only you | camren one-shots

missing you || au

"It's been four years and I don't think about you anymore."

Camila has tried to be strong all day. Has tried not to let the tears fall from her eyes, down her cheeks, down on the ground. Because– because what she said is true. She doesn't think about her anymore. Well– not in the way she used to.

She doesn't think about how she was the only one to truly listen to her, give her advice. The only one not to judge her. The only one to tell her she's worth it.

So, now that she's over all of that, there's no use in wasting any more tears.

At least, that's what she's been telling herself.

But now–

It's–

Seeing the grave always makes her cry. It doesn't matter how long it's been since her death. It doesn't matter how much she's moved on. In how much of a different place she is now. She can cross the entire cemetery, knowing she's going to see it, and she doesn't cry. And then, once she's in front of it, reality hits hard.

She's not here anymore. Not here to listen to her after a long day of school, not here to tell her that she's going to make it no matter what.

It hits her. And– it all–

"I hate you for leaving me," she sobs. "After all these years, I still hate you. I mean, yeah, I know I just said I don't think about you, and it's sort of mostly true but– but I still hate you. And I am thinking about you. Right now, I am. About how I spent my entire childhood with you. About how you were the only one to make me feel better about myself. About how you helped me. Every single goddamn day, you helped me in some way. Made me a better person. And now? What about now?" Camila practically whispers the last few words, "Look at me." She kneels down on the ground. It's cliché, she knows, but she can't help it. "Look at what you made me. You left me, you left me on my birthday, no less, and you really expected me to go on? For God's sake."

Camila just stays there, trying to breathe. She's crying. Sobbing. Hard. So she just stays there, on her knees, for quite some time, clenching her fists, telling herself to get it together.

When she continues talking once a few minutes have passed, her voice is a little stronger than before. How she's gathered that strength, she's not sure. "I had to go to therapy because you were the one keeping me sane. Nobody else was there enough to support me. Just you. I love mom and dad, you know I do, but they didn't get it. Still don't. Maybe, if they'd been there more when I was younger..." She closes her eyes. "But they weren't. You were. And then you leave and– and– I don't know how–" she sobs again, effectively interrupting her own words– "And now I'm still a mess. Four years later, I'm a mess, realizing that it's your death that made me a mess. And I– God, I miss you. I loved you so much, and I miss you. Do you have any idea what I'd give to just talk to you one more time? A whole damn lot. But that's not how it works, and I hate it. I hate this. I hate what I've become, and I hate that I can't seem to get anywhere."

With a shake of her head, Camila slowly opens her eyes. It takes another few moments until she knows she can move again, but once she does, she gets up. "I'm sorry for losing it." She awkwardly looks around to see if anyone's been watching. Apparently not. "I just– it had to be said. During therapy, I learned so much about myself and where my illness comes from," she explains to nobody. "And I just– I haven't been here since last year, so I had to do it today. I had a lot to say. But I don't think you mind." She laughs softly. "In fact, you're probably proud of me."

The prospect makes her smile. It's a smile that doesn't leave her face.

With one last whispered, "I love you, grandma. Always," she walks away from the grave.

*

She opens the door, and is immediately pulled into a hug. Her still present smile turns into a grin, and she says, "Hey, let's maybe close the door, huh?"

Lauren ends their embrace with an exaggerated eye roll which she makes a point of letting Camila see, then does as she's been told, and turns back around. Raises her eyebrow. "Bossy."

"That's what she said," Camila sing-songs. She really, honestly tries to contain her laughter, but she fails miserably. Right after she says the words–

"Hey, stop!" Lauren complains. "Stop laughing!" She starts pouting.

It doesn't do anything. Camila just laughs harder. "Oh my– I don't even know why I–" She may be out of breath. Just a little. It takes a while for her to calm down, and she spends it sitting down on a kitchen chair.

Lauren follows, still pouting.

It's adorable. Camila leans over and kisses her once she's back to being serious. (Mostly.)

"Thanks, Camz," Lauren says sarcastically. But then, she seems to remember that, in fact, today isn't such a great day. Not for Camila, at least. And she, a little uncertainly, asks, "So, uh– how was it?" She bites her lip.

"It was good. I– I got some stuff off my chest." She feels a hand on her cheek. Smiles into the gesture. "I told her about therapy. I mean– I also said some, well, other stuff but in the end I– I told her about it and I think she'd be proud of me."

Lauren smiles at her, and it's the most heartwarming thing in the world. Her eyes are full of warmth – just like her touch is – and her face is all soft. Camila swears she falls in love just a little more. She loves their relationship so much. Loves how they can go from teasing each other to being this loving and caring in such a short amount of time.

She loves how Lauren has helped her through so much in the past.

"I'm proud of you, too." It's said so softly. Gently. Earnestly.

Yeah, Camila is definitely– "So in love with you."

"Me, too," Lauren whispers with the most beautiful of smiles on her face, "I love you, Camila. You got me. Always."