I lie face down in my bed, trying to ignore the sunshine that seems to push through the overcast sky and creep into my window to meagrely try and bring light into my day. I hate the sun almost as much as I love it. I hate it for having to rise over a world without Caitlyn. I love it for making my world seem a little less dark.

I hear someone walking up to my cabin, and I toss my sheets over my head just as the door swings open.

"Fuck off!" I shout into my pillow that still smells a little bit sweet, but tangy at the same time. That stills smells a little bit like her.

"Shane, the limo's here." I hear Nate call softly.

"I said, fuck off!" I scream, bunching my body up into a ball.

"Shane, come on, we've got to go," Mitchie's weak voice trembles.

"Are you fucking deaf? Just leave me alone!" My shriek is muffled in my delicious pillow.

I hear them all muttering together in worried tones, and roll my eyes. I think about saying something obnoxious, letting them know that I know they're talking about me. Everyone is fucking talking about me like I'm not even there. Like I just fade into the background because she isn't here to illuminate me anymore. And I bet if I have to leave, I'll disappear completely.

Brown had given a speech to all the campers about why they were all going home early. How tragic it was that a fellow camper, musician, and friend, had fatally broken her neck by diving in too deep off the pier. How it was such a great loss, blah blah blah. It's bullshit; none of those people knew Caitlyn like I did. They didn't lose her like I did. They don't know shit about loss. When you lose something you love more than yourself, then come and talk to me about real goddamn loss.

"I can't, I'd say the wrong thing. No, Jason, you'd only screw it up worse than I would. C'mon, we have to try and at least get him out of bed," Nate's tired voice was clear above Mitchie and Jason's nervous whispering. I hear a miserable sigh, and light footsteps coming towards me, followed by my mattress sinking as someone sat down next to my tightly curled body.

"Shane, we're not going to make it to the funeral if we don't leave soon," Mitchie says wearily.

"I don't care," I reply monotonously.

"Shane, please, you haven't left your bed since… it happened," Mitchie caught herself before she could say something like 'since Caitlyn died in front of your very eyes.'

"I. Don't. Care!" I bite back, angrier now.

"Shane, please, you need to get up, get out of here and get some help. Brown said…"

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE WHAT BROWN SAID, MITCHIE!" I snap, rolling over and glaring at her. "What is so freakin' hard to comprehend about the fact that I don't care?"

"Well, I do care, Shane. I care about Caitlyn and I care about you," Mitchie's exhausted voice has the scratchy, cracked sound of someone who has no tears left to cry.

I look closely at her red and puffy eyes that are filled with worry. Quickly, I glance towards Nate, who's in the corner of my cabin chewing on his nails, looking at me with the same red eyes and worried expression, mirrored by Jason standing with his arms folded across his chest in the doorway. They're all worried about me. They all should be grieving in their own way, trying to get closure and move on. But instead they're sitting here, putting my needs ahead of theirs, actually worrying about me, caring about me.

Numbly accepting this in a state of dumbfounded amazement, I roll back over and let the truth of the matter wash over me.

"I miss her so much," I moan, my voice cracking.

"The doctors said she didn't feel any pain. They said it all happened really quickly," Mitchie's voice wobbles as she lays a warm hand on my shaking back. "They said even if she had lived, the damage done to her spinal cord would have left her a quadriplegic."

Her voice breaks and I know she's thinking the same thing as me. How ironic it is. Caitlyn would rather be dead than never be able to do anything for herself again.

"Does he really need to hear this?" Nate squeaks in alarm, scrambling to stand up and making his way towards us.

"I think he does!" Mitchie bites back, and I kind of get the feeling that I know she's right, like I got with Caitlyn when she affirmed her beliefs.

Fuck, everything I do reminds me of her. Everything I hear makes me remember how she once said something relevant. Everything I see makes me wonder how Caitlyn would have perceived it.

I can't escape from her. I don't even think I want to.

"Shane, can you please just get up? For us? For her?" Nate's hand squeezes my shoulder.

I sigh and kick off my sheets, sliding my legs over the opposite side of the bed to Nate and Mitchie, sitting upright. I look back over my shoulder at them, and they give me a grateful smile, which I try to return, but I just can't make my facial muscles move. So instead I sigh and make my way over to my wardrobe, looking for clean clothes to get changed into.

"I'm really sorry, guys," I mumble as I pull on some black jeans.

"For what?" Mitchie wrinkled her nose.

"Everything. For letting you freak out about me, making you stay here to watch over me when I'm just being ridiculous," I shake my head bitterly.

"Don't be sorry, Shane, you didn't make us do anything. We know Caitlyn meant a lot to you," Nate runs a hand through his curls

"And you're not being ridiculous," Mitchie adds. "You have every right to be sad. We know you think she was the most perfect girl in the world…"

"No," I interrupt.

"What?" Nate and Mitchie exclaim in confusion together.

"Caitlyn wasn't perfect," I explain. "Far from it. Just like I'm not perfect. But we were perfect for each other," I sigh as I pull my dirty, smelly shirt over my head and scrounge around for a new one.

I see them nod and exchange glances out of the corner of my eye, but all my attention is focused on the t-shirt in my hands once I see which one it is. The one Nate borrowed for Beach Jam. The one Mitchie thought was his. The one that Caitlyn wore on the morning she turned my life around.

Mitchie and Nate must have seen me stiffen, because they're at my side at an instant. Nate opens his mouth, presumably to ask what my problem is, but then he sees the t-shirt, and understands. He gently pries it from my grasp as I retreat from it as far as possible. My back hits the wall on the opposite side of the room and I have to brace myself to keep from sliding to the floor.

"Shane?" Mitchie whispers tentatively, reaching out and tough my arm. I pull away roughly.

"Why did she have to die? Why? Fuck, just tell me why!" I push myself forwards and turn away from my friends, my head spinning.

I'm not sad anymore. I'm angry. I'm angry at Caitlyn. I'm angry at myself. But most of all I'm angry at whatever higher power there is that decided to take Caitlyn; eclectic, wonderful, imperfect, just-as-fucked-up-as-I-am Caitlyn; away from me, especially when I needed her most.

I feel a sharp crack in my knuckles as my fist hits the wall before I even realise I've taken a swing. But I don't care. I pound against the plaster again and again, screaming my lungs out.

"Stop, Shane, stop it!" Mitchie pleads with me, grabbing at my arm, tears pouring down her cheeks.

"Get out! Get the fuck out!" I roar, turning on her menacingly.

Nate pulls her away from me in fright, and I see the panic and grief in both of their eyes, which only makes me hate myself more.

Howling, I go around my cabin, seizing anything that isn't welded down and smashing it to the floor. I flip my bed frame and kick at the mattress. I smash the mirror in the bathroom into a thousand tiny pieces. I grab my guitar from the corner and slam it into the ground, over and over, until there's nothing left but splinters and strings.

All of a sudden, two strong arms wrap around me from behind, forcing me to release the mangled head of my former guitar and lowering me gently to the ground as I collapse in anguish.

"Shane, you need to calm down," Jason states as he pulls me into a tight hug, letting me cry into his favourite shirt.

I can't breathe. The amount of air I'm inhaling is barely the amount that I'm exhaling in screams. I can feel the circulation to my brain being cut off. Spots dance in front of my eyes, and I begin to feel dizzy, nauseous, relieved. Maybe if I asphyxiate and die I can see Caitlyn again.

But just as I feel like I'm going to pass out, I feel the blood start flowing through my veins, my head clears and I can breathe again. I've stopped crying.

"I think you're going to be okay," Jason pats me on the back encouragingly.

"No, Jase, I'm not going to be okay! Nothing is ever going to be okay again! You don't get it, I swear to God Caitlyn was the only thing holding me together. Without her, my life is just… ordinary!" I choke through my closed throat.

"Maybe just ordinary is enough," Jason says, in that same casual tone he always says the things of most importance in.

"I guess," I mumble. "I just didn't expect not being able to kiss her ever again. Not being able to tell her how much I care for her. I'm going crazy just thinking about how I'm never going to see her again!"

"So don't think about it," Jason pronounces matter-of-factly.

"It's not that fucking easy! I feel like I've just lost absolutely everything," I whimper.

"You haven't. You've got me, and Nate, and Mitch. We're in this together," Jason mumbled gently.

"No, we're not. You guys loved Caitlyn, I know, but not like me. Nobody could ever love her like me. And I never told her that," I bury my face into Jason's shoulder as more sobs wrack my body.

"I think she knew."

"How do you know?"

"Caitlyn was pretty smart. She knew a lot," Jason shrugs. "And I think she felt the same about you,"

"You think so?" I look up and meet his eyes desperately.

"I know so. I'm not just a pretty face," Jason smiles tentatively, and heaves a sigh of relief when I give a teary chuckle. "Do you even want to go to the funeral?"

I pause and bite my lip as I contemplate. "Yeah, I want to say goodbye properly."

"We'd better go then," Jason releases me and climbs to his feet before helping me to my own. After a pause, he adds on "And you don't have to think of it as goodbye, you know?"

"Then what is it?" I furrow my brow in uncertainty, pulling on a jersey.

"I dunno, I see funerals as more of a 'see ya later' kind of thing," Jason's raw, simple outlook was surprisingly refreshing.

He stumbles back in surprise as I fling my arms around his shoulders, but he returns my hug with a chuckle.

"Jason…" I mumble, close to tears again.

"You're welcome," he smiles. "C'mon, let's get out of here,"

"But… look at this place! Brown is going to fucking flip!" I panic, gesturing wildly to the carnage surrounding us.

"Shane, I think he'll understand," Jason slings an arm over my shoulder and guides me towards the door.

I push open the swinging door and step out of the stuffy cabin into the fresh air. Holding the door open with one hand, I bend down and pick up my backpack that some nice soul has packed for me and left resting on the step. As I straighten, I hear a stifled moan and guiltily look up to see Nate holding Mitchie's shaking body tightly to his chest, clamping her head beneath his chin and stroking her hair, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Like maybe if he opens them again it would all turn out to be a bad dream.

I see the frustration and sorrow in his eyes as he opens them to look at me, but they suddenly change to relieved when he sees me standing in the open doorway. He gives me a grateful smile, and nods in my direction to Mitchie. She turns to face me as well, and Nate's relief is reflected in her grief-stricken face. As if an oppressive weight had suddenly been lifted, Nate takes Mitchie's hand and leads her into the limo waiting in front of my cabin. Before following them, Jason turns to me.

"Coming?" He asks unsurely.

"Give me just one more second," I plead, and he nods and gets into the limo after Nate and Mitchie.

I stare around at the empty camp. There are still tell-tale signs that it was vacated only a short time ago. A sticky half-dry paintbrush left discarded on the grass. A forgotten beach towel flapping in the wind. The smell of Connie's cooking still hanging in the air. The whole place still buzzed with life even with nobody there. How could I possibly have hated somewhere like this?

I might come back one day. I might not. I don't know yet.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder, and a tiny bag of white powder falls out of the front pocket. Biting my lip, I pick it up and stare at it. Life without Caitlyn just seems so hard to fathom, and I really need something to take the edge off the pain.

I smile and pinch the edges of the bags, stepping forward and carefully letting the minuscule crystals fall to the ground as the door of my cabin swings shut behind me.

Caitlyn wouldn't have wanted that for me. Hell, she'd probably kick my ass for even thinking about it. I could practically hear her voice in my ear, telling me something deep and meaningful, with a sarcastic quip on the end about how proud she was that she had finally gotten through to me. I breathed in the atmosphere of wilderness and unpredictability around me, the last chance I would get before heading back to the monotony of the city and my job and doing the same damn thing day after day.

But then the sun broke through the clouds, littering individual streams of light that shimmered as they extended across the sky and into the horizon. They illuminated tree branches and filled the air with a sudden life. My life. This is my life. It isn't spectacular. It isn't something that I would marvel every moment in. It is just ordinary.

But it is enough.

The End.

Special thanks must go to LittleRedOne and my untold fairy-tale for being so amazingly supportive from the very beginning.

Review please!