memento vivere

nine // ❝ camila cared about somebody like me ❞

“you sure you wanna be here with me, y/n?” camila took off her backpack and left it on top of the queen-sized bed.

we bought a house together with the leftover money, still suitable for the two of us in the upcoming days or weeks or months or years. we chose the cheapest one in the neighbourhood and it was a secluded area with almost no furnitures left at all. the lights flickered and we might get that problem out of the way in the next few days. other than the negative issues, space was sufficient for us and the bedroom was okay for two people.

“of course, i'm down for anything.” i laid the tip of my forefinger on the wallpaper that was sticking off the wall and i slid it and saw that it was layered with so much dust. i shook it off my mind and sat on the mattress of the bed, i placed my bag beside me and took a polaroid out of the seamed pocket. it was my only picture throughout my whole childhood and my whole teenage years.

polaroids were not my thing. i was not what you would call a photogenic person. the polaroid had me and my elder brother in it, his hand draped around my shoulders as he stood beside me with a proud smile. i couldn't recall when this picture was taken but it was all that i had that made me remember him. my mother took it, she was forced to by one of her friends.

camila sat beside me, so close that our arms touched.

“is that your brother?” she inquired.

i handed her over the old polaroid and she took it, surveying its details.

“yeah. that was us before. before he was gone. it was taken by our mother.” i couldn't stand mentioning my mother. she was the mother that disowned her children and only cared about having the time of her life while her husband sprawled around the town with other women.

“do you have other pictures?” camila carefully ran her finger over the polaroid as if she was afraid that it would disintegrate to pieces if she provided it with intense pressure.

i buried her free hand with my own. “no, only that. my family hated taking photos.”

“it's all right,” she said.

“nothing's all right. i have a picture with my dead brother.” it was true.

i invested my whole focus on camila's warm hand that was holding mine and the moments when i kissed her and the night where her moans filled with ecstasy contained my apartment and when she was being so inquisitive but she also being watchful of her own words. that was camila. she gave meaning to me even after my broken family, even after the years of endless abomination.

camila suddenly planted a kiss on my cheek and when i averted my head to her direction, she smiled so wide and leaned further to kiss me full on the lips.

she broke the kiss, her dark hair fell to her forehead, her eyes also began to dim with the lights.

“it's going to be okay now. right?”

“i think so,” i replied, not sure of what to say.

camila stood up from her position and took hold of the photo frame that also came in with the house. camila blew air on the frame and dust emerged on the surface. she placed the polaroid on the frame and left it on the bedside table.

i stared at the polaroid and i just saw how painful his smile was. how it went downhill from there in spite of the mere fact that neither of us cared for each other, even including our parents.

i rose from the mattress and was already leveled up with camila, who instinctively had her hands on my either sides of my face and i saw her eyes were glossy in appearance and i acknowledged that she was about to cry. nobody cried in front of me. no one did. not even my brother who was diagnosed with depression. i thought this world was ruled with pride and strength and that no one would ever reach the limit where they would break down.

but camila was right here from the very beginning, proving my observations incorrect.

“why are you crying?” i was worried. was there something that i did wrong?

“i told you, didn't i? i love you,” she announced to me.

i nodded, wrapping my fist with my sleeve and wiped it below her eyes where her tears were. “you told me that you love me, yes. what's wrong now?”

“i can't believe this. you had to go through shit and now you are here with me in the neighbourhood, moving in together. what's so special about me? we met four days ago, y/n.” she continued crying and i continued wiping her tears away from her eyes. i was glad that she wore no makeup because, even without witnessing her with it, she was far more exquisite with none of it applied to her facial feature.

“i told you it's okay. i don't care if we met four days ago. like what you said, i should know how i feel.”

“well, what are you left with? what do you have in the end?” her hair was left disheveled and her lips were so chapped, she looked great nonetheless.

“you.”