"Some, they didn't make it.

The temptation just too strong.

How can darkness cloud the mind

To what I know as wrong?"

― Kimberly Nalen, Beautiful Junkie: Poems about Addiction and Recovery

***

Camila appeared to me through a haze of fog, looking as beautiful and alive as ever. Her hair was shiny and perfect, her lips glossed and her face as fresh as it always was. She wore her favorite pair of ripped jeans, combat boots and a loose shirt. Her eyes were wide, and she looked like the devil in disguise. She always had been as beautiful and delicate as a rose, but she had always been filled with thorns.

"Camila," I whispered, breathless at her appearance. I'd missed that knowing smirk. It had been too long since I'd been faced with that confident exterior. I ached to see that again. Just to hear her airy giggle and see her wink one last time.

Her eyes slit, and her lips twisted into a sour smile. "You," she whispered, stepping forward. She was thin and lithe and leggy, but all too intimidating.

I put my hands up and stumbled back, feeling my heart seize in my chest. "Cam, it's me. Perrie. Your best friend."

"You're not my best friend," she snorted derisively. She always had a way of making me come undone. "You're a murderer."

I shook my head wildly. My whole body ached and felt sweaty, and my hands trembled at the sight of her; so lovely, so dangerous. "No, I'm not."

"You killed me," she whispered, tilting her head to the side like I was a rat in a cage she was assessing. A look of betrayal lit up her eyes. "Why would you kill me?"

"I didn't," I whispered, shaking my head. The words came out scratchy, barely reaching the surface.

"Why didn't you try to save me?" she whispered. Around her alabaster neck, I saw violet bruises bloom like wild flowers in the spring. Her body got even more pale and her lips turned white. Her bones stiffened with rigor mortis. I resisted the urge to scream in horror.

Tears brimmed my eyes, and my throat felt clogged. I reached for her; wanting to hold her, to reassure myself that it was real and I didn't have to go another day without her. That this time I could fix her; that this time I could save her. "I tried. I'm sorry, Cam. I'm sorry I was so late."

"You could've saved me," she told me. "I trusted you. I would've done anything you asked. I have done everything I could to protect you. Why couldn't you help me? You could've saved me!"

She was right, and the guilt that gnawed within me was finally rising to the surface. I could see it in her large eyes, in her pale face and shaking lips. She was scared and lost and lonely. She had depended on me, and I had let her down. "I should've saved you," I whispered. "If I had gotten there earlier, if I had known..."

"You're a murderer, Perrie," she informed me.

"No, I'm not," I replied, shaking my head. I took a step back, but stumbled.

"You killed me. Why didn't you save me?"

"I wanted to. Cam, please..."

"Killer," she whispered in a chilling voice, reaching forward and pushing me.

I fell back, and a painful scream tore from my throat as I lost my sense of balance and went tumbling backwards into the abyss.

I awoke with a gasp, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, my long legs tangled in the bed sheets. My hair was a clumpy mess, and my skin prickled as hot and cold shivers traveled up and down my spine. I kicked my legs free and swung them over the edge of the bed, glancing at the alarm clock. It was just past three in the morning.

I flicked on the light switch and pushed lanky blonde strips of hair back from my face, rubbing my forehead. My forearm ached, and I rubbed my face to rid my head of the images clouding my mind. When I closed my eyes I could still see her standing there, that look of betrayal in her eyes. It haunted me like her ghost.

I stood up and padded to the closet, knowing I needed something-anything-to release me from the pain. I pulled a large jacket over my camisole and threw on a wrinkled pair of jeans. I threw my hair into a messy bun and rubbed my eyes, before sneaking out of my room.

The house was quiet around me; my parents fast asleep. I could set off an atomic bomb in the house and no one would hear me. Nonetheless, I crept down the stairs and out the front door, not wanting to risk them waking up to find their daughter gone in the middle of the night with no note.

The air was brisk and chilly as winter hit full swing. I couldn't believe in two weeks it would be Christmas, although I wasn't exactly in a festive mood. A few houses had Christmas decorations set up, though in Leighton Fields it was more about having the best display rather than actually celebrating anything.

I walked down the road at a quick pace, glancing around me to make sure no one saw. The streets were deserted, with not a light on in any house. It was dead silent, leaving me alone to my thoughts-something I did not want to be trapped alone with.

Everywhere I turned provided a new memory between myself and Camila. Having ice cream fights near the parlor on the corner; shoplifting cans of soda from the convenience store just to prove we could; truanting school and spending the time making out with football jocks on the swing set in the park. The house down William Street where we had played beer pong and danced on tables. When we climbed the roof of the gas station at two in the morning and made wishes on shooting stars. I had so many memories with Cam in this town, and I could find no escape.

I arrived at the Quagmire residence, which was as cold and imposing as ever. All the lights were off, and I nimbly started around the side of the house and started climbing one of the rose trellises that would lead to his balcony. I climbed over the railing and faced his door. He kept a spare key underneath a potted fern near the door in case of emergency, and I grabbed the metal key and slid it into the slot.

The door swung open inaudibly, and I stepped into his room, which was a mess of clutter; with clothes and shoes strewn everywhere. The only light in the room was his alarm clock, which glared alien-green numbers.

He lay completely still, breathing heavily with one arm hanging over his stomach and the other clutching a cotton sheet. He looked quite peaceful there, and I didn't want to disturb him. I'd put him through so much hell lately, and he deserved his rest.

I tiptoed over to his closet and pushed the ajar door open further. I bent down and silently began rummaging through his boxes, seeking a capped syringe and the rubber tubing. My fingers searched blindly in the dark night, and I focused on controlling my breathing and not grunting in frustration.

Finally, I felt the cold plastic under my fingers and grabbed the syringe, my other hand locating the rubber tubing. I pulled it out and began wrapping it around my upper arm, before using my teeth to pull off the lid.

"Perrie?"

I jumped at the sudden voice and turned around to see a bleary-eyed Jeremy staring at me with wide brown eyes. I felt my stomach drop in shame and swallowed, struggling to my feet. "I-It's not what it looks like."

"So you're not rummaging around in my closet at three in the morning looking for crack?"

I looked down, and wanted to throw up in shame and desperation. "I know I'm pathetic. You don't have to look at me like that."

He gestured for me to sit beside him on the bed, and I noticed that he was shirtless. I swallowed and tore my eyes away, gingerly taking a seat next to him on the bed. Immediately his bare arms wrapped around me and drew me into his intoxicating embrace. Powerless to his touch, I sunk into his grip and shut my eyes, breathing in his fresh scent and enjoying the feeling of intimacy and closeness.

"What happened?" he murmured, his lips brushing my hair.

"I dreamed about her," I muttered. "She thought I killed her. Blamed me for not saving her."

"Per, you know it's not your fault," he told me, his soft fingertips gently caressing my face. "You didn't know what was going to happen. You got there as fast as you could. You couldn't save her."

"What if I could?" I whispered, pulling back and turning to face him. The room was dim, and we were lit only by sparse moonlight. His eyes were large and innocent before mine; the eyes of a tortured soul. "I stopped at a red light on the way there. If I hadn't, she might still be alive. Maybe if I ran through the park down to the lake she'd still be here."

"Look, I know you don't want to hear this, but Cam wasn't a good person," Jeremy told me earnestly, grabbing my hand and rubbing gentle circles on the back. "Anything that happened to her was her fault, and you can't blame yourself for that."

It sounded logical in theory, but applied to a real situation and it sounded like a poor excuse to push myself away from responsibility. Camila had helped me through every up and down I'd ever had without ever once questioning it. And now I'd never have the chance to return the favor. She'd always tried to lift me up to my full potential, and I'd let her down. And that had cost her life.

"I just really need to forget for a while," I told him, my eyes dragging to the syringe. I missed the pain and the release. The ebb and the flow of the never-ending tide. "Please?"

"This is the last time," he told me, sensing my desperation and knowing that giving me the drugs was going to be the best way to stop me. He tied the tube around my arm, and I winced as he inserted the needle. I flexed my fingers and allowed the drugs to travel up my bloodstream, knowing a release was coming.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Perrie, I'm sorry for what happened to Cam, but you can't go on like this," Jeremy told me, reaching into his side draw and producing a bandage to cover the needle mark. He undid the tubing and threw it carelessly on the floor, before dumping the needle on his bedside table. "Eventually you're going to have to accept Cam's death and move on."

"I want to," I told him, pitching my voice low so that we didn't wake anyone in the house-if there was even anyone else to wake. "But I can't. Every time I try to move forward she is right there. Haunting me. I don't think I'll be able to move on until I... Until I can make it right."

"Camila is dead," Jeremy told me, grabbing me by the shoulders and forcing me to stare into his eyes. "And you can't turn back time or change that, okay? All you can do is hope she's found peace and move forward. You can't make this right."

"Maybe I can," I told him standing up and running my hands through my hair. I turned back to him and planted my hands on my hips. "Maybe I can't save her, but I can avenge her-that's what Cam would want. Someone out there killed her, and I'm sick of waiting around for the police to get off their asses and figure it out. We need to find out who did it."

"Per, that is not a good idea," Jeremy informed me, shaking his head. "First of all, this person killed Camila, and I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be afraid to do it again. Secondly, the police are professionals. We should leave it to them."

"Don't you get it, Jer?" I replied. "I'm the number one suspect. They think I killed her. This whole town thinks I killed her. I need to prove that I didn't do it-that I loved Cam like a sister."

"Look, I get it, Per," he told me. "You're scared. You don't know what's going to happen next. But you didn't kill her. And soon the police are going to find some evidence and figure out who did it."

"And what if they don't?" I sat up straighter and turned to him excitedly, new plans hatching in my mind. "We could do it, you know, Jeremy. We could figure it out if we tried. Cam figured out who was doing it to her. Maybe if we backtrack we can find out, too."

"This person is a murderer," he told me desperately. "This isn't a game. It's serious."

"I know that, all right? But I'm not gonna sit around and wait. I'm gonna find this person. Are you with me or not?"

He sighed and flopped back on the bed, rubbing his tired eyes. It was hard to believe it was only so early in the morning. "I can't let you do it alone, so I guess that means I'm in. Any genius plans on how to do this?"

"We need to figure out some suspects; enemies that Cam had and people that might want to hurt her."

"If only we could see into her mind," Jeremy replied.

I grabbed his arm, fingernails digging into soft and pale flesh. "Oh my gosh. Jeremy, you're a genius!"

He frowned, and I could tell by the look in his eyes that it wasn't often he was praised. "I am?"

I smiled devilishly as through a drugged fog I began to formulate plans. "I have an idea."