Not Just One Night

Chapter 25

Lauren's POV

"Camila," I gently crawled onto the bed, hovering above her. She didn't stir, until I shook her shoulder slightly. Her eyes fluttered open, disoriented and she looked around until they found me. I laid down on my side, and I rested my head against my open palm, facing her. But I told myself to not get too comfortable. I knew that I'd want to stay but I couldn't.

"Hey," she whispered, grinning only slightly. Her voice was raspy and strained from crying.

"Hey."

It's amazing how I hadn't noticed it before, but the same brown eyes that I've been looking at for two weeks, are broken. And I can see it just in the way that she was smiling up at me. It never reached her eyes. It's clearly apparent now, and knowing that Camila has been hurt; is hurting is far worse than I'd ever imagined it would feel.

I reached up and pushed a stray strand of hair that had fallen against her cheek, back behind her ear, and she leaned into my touch. I traced circles against her skin with my thumb and enjoyed the moment for what it was; it felt like one of the first days with her. Looking at the stranger in the bed beside of me and realizing that I barely know anything about her and being absolutely terrified and excited for what comes next.

Because that's where we're at again; the unknown.

Yesterday, I thought we could have had everything. I was willing to risk my career, I was willing to fight to be with her and our only concerns were that what we are doing wasn't allowed. But today, we're facing so much more.

I have this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach and I'm afraid that we are back to square one.

Her confession makes me question whether I know enough about Camila. Do I know enough to risk everything?

She repositioned herself in the bed, cuddling up against my chest, curtaining one arm over my waist, and against my neck, she asked. "Are you leaving?"

I didn't need her to clarify. I knew she meant more than me walking out of her room. So I explained in a way to let her know that I wasn't giving up on her; that her truth hadn't sent me running.

"It's eight thirty babe, I need to go to work." I was still wearing last night's clothes, and was expected to cross the city, get dressed, then make it to campus before my first class at eleven.

She closed her eyes and breathed an apparent sigh of relief that the only reason I was going was that.

"And if I remember correctly," I joked. "You have classes too. Specifically mine in five hours." She laughed, and sometimes I forget how intoxicating it is. "Attendance is important remember. You're not going to pass just because your teacher has a huge crush on you."

I smiled at her reaction to my comment. She buried her face into the pillow, her long curls spilling out around her. I reached over and drug my fingertips down the length of her spin, feeling every dip. By her breath, I could see her reception of my touch. She rolled her face onto one cheek, looking up at me. I expected that seductive grin that she gives when my hands are on her, but instead her expression was sober.

She wanted to ask or say something but was too afraid.

So I encouraged her. "What's wrong Camila?" I grounded my voice, and there was a bout of silence before she whispered, "I don't want to lose you."

I shook my head and I absolutely hated that the glassiness to those brown orbs was becoming familiar. I reached down, smoothing the wrinkles against her forehead, and she softly laughed. Her demeanor changed as I attempted to quieten her concerns.