? Can he sleep? Like, that's okay?"

Rind hands me a pamphlet. It's on the aftercare of wisdom teeth removal.

"He's fine, but the swelling will get worse," informs Rind, pointing to Michael's mouth. Now that I can get a better look at him, his cheeks look a little puffed out.

"Looks like he's storing nuts," I voice aloud, squinting down at Michael.

"Oh you've seen nothing yet!" laughs Rind. I straighten up and throw the doctor a look. He clears his throat. "Just take his gauze out within the hour and then only fluids for a few hours after that. I'm assuming you'll be staying with him overnight?"

"I—Well, actually—"

"Sleep close to him," continues Rind, "because he might throw up. The gas upsets some patients. Bleeding is normal, but if you're concerned, call the number on the pamphlet. Pain is normal as well. Drug store medications will work just fine. If he develops a fever, call right away or go to the emergency room."

"He's going to get a fever?" I ask, shaking my head. "I thought you took out a few teeth and then he'd be fine?"

"There's always the possibility of infection. Just keep a close eye on him and follow the instructions, alright?"

"But—"

"Okay great. Here, take him and go straight home. He'll most likely want to sleep this off before the real pain sets in." He pushes the chair towards me and Michael stirs, groaning a little. I go to grab the handles and Rind says, "You can't take the chair."

I huff, "Can you help me get him up then?"

We pull the broad, muscled, six-foot-two-inch baby from the wheelchair and Rind helps me tap his cheeks awake. Once he's alert, he stands steadier on his feet and beams down at me.

"Hannah Montana!" he exclaims, talking around his gauze. "You came to my birthday party!"

My eyes go wide. I look at Rind. "What kinda drug is he on right now?"

"The best one," Rind sighs and walks away with the wheelchair and stuffed rainbow.

"I want to go to the beach," says Michael, struggling to pronounce his words because of the gauze. "Beach, please. Can you—" He trips over his feet, landing on his hands and knees.

"Shit," I mutter. I reach down to help him, but he waves me off.

"Hannah, no, I don't think of you like that."

"Excuse me?" I chuckle.

"You're super pretty," he mumbles, smiling carelessly, "but—but I'm not into you, Hannah."

"Okay great," I say, grabbing his arm to haul him off the ground. "Now let's get you into the van."

Once he's upright, tears spring to his eyes.

"I'm sorry Hannah Montana," he whispers, dropping a rough hand over my baseball cap. "Did I—did I hurt your feelings?"

"No..." I trail off, removing his hand. "No, you didn't." I glance to the woman behind the desk and catch her eyes. "Everybody makes mistakes," I say loudly, biting my lip through a grin. "And everybody has those days." She scowls at me and wheels away. Ouch.

Michael blows out a relieved breath. "Oh thank god! I was scared you'd kick me out of the concert next Tuesday!"

I somehow manage to drag Michael out of the office. He looks disheveled—black hoodie wrinkled, sweatpants on his legs, and blonde hair curling over his ears, parted in the middle.

On the drive back, Michael cleans up Cam's van, tsking at how messy it is—pop cans and takeout bags litter the van's floor. I have to repeatedly instruct Michael to redo his seatbelt.

I know my way around. Before arriving in Toronto just under two months ago, I studied a map, and that's the only reason I knew how to get to the beach on the East side.

As I pull into the empty, sandy parking lot, the darkness entices me. The lake is a void past the tall grasses and lonely beach. Michael gasps, threading two hands into his hair.

"No way!" he whispers, looking to me. "Can I go?" I can't help but grin, nodding to him.

"I thought you should have some fun before you can't even speak tomorrow."

Michael holds up a finger, telling me to wait, and then stumbles out of the passenger's side. He walks around the front of the van and then opens my door, making a sweeping gesture with his other hand.

"Miss Montana, malady." He raises his chin, looking at a point past the darkness. I take the keys, pamphlet and my phone, and step out. He closes the door behind me with such force that I flinch, jumping away. He bellows, "To the beach!" and starts to run.

"Wrong way!" I call after him, pointing to the actual water. He turns on a dime and sprints past me, heading for the breaking waves.

As Michael makes sand-angels, laughing like a maniac, I stay near the van, my heart feeling too heavy to move.

Darkness is everything I've always been afraid of. It's truth and endlessness. In the darkness, I see Greyson Scott. I see him bobbing face down in the murky water. I see him floating above it, eyes blackened with time. I myself under the waves, stuck in the currents, clawing for the surface.

My eyes close to prevent the tears from falling. A crisp October breeze hits my exposed arms and I hold them out from my body, letting the cold in.

I've been distracting myself the truth and endlessness, but tonight feels like a fight I can't win. More than anything, I want to drop to the ground, curl up on my side, and never move again. I want the earth to swallow me, the grass to grow around me, and the clouds to wash me away.

From dust I came, to dust I shall return.

It would be easier to disappear than to deal with the truth. The endlessness. Easier to stop breathing than gasp on every sharp breath. The darkness is almost welcoming now. The endlessness could be my friend. The—

My eyes fly open as two hands sneak under my arms and a warm body envelopes me in a gentle hug.

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A/N

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Love Laurel ♥️