For being the embodiment of the unmentionable, Dinah sure had a hard time with refraining from actually mentioning her – you know – unmentionableness.
It's something Camila has tried to explain calmly to Dinah...well, the figment of her imagination version of Dinah. Because, Camila had come to realize that is exactly what Dinah is at this point – a figment of her imagination. She's still not entirely sure if she should be grateful or insulted by Dinah's daily appearances. The topic of her potential mental instability is a sore topic and another thing listed under the ever increasing list of unmentionables.
But for the most part Dinah complies with Camila's rules and set of boundaries, except of course for the occasional slip ups in which Dinah blatantly reminds her of the unmentionable.
You know, the whole thing of Camila's best friend being dead and all.
It happened almost a year ago. The start of senior year. Right at the precipice of the beginning of their lives. One day Camila went to school alone (which should have been the first hint considering she always met up with Dinah at the bus stop). The whole day had gone by with Camila's grumpy disposition, thinking Dinah had up and decided upon a Senior ditch day without her. It wasn't until about the middle of the day that she began to notice the whispers, and the eyes falling on her, as if gauging her expression. It wasn't until after lunch that the school counselor and principal pulled her aside to inform her that they found Dinah's body that morning. Drowned.
It was almost as if fate had it out for Camila. Or at least held a big fuck you flipped off finger in her direction for the duration of senior year. The first few months were rough. And at the very least she could admit that a radical change in her personality had happened.
Happiness wasn't a term she used so lightly anymore. Who was always happy? There wasn't such a thing. She assumed that it had to do with growing up. Once a person reached the preliminary level of adulthood, they were required to trade in their happiness for the title of adult.
Things weren't always like this. She used to be happy. There are a lot of things she's in denial about. Except this one. There used to be a time she was happy. In fact, there was a time she used to be fun. A time she would've genuinely enjoyed her friends' company, sneaking into movie theaters and sampling froyo at Yogurtland until the manager kicked them out. A time she would've made awful, cringe-worthy puns and inappropriate references to Mean Girls. A time she would've playfully teased Dinah for accidentally asking the cashier at the McDonald's drive-thru for a whopper and then promptly slapping Camila for confusing her.
She used to be happy, but now everything is just so complicated. It began to feel like looking in on a window that's been neglected. Dust and grime coating the glass surface and with every swipe it seems as if another layer of dirt remains. And all Camila manages to see is the distorted images through the filthy window. It's never clean. Ever.
She can't even exactly recall the last time she was genuinely happy. It doesn't help that every time she sees a McDonald's drive-thru, she feels that familiar ache in her chest.
And then to make matters worse (or perhaps better) she began to see Dinah. It happened after she started seeing Dr. Abernathy, which seemed like a bit of a back peddle, considering she was seeing the therapist because her parents thought she was depressed. Yet, having hallucinations of your dead friend wasn't exactly the most productive result of seeing a professional.
But as strange as it sounded, Camila never really questioned it. She never told anyone about Dinah's presence, figuring she didn't need any more of parental worrying or need them to think she belonged in a nut house. And perhaps deep down, Camila knew acknowledging the ridiculous aspect of her 'imaginary' friendship with Dinah put her in a position to question her own sanity. And if there's one thing she knows, it's that she is an incredibly sane person.
It all, however, doesn't change the fact that her best friend is dead.
And Dinah's snarky comment immediately shuts her up into sullen silence.
"What?" Dinah goads, with a teasing smirk. "It's true."
"You know I don't like it when you do that," Camila responds. Her tone is light but there is something heavy in her words as she speaks them. Dinah recognizes it too because she immediately drops the subject which Camila is thankful for.
.
.
Dr. Abernathy's office is filled with neutral earth tones. The kind of traditional color schemes that try to make the patients calm and relaxed. She figures all doctors' offices are required to fit this format. But Hollywood has so royally fucked up her perspective on these offices that she immediately associates it with mental instability, or like, tooth cavities.
There's a water fall rock formation thing (that Camila never bothered to learn the name of) sitting on a small coffee table near the rack of magazines. That's new. It doesn't make her calm or the slightest bit relaxed. In fact, that stupid bullshit excuse for a water fall sculpture is annoying. Grating. The sound of the vertical rushing water muffles everything else in the room for her. Which, in all honesty is really nothing but the receptionist typing and occasional paper shuffling. But at least the lady's fumbling around isn't making her break into a cold sweat.
Camila swallows thickly, tearing her eyes away from the water fall. She feels the fingers of her right hand pick at the seam of her jeans. The flow of the water is relentless, trickling down across the wooden planks of the sculpture. She wishes there was music in here. Anything to suppress that godawful sound.
Before her mother notices her rigid posture, the receptionist tells Camila the doctor is ready for her.
Camila holds in the heavy sigh of relief until she's out of her mother's earshot.
Usually Camila is fine with these sessions. At least the scheduled ones. Abernathy is patient with her, unlike her parents. But that's understandable, she supposes. Abernathy is paid to be patient.
The first day she had walked into therapy a month ago, Dr. Abernathy was not what she had expected. Camila was ready for that entitled old white guy with the stereotypical nuclear family and the pretentious air that all therapists seemed to exude in various forms of fiction. Perhaps that was a bit too cynical and too Esther Greenwood of her to think that way because Abernathy turned out to be the exact opposite.
Abernathy was – cool. Certainly too cool to be stuck in that dressy shirt outfit and constraints of the therapy room. Too cool to be stuck with this kind of job.
There was something so Michelle Obama-esque about her. Something about her that demanded attention. The lull of her voice held a power that was so soothing yet commanded Camila's focus.
And maybe the fact that Abernathy never once made Camila feel like she was trapped under some sort of bell jar helped with her ability to like Abernathy.
"How are you today Camila?" She greets with a smile. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."
My mom nearly lost her head yesterday. Believe me, this is the last place I want to be. I just want her to leave me alone for once –
"Sorry," Camila murmurs in a low voice.
She may like her doctor, but it doesn't necessarily mean she trusts her enough.
"No need to apologize, Camila," Abernathy smiles again.
The smile puts her at ease and the previous stiffness in her posture slowly melts.
"I feel fine," Camila answers her earlier question.
Most of her answers are short, one word and not very revealing. Sometimes she feels guilty because then she'll usually see Abernathy take a few moments to write something down. And it all makes her feel compelled to say more just to compensate for the fact that she's a horrible patient. As if there was even a definitive way to describe a horrible patient.
"Liiiieeessss," Dinah sings, suddenly dropping to sit on the floor by Camila's feet.
Camila shoots her a look, as if to say: Where the hell have you been?
Dinah shrugs her shoulders. "I got held up. Besides, you're the one that up and left without me."
Another normal occurrence. Dinah seemed to have developed a habit of dropping in whenever she pleased. Though, for the most part Camila's narrowed down her arrival times to shortly after the pill ingestion (or at least within the hour).
Camila bites back a sarcastic response, momentarily becoming hyper aware of Abernathy's calculating eyes on her.
"I feel fine," Camila repeats, hiding the annoyance in her voice. "Yesterday I was fine too."
"Girl I think your nose is growing," Dinah laughs. "Pinocchio, get it? Get it? Do you get it Walz? That was hilarious."
Camila rolls her eyes, trying to mute Dinah's laughter. Inappropriate jokes were her thing, at least they used to be.
Camila glances up at Abernathy and returns her attention to the doctor. Abernathy has put her clipboard down and rested her chin in her hand. The last thing she needs is for her doctor to think she talks to herself.
"Yesterday was Dinah's birthday," Abernathy finally says. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
Not particularly.
Camila is silent. Dr. Abernathy returns to scribbling something down. The scratch of the pen against the clipboard is grating and it echoes in her head, feeling as if it's reverberating across her skull. Camila brings a hand to her forehead, pinching the spot between her eyebrows. She lets out a sigh. "I went to Dinah's house."
"You did?" Abernathy puts down her clipboard and leans forward, interested. "That's good."
"No, not good," Camila says and she can't help the heated undertone in her voice. "My... people that I used to know were there too."
"Friends?"
The word makes her uncomfortable. It makes something heavy and cold drop in the pit of her stomach. There was a time she would've described them as just that. A long time ago. All of them – Ally, Normani, even Lauren – were her friends to the point of being inseparable, despite the differences in their social circles. Dinah constantly competing in surfing tournaments, Normani was always so focused upon her dancing, Ally in theater and Lauren in her softball team.
Yet there was a middle ground they all met each other at. It almost seemed cliché that when Dinah died that middle ground became distorted. As if Dinah was the glue and they were the stickers and Camila somehow became the surface in which the stickers suddenly got ripped off from, with Lauren leaving the biggest tear.
Ouch.
"No," she snaps. "They're not friends."
"Liar, liar pants on fire," Dinah accuses, shaking her head.
"And you didn't want these – people – there?" Abernathy continues, after making another note.
"Hah, more like you didn't want one person," Dinah laughs. "Go on! Tell her how Lo can pretty much get your underwear in a twist."
Oh my god Dinah, shut up!
"No," Camila responds.
"Can you tell me why you didn't want them there?" Abernathy asks.
Camila instinctually glances towards Dinah. Her friend gives her an encouraging head tilt in the direction of Abernathy as if prompting her to continue. The heavy feeling in her stomach becomes more apparent.
Camila shakes her head. "I don't know."
"You're such a liar, Mila."
.
.
It's a Wednesday night when things change.
There's nothing particularly profound about the day. Except perhaps the conversation Camila nearly walks in on at three in the morning.
The muffled shrill tone of her mother's voice is what made her stop in her tracks, near the doorframe of the kitchen entryway. It's the wavering chill in her mother's tone that makes her stay. The fact that her father's voice has also suddenly filtered through the wall makes her completely freeze.
"I don't know what to do, Alejandro," her mother says. "I don't know how to help her."
"I know, I know."
"She's our daughter. She shouldn't be suffering like this. We need to get her help."
"Dr. Abernathy suggested to have her join a support group. It might help," his voice is hopeful. Camila isn't sure which one is worse.
"She shouldn't be up in her room all the time. She should be going out, doing just normal things girls her age do,"
"The doctor said people deal with grief differently."
"I just miss my daughter, Alejandro."
It's more than Camila wants to hear. They missed their daughter – the old Camila.
The word 'grieving' sets her on edge and resonates sickeningly in her mind, as hurries back to her room. It spreads in her mind like an unwelcome cold, in her head infecting the rest of her body. It only seems to resonate even deeper the moment she enters her room and looks at the state of it, really looks at it.
Her bed is made, her clothes neatly put away, shoes tucked in her closet. Her desk is untouched, surface shining and reflecting the light of the lamp. Everything is unnaturally tidy. It's an embarrassingly stark difference to her past self's messy room. It's like the warmth of her previous presence has been sucked out dry and replaced with this cold unfamiliarity. It's so strange and wrong and it reeks of her mother's interference. The stench of Camila's own ineptitude suffocates the walls of the room, reminding her that she can't take care of herself. That she's invalidated herself these past months.
She's stopped time in the worst way and for the first time in a long time she feels outraged.
It's as if the conversation she's eavesdropped in suddenly made her realize her lack of a social life and it also made her feel dreadfully behind in her departure from adolescence. She's stuck on the shore waiting for the boat to come ship her off into the sunset.
These rites of passage had suffered because of her self-absorption.
We're calling it self-absorption now?
"Hey, what's up, you look like you're gonna puke," Dinah appears at her side, smirking. Camila regards her briefly.
Everything had changed because of her best friend. She had changed – so blatantly that it became such a bothersome worry for her parents. Even if she did somehow manage to "move on" there's a part of her (a very large part) that doesn't really want to. Because she knows deep down she's not ready to let Dinah go, and even deeper there's this uncanny fear that when she makes it to the other side of the ocean of passage she's going to meet the new Camila. And it's going to be this twisted hybrid version of what she used to be and who she has to be.
Perhaps surviving the bell jar is faking not even being aware of the bell jar in the first place.
Then the thought occurs to her immediately. A rush of adrenaline hits her as she scrambles to her desk, nearly pulling out the drawer from its shelf. She shuffles through it, searching for paper.
"Uh, what are you doing?" Dinah probes. Camila continues with her shuffling until she finds a notebook. Her fingers tremble as she flips through the pages, ignoring the pained reaction she feels in her chest upon looking at her handwriting.
"They want me to seem normal? Fine. I'll give them the most clichéd normal straight off of those pretentious bloggers on the internet," Camila says fiercely, finding the nearest empty page.
"So, like, you're basically just making fun of yourself?"
"I'm making a checklist," Camila continues as if she didn't hear that.
"Oh," Dinah sighs. "That is cliché."
"It's reverse psychology."
"I think the first step is admitting that you're clearly not okay, Mila."
"I'm just fine," she snaps, uncapping a pen she finds on her desk. She holds the tip to the top of the page and debates a title. After a moment of struggling she feels even more annoyed for having worried about something so trivial as a title. With more aggression than she intends (because she accidentally tears the sheet), she scribbles down the number 1 and then pauses.
"What's a thing teenagers are typically expected to want to do?" Camila asks, finally giving Dinah her undivided attention.
"That's kind of insensitive considering I won't be able to do these things anymore. You're, like, rubbing it in my face," Dinah pouts.
"Dinah be serious."
"Okay, fine, uhhh, how about losing the v-card?"
"Of course you would think of that."
"Hey, dying a virgin isn't all that it's cracked up to be! I mean, besides maybe being sacrificed to Satan or something, it's really not great."
Camila's grip on her pen tightens.
"Sorry, too soon?"
"You need to stop joking around so casually about your death Dinah. It's going to bite you in the ass one of these days."
"What's the worst that could happen? I could die?" Dinah rolls her eyes. Camila ignores her, writing down 'have sex' next to number one. "You're going to make this list of all the things we were supposed to do together and then halfway through you're going to get all sad and end up quitting. Is this really going to help?"
Dinah does have a point. The things coming to mind were things they should have done in high school. That they were planning to do, instead of Camila struggling to stay afloat alone during her senior year. She didn't even get to walk the stage, despite receiving a diploma. Not that it mattered. Everyone knows that stupid scroll the principal hands out is just for show.
Below the first on the list, Camila writes: graduate properly.
"What does that even mean?" Dinah asks, peering over her shoulder. Camila ignores her.
It takes her about twenty minutes until she's semi satisfied with her list. A list that only goes up to about, like, three, something she'll worry about later. For now, it's good.
"Okay, in no particular order: graduate, lose the v-card, go to a party – like a real party."
"Because my birthday party wasn't real enough for you?" Dinah deadpans.
"That's not the same thing and you know it."
"Mila, I don't think this is a very good idea," Dinah says after a while. "And who the hell do you plan on having sex with? Austin Mahone?"
"Ew, don't be disgusting, Dinah," Camila fake gags.
Having sex is probably one of the least of her worries on that list.
Camila doesn't tell Dinah, partly because she doesn't want to see that smug look on her face but mostly because Camila can't really admit it to herself that she was already thinking of something to check off number one.
It seems a little like backward logic. Painfully, mortifying backward logic making the one person she presently cannot stand the first candidate to sleep with. In fact, there are things that sound so much more infinitely pleasing and make more rational sense than having sex with Lauren Jauregui.
(It irritates her that there is a very tiny, miniscule (basically nearly non-existent) part of her that disagrees with this sentiment. It's a small part that should have been long gone and tossed away the moment Lauren Jauregui decided to toss Camila out of her life).
But it occurs to Camila that one of the ways she could do the most convincing jobs of seeming "normal" would be to reconcile with her. Or at least make it seem as if their friendship is going in the right direction. And perhaps being associated with Lauren could lead to an image of rekindled friendship with her former friends, Ally and Normani.
(Also the fact that Lauren is literally next door is more than just convenient at this point).
Her mind is racing with ideas, as she chews on the end of her pencil. Dinah watches her dubiously.
"You know, you're putting in a lot of work to just pretend, Mila," Dinah mutters. "I have a feeling that you're riding for some terrible, terrible fall."
"Are you really quoting Catcher in the Rye? When did you even read that?" Camila asks petulantly.
"Hey I read!" Dinah responds with a pouts. "But that's not the point I'm making. Mila this list is dumb."
It is. There is no denying it. It's probably one of the stupidest things Camila's ever even thought of doing. But she's resolute. She's determined. In fact, she's so determined, she decides to go attempt to check off number one right now before this motivation fades away and the embarrassment manages to filter into her system.
She folds her list, stuffs it into her pocket and walks towards the window.
"Hey where are you going?" Dinah asks as she notices Camila throwing on her sweater.
"Mind your business."
"Oh my god, you're going to Lauren's aren't you?"
Camila blushes. "What? No!"
"Don't lie! I can see it all over your face."
"Dinah, shut up. I'm leaving," Camila simply rolls her eyes and throws a leg over the window ledge.
"Be careful it's like really late." Dinah warns.
"I'm just going next door, relax."
"Aha! So you are going to Lauren for the sex."
Camila ignores her, leaning as far as she can until her tip of her sneaker touches the ground. She steadies herself precariously on one foot and hops out until she can bend her other knee and pull it out.
"I'll be back. Stay here," Camila commands.
"Blah, blah I'm not going anywhere." Dinah waves her off and Camila makes her way next door.
The wooden fence dividing the two yards is intimidating. It stands a good foot over her. It doesn't immediately occur to her to just walk around and enter the property like a normal person. She's on a mission. And something as rational as entering like a normal person kind of gets thrown out of the window. She's asking Lauren – Lauren Jauregui – to help her check off number one on her list. This isn't the time for rational thought.
With a sharp inhale, she begins the climb over the fence.
The movies clearly made an unrealistic impression of scaling a seven foot wooden fence. So by the time she's reached the top, she's sweating through her clothes.
Camila huffs as she straightens her hoodie, brushing away the twigs and leaves from her clothes. Her palms are scraped from the wooden splinters, but she ignores the sting as she creeps towards the window. After a few moments of clumsy stumbling (most of which she suspects is probably her own feet), Camila flashes her phone light against the window pane.
From the years that she's known Lauren Jauregui, the girl was notorious for leaving her window just a crack open. And no, it wasn't for any sane reason like wanting to not suffocate on one's own breath in a stuffy room. It was because Lauren firmly believed in the notion that Peter Pan was going to visit her one of these days and take her off to Neverland. Which is stupid. But Lauren became irritatingly obsessed with Peter Pan after that version with Jeremy Sumpter came out back in 2003, and Camila was easily enamored with a lot of the things Lauren did. So if Lauren wanted to leave her window open for Jeremy Sumpter then who was Camila to judge?
Except Lauren's window is completely shut.
"As if you couldn't make my life even more difficult Jauregui," Camila grumbles, pressing her palms flat against the glass surface and attempting to push it upward.
She hasn't even locked the damn thing.
The window screeches open and –
"I HAVE A BAT AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT" Lauren's shaky scream makes Camila flinch and drop her phone. The screen falls flat on its front, making the flashlight reflect upon her face. And when Camila peers through the window, she catches Lauren gripping that bat she was threatening Camila with in her hands. Lauren drops the bat as soon as she sees her. "Camila? What the hell?"
Camila bends down to pick up her phone, and moves to enter. As she straddles the window pane, she turns to look up at Lauren's incredulous expression.
For a split second, seeing Lauren's shocked green eyes evokes something in her. Something she's buried down a long time ago. But the split second is over and all she feels now is the sudden urge to slap her.
Camila swallows down the mortification and pride that bubbles in her chest upon seeing her. "I need you to help me."
"H-help?"
"Yes," Camila murmurs, throwing her other leg over the ledge and hopping off the window sill. She takes in Lauren's appearance. It's clear that Lauren was probably asleep, if the disheveled mismatched clothing and messy hair isn't an obvious indication, it's probably the way Lauren rubs her eyes. Camila feels something flip in her stomach, but before anything more can happen, she averts her gaze.
Her eyes fall around the rest of the room. The small night light offers a little visibility through the dark room. It's a lot emptier than how it used to be – before Lauren started college. The band posters she had up are long gone and there are a few plastic bins labeled stashed in the corner.
"Camila, it's four in the morning," Lauren tries to say, but Camila doesn't really give her much of a chance. She doesn't give her much of a chance for anything. Because in the next second, Camila drops quite possibly the largest and most unexpected bomb on her.
"I need you to have sex with me."
.
.
a/n: also on: http://5hfanfiction.tumblr.com/post/125342729517/riptide-chapter-2
k happy reading