DREAMS PERSPECTIVE:
I come home from a bunch of meetings to Camila, my girlfriend as of recently, and George and Nick sitting at the dining table. The three of them aren't the best pair. Camila has a very strong Colombian accent, and she grew up in her very closeted and closed off village until two years ago, when she was 19. Sometimes she says words wrong, and George will correct her, and the pair of them get into an argument. And Nick? You should see the way he looks at her. I feel like telling him sometimes that her eyes are on her face, not her chest. I find it funny though, so does Camila.
"Ay dios mío, papi, they were making fun of me!" She immediately says, rushing over to me.
"What? Really?" I say.
"No, we weren't," George says, huffing. "We were telling her how to say my name. She says 'Yorge.' Camila, it's George."
"That's what I say, 'eorge.'" Camila throws her hands up in the air, her bracelets jingling together.
"So what, she has an accent? You have one, too, George. Sometimes you say words wrong." Nick says.
"Oh, you would defend Camila," George says. Nick scoffs. I giggle a little. Camila storms off, muttering something.
"Americano estúpido o británico, lo que sea. Su nombre es George, digo George!" She calls out as she storms off upstairs. I giggle again, and start looking for a drink to have.
"It's- it's so-" George mutters. "She just called me American, I think! I'm European!"
"What, dude? Imagine how frustrating it is for her, people constantly making fun of her accent and how she says words. English is her third language, give her a break. She's only on you because you're always on her. What do you expect her to do? Back down?"
"I never really though about it like that." George says. "I'm gonna go upstairs and say sorry to her. I'll be back in a second, Kay?" He rushes upstairs.
CAMILAS PERSPECTIVE:
I wipe my eyes as George walks into my bedroom.
"Ay, what do you want now?" I ask, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"I Wanna say sorry. I'm not gonna pretend I understand what's it's like constantly being ridiculed for your accent, or how you pronounce certain words. But I do wanna make myself someone you feel comfortable talking to about it, and me being part of the problem isn't doing that. I'm really sorry." He says, honestly, sitting down beside me. He has his hands on his knees.
"George, I forgive you. Its just difficult sometimes, for me to speak some words."
"I get it, and it's okay. Thanks for forgiving me," he says, hugging me.
"Está bien, Jorge. Sabes que te quiero," I say to him, squeezing him a little.
"Wait, I know this one," he says, giving himself a second. "Um- yo también te amo." He says in very broken Spanish.
I seathe my teeth a little, "very good!" I lie to him. "Okay, come, we go downstairs."
"Camilla, it's-"
"George. I swear to the God," I mutter.
"Right. Okay, we go downstairs," he repeats after me, and we head back downstairs.
"All good?" Clay asks. I run up to him.
"Yes, all good," George says.
"We are all good," I say. "Maybe you can buy me something to celebrate- like those shoes I want today," I nod.
"Go look on the dining table," he laughs. I tilt my head, and walk over, and there's a Christian Louboutin box sittting there.
GEORGES PERSPECTIVE:
Camila is squealing and saying a bunch Of things in Spanish and as she's jumping up and down Nick is watching her.
"Stop being gross," I say to him.
"Wh- what?" Nick says, looking back at us.
"She's my girlfriend, Nick," Dream scoffs.
"She's out of your league anyways," I retort you Nick. Dream and I giggle to each other.
"Dude, she's way out of everyone's league. Look at her," Nick whispers. "And you're sure she's not a gold digger?" Nick asks.
"Nope. I'm not sure at all."
