Professor C (camren)

11 - Friends

Tuesday morning, by the window seat of the airplane bound for Seattle - cruising through the breaking dawn, Camila was pensive. There were quite a lot of unresolved issues that she had left on the ground quite literally and the fact that there wasn't much that she could do from up there frustrated her. The raging power of her annoyance crawled up to her throat, suffocating her and her coping mechanism wasn't quite working out well for her.

She couldn't even smoke there, too. It was the contemptuous definition of torture.

Camila had glared at the tall male teenager who had the unfortunate privilege of sitting next to her in business class. The boy could not seem to find a comfortable spot in his seat with his knees awkwardly pushing against the seat in front. Of course, he'd sat frozen the rest of the way after being graced with those malicious brown eyes.

Why was he even there? If only he'd sit properly and slouch like he was in his living room, he'd have an awful lot of space before him.

By the time the flight attendant came to ask her for her choice of beverage, Camila was dreadfully close to yelling at the poor middle-aged woman who hadn't heard her the first time. It was water. What other drink rhymed with water? Come to think of it, she could have just asked for wine or vodka, tequila, whiskey - maybe even brandy.

Elbow on the metal arm rest, she tapped a beat onto her forehead using her index and middle fingers while she stared at her otherwise still cup of water that was accompanied by a fruit bowl, a plate with one croissant and another with her perfectly rolled omelet, slices of ham and potato wedges. Camila wasn't sure how that would have helped with thinking but she did it anyway.

Trusting other people to facilitate her convoluted tests was particularly difficult. All modesty aside, she was proud of her effective teaching techniques. She may be quite the appalling professor but she wouldn't have been acknowledged for her skills if she couldn't handle the job in the first place.

Lauren Jauregui could handle it, though. And damn, was she confident about that.

But then, she thought about her little family, and her perturbed mind was on a roll. It could have been a film, ready to load the next picture and shed a light upon it.

Camila's main concern was Elf; Luca had endured her verbal abuse far too long to complain. That poor, innocent soul that was supposed to have been given the best care that his parents couldn't give - or wouldn't give, wherever they are and yet, Camila took over a year to award him with her love. Lauren, through Elf, had woken her to the reality that she had been hiding from behind her eyelids.

Lauren again!

If she could, Camila would have dug up some soil from other people's hearts and filled the hole in hers to give everyone, including herself, an illusion that she was good as new. Illusions were better than nothing. It had been way too long since she felt complete. If her loved ones were trees thriving in a bed of soil in her chest, Lauren had personally uprooted herself upon leaving their shared apartment back in Philadelphia.

Lauren freaking Jauregui for the third time!

With a huff, Camila gave up trying to make sense of the fact that Lauren was involved in all of the issues she was yet to face. There was a slight damper on her ego when she took the years into consideration. Surely, time could have healed her wounds. They should have been scars by now. And yet, those marks don't just serve as lessons; they're reminders of anguish to cultivate the blasted "lesson" that had traumatized her.

Besides, moving on required maturity. Was she even as mature as she believed to be? Or, did she really want change - a life without Lauren? A preview of what could have been was provocative and spiteful, and the love Pebble is drenched with would have been shared with their own children. Camila was falling for that little girl, too.