A Tragic Heart
Authors: S. Elle Cameron
A TRAGIC
HEART
S. Elle Cameron
Copyright © 2013 S. Elle Cameron
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1489591060
ISBN 13: 9781489591067
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013910226
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
North Charleston, South Carolina
Acknowledgements
I would like to take the time to acknowledge everyone who helped make the publishing of my first novel possible. The names listed below are those who contributed to my Kickstarter fund and spread awareness of the project. I would like to genuinely thank, in no particular order:
Margaret Cameron
Denise Cameron
Randy Cameron
Shantell Cameron
Shari Cameron
Samantha Edwards
Dwayne Edwards
DJ Edwards
Daniel Edwards
Renard Scott
Yvonne Lumpkin
Chris Harris
Kandece Stevenson
William Coles
Stedman Lacewell
Catherine Rogers
Amalia Gisela Pena
KC Stevenson
Chelsea Williams
James Cameron Jr.
Shaun Stokes
Jared Gibson
Debbie Williams
Yussef B. Rogers
Veronica Corbin
Kenya McInnis
Imani Coles
Rakesh Gonsalves
A special thanks to my late grandfather James Walter Cameron Sr. You will forever be missed. Gone but never forgotten…
Intro
H
ave you ever felt alone? Of course you have; but has it ever been true? What about when you were surrounded by people—as if no matter what you did, they wouldn’t go away? Were you still alone? Well, if you answered “yes” to all of these questions, then you should have no problem understanding me. Or maybe you will. My name is Taylor Caldwell—after the British author. Or maybe it’s because the name Taylor came from the word “tailor,” which comes from the Latin word
taliare
, which means “to cut” and that’s what I do every now and then when I’m upset. Now I don’t want you to think that this is just another story of a depressed girl who cuts herself and in the end finds out that life is worth living; because it’s more than that. I’m just trying to figure out what that more is.
I’m not a foster child, or adopted, or anything like that. In fact, I’m the very opposite. I live with my parents, both of them, surprisingly. My mom, Eva, is an advertiser; while my dad, Henry, is a stockbroker, a job he enjoys a little too much. So if you guessed that money isn’t an issue, then you are correct. I have a brother, Jackson; he’s a musician. He’s on tour with his band, Down Under. They’re very close to making it big with a major label. He’s very talented. I suppose Jackson has done the smart thing by getting out of this town. Right after high school he left for tour. I tend to forget that he’s only two years my senior. And then there’s my little sister, Kristen, who’s a year younger than me, fifteen. She’s also an artist—the drawing type—and she’s also very talented. So that brings
us back to me…Well, my name is Taylor Caldwell, after the British author—maybe because I like to write. But since I have nothing more to say, I guess I’ll stop at saying that this is my life…
Taylor
I
hate lunch. Every sixth period, I’m alone at a table by myself. I never eat. I just read and stare at Mason Taylor. Weird, I know: his last name is my first name. I tend to smile when I think that if we were to ever get married, my name would be Taylor Taylor. That’s probably the only time that I actually do smile. But he’s no one I would ever talk to. Aside from the fact that he’s “Prince Charming” handsome. He’s also the school’s basketball star and he’s completely single...at the moment. Although I know I can never have him, I just love to stare at his jet-black hair, which contrasts perfectly with his peach-colored skin; and at those piercing, green eyes that would have the Virgin Mary down on her knees. Not to mention that smile, with his perfect teeth and beautiful, deep dimples.
His friends are jerks, but that’s no surprise, since that’s how the story usually goes: Outsider meets popular kid; popular kid and outsider fall in love; they learn to accept each other for what they are; and they live happily ever after. But this isn’t a story or a movie. This is life. And from what I’ve experienced, life isn’t anything like a movie. But just in case it is, lucky for me, I get to share English class with him next period.
I’m great in English. I’m a straight-A student, in fact. I guess that’s what gave my teacher, Mrs. Storms, the great idea that Mason Taylor and I should work together on a short story. She claims we’re her two best writers and she thinks that if we work together we can create a story worth publishing. So I guess it’s true
that we should never say “never,” because now I have to talk to Mason Taylor until June. This is becoming more cinema-like as the days go by. And for some reason, I’m not excited. I’m angry and nervous.
As I walk through the school building, I try to remember where I parked my car. The day was finally over and once again it seemed longer than it should have. This school is so damn big that it should be a college campus. The parking lot is filled with “cliques,” whatever that word is supposed to mean. I had friends once, but they sucked. They are now friends with Jagger, Peyton, and—you guessed it—Mason. Jagger is the biggest jerk of them all. He’s the kind of guy who believes women are playthings and he doesn’t know the difference between being high and being sober. Peyton, well, he’s pretty quiet; he doesn’t say much. All we know is that he’s Mason’s first cousin with a different last name, and that good looks run in the family. He has the same great smile and beautiful, green eyes as Mason does, but he has fire-red hair. I remember he used to get teased because of how bright his hair is, but he never cared; except for the time he beat the crap out of some guy and sent him to the hospital. But that’s a different story. Lately, he’s been keeping his hair in a buzz cut so the color is less noticeable. No one knows much about Peyton—just that he’s equally as handsome as Mason is, he lives with Mason and his family, he has the body of a god, he’s really tough, and he and Mason are pretty much inseparable. I’ve actually overheard them refer to each other as “my brother.”
Just as I finally find my car, someone grabs my arm. I turn around and my heart stops almost completely.
“Sorry if I scared you. I just wanted to say something to the girl I have to work with for the next month.”
“Well, you’ve said something. Now ’bye.”
“Are you always a bitch?”
“On that note, I’m leaving.” I get into my car and take off, nearly running Mason over. Why am I like this? I finally get the chance to say something to him and I’m completely obscene. I quickly stop the car and pull out my box cutter. I lift my right sleeve and carve a straight line into my forearm. Stupid, stupid me.
When I get home, my mom and dad are still at work, as usual. Even if they were home, they’d be too busy to greet me at the door or ask how my day was. I don’t know why, but I feel that plays an important part in a child’s life—to have someone who asks if she had a good day or not; even if the person doesn’t really care. I feel it’s just nice to ask.
I go straight to my favorite place in the house: my room. After I finish my homework, I decide to write another journal entry on my laptop. I save them on a flash drive, hoping someday to turn them into a book that might possibly help someone who reads it.
***
May 3, 2008
Love…something often described as beautiful and is recommended to anyone who hasn’t felt it yet. This
may
be true, but what people fail to tell is that it can hurt worse than anything else you have ever experienced. They may say it can hurt a little, but the truth is that it can hurt a lot. If it’s something that’s supposed to make you feel so good, why does it hurt so badly? Why go through pleasure knowing you will feel just as much or even more pain? Is love really that worth it? It is said that one knows when one feels love or when love is in the air. If that is so, why can’t one feel it when love is not in the air? The answer is because love is blind. But if love is blind, why bother with it? Would you let a blind person direct you in traffic or across a bridge? If you are willing to do that, you are just as crazy as the people who believe in this thing called love. I must admit at one point in my life, I believed in love. I believed in finding “Prince Charming.” I thought we’d live together happily ever after, and it would be something like a fairy tale. Was I wrong!
It took me a while to realize that the phrase “fairy tale” had the word
tale
in it. A tale: something that’s not real, something fake, a fantasy. Truth is, this means they know love is basically a made-up story and not something that’s true or will ever be true. The only one we should be allowed to love and care for
is God himself; he’s the only one who will truly love us. In my opinion, man does not know how to love. People think that just because they caught a feeling for someone, they are in love. I was once told it’s better to grow in love than to fall in love. I would take this advice if I actually believed in love. If you are one of those people who do believe in love, I advise you to take that advice. Love is just a feeling, a simple chemical reaction within the body. Love can be taken away just as fast as it can become. I mean, it is only a feeling, and feelings come and go. I’m at a point in my life where I don’t even want to date. I actually do not like boys at all. And I mean it! I feel this way because I already know the story:
Boy meets girl; girl catches feelings for boy that end up turning into love; boy says he loves her too, but only has something else in mind, or just feels like lying; boys does girl wrong or just simply leaves her; girl cries and feels sorry for herself while feeling dumb; boy repeats these steps with another girl.
I think many people are too immature to love, so they mess it up for people like me. They take love in vain and think that’s what their feelings are, when really they are
in like.
They continue on with life thinking this feeling is love, so they continue to do wrong all because of a mistaken identity. I think anything that feels good must come with a little pain. People love too hard, and it makes love hurt more than it’s supposed to. Truth is, there is no pleasure without a little bit of pain. Some may say love is worth it because it’s a feeling like no other. Like I say, love is blind—it only sees the good in a person, so it never knows when oncoming traffic is going to hit you. I believe people continue to love because they like not knowing exactly where they’re going. All they do is hope for the best and try to deal with all the bumps. Although I do not believe in love, I believe everyone should try it at least once…after all, to each his own. Love is something so sneaky, but yet so obvious.
Love,
T.C.
***
After writing, I’m only capable of thinking about Mason and how I treated him. Could it be that my fear of love is the very same thing that forces me to act so cold toward him? Or is it that I can see through who he really is—a selfish jock who hides himself in his sport? Maybe there’s more to him. After all, Mrs. Storms says he’s a great writer. I knew that I should stop thinking about him before I contradict my own words and begin to fall in love with him—or, at least, with the image I make up for him. I lift my left sleeve, take out my favorite razor, and carve a crooked line in my forearm. Foolish, foolish me.
After cutting and allowing my thoughts to roam freely, I’m too depressed to eat. It’s not like my mom cooked anyway. I decide that tomorrow, I’m going to talk to Mason and apologize for the way I acted. He at least deserves that. I would want that.
