just a dream (camren)

fifty seven

December 25th, 2016

The eyes blink open, and for a moment, there's the blissful unawareness that comes with just waking up. Like you're still in a dream but you're not, like you're floating in a moment of total lack of knowledge, and everything about you and who you are is floating just an inch out of your grasp.

Then, the moment is gone, and she remembers. Not entirely, but she remembers some. Some parts of the whole truth.

The woman sits up, blinking the sleep out of her emerald eyes, and looking over to the sleeping woman next to her. She smiles, running her fingers through the chestnut locks, before she remembers the date. December 25th. Christmas. A day for joy, love, happiness and giving.

All she feels is monotone.

It's uncomfortable, to go downstairs, to open presents with the woman she woke up with, and the family she's supposed to feel so much for, but it's like everything is painted in a dull grey, like a whole chunk of her soul is missing.

There's something, though. A small inkling she's had, ever since December 18th, since management had posted their statement on the band account. She'd woken up that day, and there was something, a tug, a pull, and any time she looks at the frantic texts she's been receiving, it gets stronger. It's the first thing she's truly felt in what feels like forever.

Today, when her family is distracted by dinner, and the other woman is back at home with her own family, she follows that pull. She finds the box, that important little box she doesn't entirely remember getting, with the item inside. The item is the key, it's important, and if it isn't delivered, something bad will happen. She doesn't know how she knows this, but she does.

She takes the little box, and writes the words on the card without thinking about them, like they come from something else, and she carries it out of her house, placing it in the passenger seat of her car. She drives with no destination in mind, no proper sense of direction, but when she reaches the place she's supposed to be, she knows it. She brings the car to a stop and looks up at the house, so normal and unassuming.

Picking up the card and the oh so important box, she takes slow steps up the garden path. Glancing through the window, she sees the Christmas tree, lit up in bright lights, the child happily playing with new toys by it as her older sister watches on sadly.

A rush hits her; more feeling than she's ever felt, and for a moment there's the simplest explanation, an understanding of the pull she feels, but then it's gone, just beyond the reach of her fingertips.

You know what you need to do, she tells herself, sucking in a deep breath and staring at the door of the house. Does she knock? No, the answer seems to come for her, that's not what you're here for.

She takes the last few steps up to the door, and puts the box and card on the welcome mat. She stares down at it for a moment, knowing that it's in the right place now, that she's fulfilled her purpose. There's no need for her to linger.

Quickly now, she walks back down the garden path, opening the driver's side of her car. She sits, buckles herself in, and wonders what's next, wonders what her next job is and why she can't remember.

With a sigh, and one last longing glance over at the house, Lauren Jauregui starts her car and drives away.

-

Silence.

Camila hasn't heard anything from anyone since she'd woken up. Dinah had texted her, telling her that the girls all said they didn't know anything, and to tell her to stop aggressively messaging everyone with so called crazy talk.