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What is the point Callum?

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Callum hadn't got much sleep at all that night. He spent hours tossing and turning, trying to big himself up to just admit the truth. The wedding was tomorrow, and here he was, trying to think of how to tell Whitney he was gay. Gay. There it was. The word echoed through his mind. This is who he was. Callum knew he couldn't keep lying to Whitney, but he had never been the selfish type. This was the reason why he was marrying Whitney after all. She has gone through too many heartbreaks to be used as a doormat again. Callum adored her, but he wasn't in love with her. He told her that so she was happy. When she was happy, Callum was too. He kept shuffling closer to Whitney, as she lay there. She looked so beautiful, like an angel. Even when she was asleep, her skin glowed bright, and she always had a small smile on her face. Callum hoped that edging closer to his fiancee would set off this spark that would urge him to marry her. He needed this, yet his heart didn't want it. He was desperate to find the spark deep in his heart, but it was never lit. 

Callum let out a quiet sigh and he turned to face the clock on the wall. It read at 4.35am. Brilliant, Callum thought. He felt dead as he pulled himself from the mattress, desperate to not wake his sleeping partner, soon-to-be wife. He spent a couple of seconds standing, admiring her beauty, before he shuffled out of the room, and saw the darkness of the lounge greet him. He slumped over to the couch, throwing himself down. Reaching for the remote which was across from him on the coffee table, his eyes caught glimpse of the start of the sunrise. In the distance, a wave of gold swept across the deep blue sky. Callum sat in awe as the sky turned from a dark royal blue to golden sand, and finally a pale ocean colour. The time seemed to fly, as he realised he had sat there for an hour staring at the sun waking up. He heard shuffling come from the other room before Whitney wandered into the kitchen. Her small hands were rubbing her eyes, as she let out a tired yawn. Quickly, she spotted Callum on the couch.

"You're up early." She placed herself next to him, as Callum felt the cushion sink beneath him.

"So are you." Callum glanced into Whitney's eyes, as he felt himself become embarrassed.

"How long you been out 'ere babe?" She looked worriedly at her boyfriend, touching his neck with her fingers. She danced her nails up to his scalp, stroking it gently, with caused Callum to become tired.

"'Bout an hour I suppose, sorry."

"You ain't got nothing to be sorry for babe." Whitney looked at Callum with sympathetic eyes. "Come on, go get a shower and I'll make us a tea." She pushed Callum slightly, causing him to lift from the sofa. He slumped off to the bathroom.

Shortly after, Callum came back, a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist. "You seen my joggers Whit?"

"They should be in the bedroom, I washed 'em yesterday babe." She stirred the tea in the two mugs and carried them over to the breakfast table. She meticulously placed both mugs down on the oak, before Callum re-entered, this time wearing a pair of light grey joggers and a black t-shirt. He sat himself down at the table, wrapping his palms around the sides of the cup. He blew gently onto the hot liquid before bringing the cup up to his lips, taking in the sweet tea. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, collecting the rest of the tea, before carefully placing it back down.

"You all set for tomorrow then, your dress an' that?" Callum tried to make conversation.

"Yeah, probably gonna take it over to Sonia's later."

"Alright. Whit?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Whitney felt the shock of the question rush through her stomach.

"Of course I do! Why, don't you?" Callum panicked as he forced out his response.

"Yeah, just don't understand why you'd go for someone like me." Callum gazed down at his mug of tea before he felt a wave of stress sweep over him. Not knowing what to do, he stood abruptly from the table, causing his chair to topple over. He ran to the bathroom, where he locked the door. Shortly, he found himself hunched over the toilet, vomiting. The sound of the dense liquid hitting the toilet bowl made him want to be sick even more, but soon after, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, causing a trail of saliva to stick to his hand. He looked at his hand in disgust, before wiping the spit on his joggers. He turned around, collapsing to the floor. He felt his body shaking, and before long, he felt himself become dizzy. Sharply, his head hit the floor, and soon enough, his body lay still on the cold floor tiles.