She had no idea how she made it back to the house without being seen, had no idea how she found her way upstairs without drawing attention, had no idea how her body seemed to work when her brain and heart were at such odds:
"Leave!" her brain cried.
"Stay!" her heart begged.
She fumbled forward, at a loss, at an impasse, at a roadblock, at an insurmountable, unbeatable, unmovable wall.
She blames you, her brain protested.
This is Camila, her heart reminded her. No matter how much she's hurt you, there is a reason you're best friends, a reason you fell in love, a reason you two trust each other explicitly (lies, lies, lies now, for even if those reasons existed, she couldn't seem to recall them).
She is breaking you, her brain warned.
She has always put you back together, her heart argued.
Leave! (Stay.)
Stay! (Leave.)
Lauren got to the bathroom, locked the door, turned on the faucet, and gripped the edge of the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. She seemed pale, dark shadows beneath her eyes, cheeks stained with tears. (Leave! Stay!)
When you needed her she was gone. She is shredding your heart. Protect yourself. Cutting off ties is far less painful than this charade, this train-wreck, her brain suggested.
Two wrongs don't make a right, her heart exclaimed. If you don't like a behavior, you don't do it too.
Leave, her brain pressed. Protection is key. Fight or flight, and the time for fighting has long since passed.
Stay, her heart stressed. This isn't Camila. This isn't the girl you love. Talk to her. Tell her the entire truth. If you're holding back, then why can't she be?
Stay! (Leave.)
Leave! (Stay.)
Lauren looked away from her reflection as a sob escaped her, as she bent forward, holding her middle, trying to prevent a panic attack, trying to stem the pain, trying to ignore her brain and her heart because they were the reasons she was even in this mess.
Her heart beat for Camila.
Her brain made her think that was okay.
(It had been easy, loving Camila. It had been safe, sure, sweet. It had been easy, loving Camila. So when did it become so hard, so twisted, so prickly, so wrong?)
She's selfish, her brain whispered. Look at what she's done.
Lies, her heart murmured. Lying to yourself is not the way.
There was nothing there in the first place. No love. No affection. You were barely friends, her brain continued.
Lies! Lies, her heart bellowed. You didn't pull those reasons out of thin air. What you felt was real and true. Remains real and true.
(What were the reasons? What, what, what?)
"Lauren?" A knock. Normani's worried voice.
Ignore it, her brain hissed.
Open it, her heart advised. (Open what?)
"Lauren. Let me in." Normani's voice was sterner, tougher, surer. (Leave! Stay! Ignore! Open!)
She turned away from the sink, stared at the lock, and then, tremendously tentatively, she unlocked the door and let it swing open. Normani took one good long look at her before stepping in and closing the door, locking it once more.
"What happened?"
"I think that I should leave."
"What did Camila do?" Lauren's shoulders couldn't bear the weight anymore. Her back had nearly buckled. Fighting was hard, fighting was exhausting, fighting no longer seemed worth it. (Reasons, there were reasons, she was sure, but she couldn't remember them.)
(Leave, leave, leave, leave!)
"I came here to help," she said, her voice breaking at the end. "At least, I think I did. Mostly. But I wanted to fix us. To tear off the blindfold and call out to her." Normani didn't say a word, she merely listened, merely lent her presence, her strength. "And I made mistakes. I know it. I do. Even before Matt."
"Lauren..." But Lauren merely shook her head, unable to listen. Because she knew Normani would defend her. Knew that Normani always rooted for her. Knew that even now, falling apart and fraying at the edges, Normani would offer support. (She knew, because Normani was there the next day. Normani had listened to the entire story and shook her head, repeating, it's not your fault, it's not your fault.) She knew, and she did not want support.
"You never told her." Normani shook her head.
"You told me not to."
"I think I should leave," she repeated, and Normani sighed.
"I don't blame you."
"What would you do?" Normani leaned against the door, arms crossed over her chest, her eyes downcast.
"Honestly? I'd yell. Break something. Then I'd leave. Force her to take the first step to get back in my good graces."
Leave, her brain agreed. Leave! You know Camila will never take that first step.
Stay, her heart said. Who cares who takes the first step, what's important is that the step is taken at all.
"What should I do?" she asked, no longer angry, no longer sad, no longer anything. She was empty. She was tired. So very tired. (Heart or head? Head or heart? Head or heart?)
(Neither, neither, neither. Both were trouble. Both were wrong.)
Normani smiled softly, and though Lauren wasn't sure if she could ever forget what Normani had done —ever forget that when it came down to a choice, Normani took the easy way out and merely sided with the majority—she found she didn't have the energy anymore to be angry with Normani. She knew she had every right to be, she knew. But her heart was worn thin, and she no longer wished to lie to herself—lie and claim she didn't need anyone. (She did, she did, she did.) Weariness, exhaustion, fatigue had seeped into her bones, was a burden on her mind, was an impediment to the expansion of her lungs. Too tired to be angry. Too tired to keep up the fight. Too tired. Too tired.
"I can't decide for you, Lauren," Normani said, and Lauren nodded stiffly. "What do you want? Right now. What do you want?"
Don't trust her. Leave! Don't give in, her brain shouted.
Stay. Choose me, her heart whispered.
Lauren wiped her cheeks with her palms, stood straight, attempting to exude a strength she did not feel.
"A friend," she said. "Just a friend."
//
Shawn leaned back, looking supremely uncomfortable. If he felt even half as much awkwardness as she did, she found she sympathized with him immensely.
This was a bad idea.
"This may have been a bad idea," Normani muttered, looking from Shawn to Ally to Lauren, grimacing.
"For the record," Shawn said, holding up a hand, "I didn't choose any sides. I haven't talked to anyone in months."
"Yes, thanks Shawn Your impartiality is noted," Ally muttered with a roll over her eyes.
"Lauren," Shawn insisted, ignoring Ally entirely, "I never blamed you. Matt was an ass when he drank. We all knew that. If anything, it was our fault for leaving him alone with you."
"Maybe you should've told Camila that," Lauren said, fingering her plastic coffee cup. The barista in the back eyed them oddly, clearly wondering why four twenty-somethings seemed to only speak in hushed, angry whispers. Lauren felt sorry for her, too.
"No one could tell Camila anything after it happened," Ally said with a shrug. "She wasn't talking to anyone. You think we all chose to abandon you and side with her, that we hung out and ignored you?"
"I don't know, did you?"
"No," Normani said immediately. "You're the proverbial glue that held us together. With you and Camila at odds, the rest of sort of...did our own thing."
"I haven't even seen Camila since that night at the bar," Shawn said, leaning forward and looking at her intently. "I called a few times, but she ignored me, and honestly...I didn't really try all that hard."
"But you didn't call me at all. Not once. None of you, except for Normani."
"Yeah guys. Only I called."
"Twice. Twice, Normani. Don't get all high and mighty." Ally groaned, shaking her head.
"This was definitely a bad idea."
"Why are we here?" Lauren asked, sighing.
"You said you wanted your friends. So here we are."
"I asked for friends, not turncoats and backstabbers."
"Lauren, we screwed up. And I know an apology won't cut it," Shawn said, staring at her, his signature frown in place, his brown eyes serious. "So give us a chance to make it up to you. Let us help you, let us attempt to regain that trust."
Say no, her brain argued. This is doomed to failure. Don't repeat the same mistakes again. You'll only end up hurt.
Say yes, her heart suggested. The risk of pain is worth it. Take a leap. Choose me.
"How're you going to help me?" she asked, draining the last of her coffee. Ally grinned widely, grabbing Lauren's hands and squeezing them.
"Well, for one, we can shoulder some of that weight. I heard about the Lovatos. Still want to paint her house and mow her lawn?"
//
She was dirty, covered in grass stains and paint, but she was grinning as she, Normani, and Ally drove up to the Cabellos' home.
They'd worked for hours at Demi's home, accepting her drinks but refusing the sincere and teary eyed offer to stay for lunch. Instead, they'd had a quick—and unhealthy—meal at the nearest fast food restaurant, after which Shawn decided to drive back home, pulling Lauren into a surprise hug before he left, promising her he'd text and call (and he did, literally five minutes later, prompting Ally to call him a 'suck up').
All in all, it had been nice, full of jokes and catching up, a much-needed reprieve from the chaos and sadness of the morning. So she was grinning when they drove up to the Cabellos' home, was grinning as they headed to the kitchen to grab a beer, grinning when Ally told her about her new boyfriend—"His name is Adam. And he's just so lame. But in a good way"—and Normani told her about something involving her dissertation that went way over Lauren's head.
She was grinning when Camila walked into the kitchen.
Silence immediately fell, Normani and Ally not moving or offering up explanations—as if they felt there was no need for an explanation—and Camila staring at them with a blank expression. Lauren's grin slowly faded as the silence grew longer, as the stillness stretched on. Then, as if there'd never been a pause at all, Camila laughed.
"Is there more beer?" she asked and Normani heaved an audible sigh of relief as Ally stood and grabbed a beer for Camila.
"God, Camila, it was the worst. Lauren had us working," Ally complained as she handed over the beer, clearly waiting to see what Camila would do next. But Camila seemed oblivious to the attention because she merely sat at the table and sipped at her beer.
"Where'd you go?"
"We got coffee with Shawn, bought paints from the hardware store, then went over to the Lovatos, to paint their porch and mow her lawn," Normani said, grinning. "Though, it's winter. Who knows what she's been doing to that grass to make it grow."
"I haven't been there in ages," Lauren explained, frowning. "And Demi doesn't have time to tend to her lawn."
"She had time to yell at us for not painting correctly," Ally murmured, but Normani punched her shoulder.
"Shut up. You were the one that seemed to think it was a good idea to teach Taylor and Art that tossing around paint was okay."
"It was funny."
"To you maybe," Normani muttered, and though Lauren laughed, her eyes were still on Camila. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for her to tell off her friends for being with Lauren for half the day, waiting for her to claim it didn't do to be friends with people you couldn't trust. But she didn't do that.
Instead, she smiled.
And unlike Lauren's smiles, or John's smiles, or even Carol's smiles, it wasn't faked or forced or flimsy. It was true, honest, a genuine happiness appearing in her eyes. (Because Lauren knew, knew when Camila smiled for real and when she didn't. No one could read Camila like Lauren.)
"It sounds like you guys had fun. That's great," Camila said, still smiling, and when her eyes met Lauren's, the smile didn't fade, didn't wither, didn't die. It grew. "You needed to get out of the house. I know it can be frustrating with all my family."
Tell her, her brain shouted, flailing about. Tell her you left because of her. Tell her that you heard her, were hurt by her. What goes around comes around—you went through pain, shouldn't she too?
Choose me, her heart whispered. Choose me.
(What was love? Kind, selfless, forgiving, her heart whispered.)
(What was love? Kind, selfless, forgiving, her brain agreed.)
Do you love Camila? Always.
She smiled at Camila—a real, sincere, not forced, not faked, not flimsy, sort of smile. (Choose me, her heart whispered.) "Yeah," she said finally, "it was a lot of fun."
//
Their game of Monopoly had turned into an all out war.
Ellie—who'd put up a fake sort of fight, pretending she wasn't interested in such games—had teamed up with her brother, the two of them being rather serious about playing by the rules. Ally and Normani, however, spent more time arguing with each other over who owned Park Place and Boardwalk than actually playing the game. Thus, it was Ellie who noticed that Lauren had been stealing from the bank rather consistently.
"Hey! That's not fair!"
"I'm the banker," Lauren explained. "I'm doing my job."
"Where's your integrity? Your honor?" Peter asked, looking offended. Lauren snorted and patted him on the head.
"Look, kid, I'm the banker. You're lucky the bank has any money at all."
"Stop cheating, Lauren," Camila said, not looking up from her book.
"Sorry, Camila, I can't hear you over the sound of my dough."
"You're literally stealing from kids," Camila responded, raising her eyebrows, meeting Lauren's eyes, unable to hide her grin. "Stop being mean."
"First of all, what're Ally and Normani? They're adults."
"Barely—"
"Secondly, if your cousins want an honest banker they should've said something." Camila laughed, put her book aside and came to sit on the floor next to Lauren, holding out her hand.
"It's in the rules, Lauren, it's implied," Ellie said, raising her chin.
"You're the weirdest fifteen year old ever," Lauren muttered, crossing her arms. "How about I cut you in? Ten percent."
"I'm not going to be a part of your illegal activities!"
"Oh my god. What are you?"
"Stop being mean, Lauren," Camila chided, but she was laughing. "Give back the money."
"No, I like the money."
"Let her keep the money," Normani shouted, waving the Park Place card over her head, letting out a shriek when Ally tackled her and tried to wrest the card out of her grasp. "Me and Lauren will rule the world!"
"I swear, I will not give two hundred to any of you when you pass go," Lauren threatened when Peter and Ellie stared her down. "I'll cut you both in. Ten percent each."
"Why are you corrupting my cousins?" Camila laughed, reaching over to grab a few of Lauren's five hundred bills. Lauren's eyes widened and she snatched the money out of Camila's hand, turning her back to her.
"No, don't touch the money."
"It's not very nice," Camila chuckled, taking another bill. Lauren sighed, turning around.
"Okay, fine. How about I cut you in, too? Ten percent."
"Are you kidding? I want fifty."
"That's not fair, I'm already giving twenty to the integrity police over there." Ellie and Peter snorted in indignation. "I'll give you twenty."
"Fifty."
"You drive a hard bargain. Twenty-five."
"Lauren. Give me the money," Camila said, raising her eyebrows.
"You're not even playing," Ally said, laughing when she managed to get Park Place. "What do you need the money for?"
"I'm Robin Hood, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor," Camila said, raising her chin, striking a pose.
"Who says I'm not the poor one?" Lauren muttered. "I should be compensated for being the banker."
"That's not in the rules," Peter said, and Lauren picked up the thimble from the board, shaking her head.
"Sorry, Pete. The bank is officially kicking you out of the game for being a spoilsport."
"You can't do that!" Ellie said, but she was clearly trying to hold back a laugh. The fifteen year old who hadn't even wanted to be there in the first place, trying to hide the fact that she wanted to laugh.
"I do what I want," Lauren said, picking up Ally's piece as well. "You're kicked out for stealing from my fellow dictator, Normani."
"Stage a revolution!" cried Camila.
"Charge!" cried Peter, and before Lauren knew what was happening, an eight year old had tackled her, sitting on her stomach. "Take the money back, Camila. I got her."
"Do you?" Lauren asked, and before Peter knew what was happening, she'd picked him up, spinning him around. "Still got me, Peter?" But the boy—clearly every bit a Cabello like his father —had a flair for the dramatics.
"Make my death count!" he shouted, reaching out theatrically towards his sister and cousin, before going limp in Lauren's arms. Lauren dropped him onto the couch.
"Well damn," she said, shaking her head with faux sadness. "The first casualty of war. Guess you won't need your property or money." Peter opened one eye.
"It's Ellie's."
"You're not selling it anymore, kid. Commit to your role." He stifled a chuckle and closed his eyes.
"I'll avenge Peter's death," Ally said, standing and holding out a pillow like a shield. "Let's go, Lauren."
"I'm just going to put this out there, but you do realize this is all just a game, right Ally?" Lauren said when she noticed the glint in Ally's eyes.
"Game? Monopoly isn't a game. It's war!" While Lauren stared at Ally worriedly, afraid she'd actually attack, Camila came up from behind, grabbing her, arms wrapped tightly around her waist.
"All right, Ellie. Take over the bank," she said, her voice right by Lauren's ear, and Lauren could do nothing but stand there, hating that her knees felt a little weak.
Abort, abort, abort, shouted her brain. Get out of here! You're angry. You're angry.
You can be angry later too, her heart offered.
This is a trap! A trick! She luring you into a false sense of security. You're angry, angry, her brain reminded her.
This is Camila, her heart whispered. Choose me.
Lauren pulled away, clearing her throat awkwardly.
"Sorry, guys. I forgot I had to call Dinah. I'll be back, okay? Ellie can have the bank." And without looking to see their expressions, she fled.
//
She was forced to call Dinah so that she wouldn't be a liar. Her sister sounded breathless, and Lauren could barely hear her over whatever commotion was going on the other end.
"Is everything okay?"
"Lauren, she got in! She got in!"
"What's going on? Is Mom all right?"
"Better than all right! That clinic, the one with the top notch doctors, they called today, said she was accepted. I told them we couldn't pay and they said it was already taken care of."
"What? Who—"
"Some old dude died, apparently. Left a lot of money for cases like ours. But she's in, God, she's in."
"Are you sure? Like, this is legitimate? Totally credible?"
"Yes! The paperwork went through just a few hours ago. Lauren, she's going to get treatment. She's going to be fine."
"Can I talk to her?" Dinah didn't answer—instead, there was the sound of shuffling, a muffled voice, and then, wonderfully—in a bright, strong, healthy voice—her mother spoke.
"How's the fake dating going, sweetheart?"
"Your priorities are out of whack."
"Lauren."
"Not well. I think, well, I think I have to come to terms with the fact that sometimes people just drift apart."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Right."
"What?"
"Nothing. It's just, sweetheart, you can lie to yourself. You can lie to Camila. But you can't lie to your mother."
"What am I lying about?"
"You know."
"Mom. I'm glad you're healthy. I'll be back to see you as soon as I can."
"Take your time, Lauren. I already have Dinah breathing down my neck twenty-four/seven. I don't need you too."
"I love you, Mom. So much."
"Are you sure this is my daughter? Because my daughter hates talking about her feelings."
"Mom. I love you."
"Oh, sweetheart, I know. I love you too. And give Camila my best. You should bring her with you. Even if things don't work out. There're some people you can't afford to let drift away."
//
She laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling lighter than she had in months. Her mother was getting treatment, was getting help, and she'd spent the day laughing with old friends, trying to repair what she once thought were wounds that could never heal (now, she thinks that though the wounds would never go away, they would scar over, leaving her rough and blemished, changed and far more hesitant to trust but basically the same). The lightness bubbled over and she let out a laugh, crazed and heavy and brilliant and freeing. She laughed.
A load off your heart, her brain promised.
A load off your mind, her heart promised.
A load off. It was a feeling. Relief. Emptiness faded away to be replaced by relief—terrifying, beautiful, fortifying, sweet relief.
She was still somewhat chuckling under her breath when the door opened and Camila walked into the bedroom, not letting go of the doorknob, instead, just holding onto it and leaning back against the door.
"I wanted to make sure you were okay," she said, somewhat awkwardly. When Lauren didn't do anything but lay there, Camila shifted from foot to foot before stepping forward hesitantly. It was terribly awkward, but she laid back on the bed too, their shoulders brushing, like all the times in college.
"My mom is getting treatment." Camila's head swiveled to Lauren, her eyes wide (and brown, so brown, so brown).
"That's great, Lauren!" she said, her smile so wide Lauren was sure it hurt. "That's the greatest news! God, I'm so happy for you." Lauren turned her head as well, facing her.
Don't believe it, she lies, her brain warned.
This is your best friend, her heart argued.
A wolf in a sheep's skin, her brain pointed out.
Now who lies? asked her heart.
"I read up on her condition and emailed a few physicians from school. Based on what I know, the prognosis is good with treatment. She may have problems with nausea. Some people—"
"—Camila?"
"Yeah?"
"You're babbling." Camila blushed, broke eye contact, then shifted so her entire body was facing Lauren.
Lauren.
"Right. Sorry." She grinned weakly. "Lauren—"
"Nothing sad. Or mean. Or angry. Okay? If it's any of that, just...hold onto it till later. I'm happy right now, and I want to be happy."
"It's not sad. Or mean. Or angry."
"Okay."
"I've been a bitch. A terrible friend. An even worse fake girlfriend. I know that." She paused, broke eye contact once more, a frown on her lips. "And earlier, when I hugged you...God, Lauren. I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"Because I made you uncomfortable. Because for a moment I forgot about how I've treated you. Because I've been a selfish prick." Lauren stared at her, suddenly wondering if she was dreaming.
"I heard you. This morning. I heard most of the end."
"I know. I saw you."
"But—"
"I'm a liar, Lauren. And petty. I have problems. I kept waiting for you to say the safe word. I would have deserved it, you leaving."
"No arguments here."
"I saw you, and I don't know. I was suddenly angry. Not because of Matt or you spending time with my grandmother or the fact you were eavesdropping, but because I haven't talked to you in months."
"That's your own fault."
"I know. And that pissed me off even more. Because she was right. I never asked why. What kind of asshole friend never even asks why? What kind of asshole friend hopes to hear the fucking safe word?"
"Well, I know what the answer is, but I'm afraid to say it."
"You have every right to say it."
"For a while, I hated you."
"I hated me too."
"I hated that I couldn't hate you."
"I'm familiar with that. Except, you know, my anger was misplaced, yours was fully justified."
"Camila, it's not." She blinked, like she didn't understand. Lauren swallowed and she shifted as well, laying on her side and facing Camila.
Don't tell her. Leave. She doesn't deserve anymore from you, her brain said.
Don't tell her. Stay. What you have is good, this is enough, her heart said.
There were three truths. She thought she knew them. She was wrong. Three truths, all dwindled down to one: It was time to come clean.
"Camila, we need to talk about Matt." Her brown eyes (brown, so brown, so very, very brown) shone, were bright, were filled with anxiety and worry and nervousness. She didn't want to do it. But she would.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."
Experience tells us that this will break you two, but this time it may be irrevocably, her brain warned.
She's your best friend, her heart whispered. Choose me. Choose me one more time.