only you | camren one-shots

(she is) everything that helps me get through the day || au

A/N: this was from a prompt by dont-knoww. the request was to have Camila be at an amusement park where she sees actress Lauren perform on stage. should have loads of anxiety. and pining.

so here it goes. i sincerely hope i managed to deliver what you asked.

*

"Excuse me," she mumbles to a tall guy in khaki shorts, "I need to get--" A groan tumbles past her lips. "Never mind." She can feel his questioning gaze on the back of her neck as she keeps her head down and quietly shuffles her way out of the dizzying crowd. It takes only a few steps until she's reached the door to one of the many restrooms of the park. The second she's inside the stall, she leans against the wall. A long sigh leaves her throat as she ruffles her own hair. "Jesus."

She can't believe how exhausting today has been. It isn't even one yet---it's merely half past twelve---and she's had more than enough. Being here has drained all the energy she'd had. And she had a lot of it. She had actually been looking forward to today. Now, everything is just terrible.

It always goes the same way. Every single time. It sounds super fun in theory, she thinks she can focus on the rides and the fresh air and the colorful surroundings. And then she gets there, and all she can do is try not to to throw up from all the anxiety that she gets. The roller coasters have nothing on her anxiety. There is no way they'd ever be able to induce the same amount of nausea in her.

It's such a shame, too. She used to love amusement parks, she used to be able to enjoy them freely, without any doubts and worries. And now? She still loves the concept of them, sure, but being here, in reality, is a nightmare. She can't even say how or why she managed to convince herself to come here this time. It may have been the usual, "It's going to be so much better than I remember!" Or maybe it was, "Ah, once I'm there it's going to be fine. I'll be okay!" Or how about, "Come on, the rides will distract you enough, you won't even remember you were anxious in the first place?"

Camila wants to slap herself. She really should learn to not trust any of the tricks that her brain plays on her in calm situations. In the end, reality is always worse than just thinking about it. With her arm covering her face, she sinks down onto the toilet. "I'm such a mess," she mutters to nobody in particular.

It isn't even like she has any excuse. She can't say, "my friends dragged me here." She can't blame her parents, can't blame her sister. It's her. She wants to fight her anxiety. Wants to tell it, "Look at me! Look at me do this stuff, you have no power over me!" Needless to say, however, exposure therapy does not seem to be working all that well with her.

Yet here she is again.

The loud creak of the old bathroom door is a very distant sound to her; she's so lost in her self-deprecating thoughts that she barely notices anything that is happening around her. It is the same thing. Repeating itself over and over and over again. "You should have known better," "You're a failure," "You really need to grow up, you're such a child."

This is the exact reason why she can never relax, why today is such a mess, why every day of her life is exhausting. Her brain won't give her a rest. There's always something it reminds her of that she hasn't done yet; there's always something she needs to contemplate before making a decision, even if it's something as small as what to eat for dinner.

Which is why she should have known coming her would almost certainly cause her to break down. Be it in the middle of a ride or while walking down one of multiple paths leading up to one---or in a restroom stall. Because it's not happening for the first time by far---she's broken down before, so often, even right here, in this park---and she wants to rip the skin off of her entire body to punish herself for falling for what the tiny moment of euphoria she'd experienced had made her do.