"Get dressed." The command came out more gruffly than Lauren intended, and Camila's mouth fell open.
"That's nice, it's what every girl wants to hear when she confesses her love."
"Take off the nightclothes and put on something decent. You're coming with me."
"Lauren, I—"
"You said you'd explain everything. I'm holding you to it." Camila stared at her in disbelief.
"Thanks, Camila," she muttered, turning around and heading back inside the apartment, Lauren following closely at her heels. "It was nice of you to say that. Here I am, having some sort of reaction to your confession. I'm not just waving it off and telling you to get dressed."
"I can hear you," Lauren called, leaning against Camila's bedroom door, listening as Camila threw drawers open, mumbling about not finding a clean pair of socks.
"I know, Lauren, that's the point," Camila snapped, and Lauren swallowed hard at the flood of memories, all the early mornings, calmly eating her breakfast as Camila rushed around their apartment, searching for things she'd misplaced, snapping and shouting as she went. Without really knowing why, she walked towards the living room, her eyes on the ceiling, zeroing in on the red stain almost immediately. "I'm ready. Lauren?" She blinked, turned and faced Camila, and quickly tamped down on the feelings that swelled up in her as she took in her best friend. She tried to push it away, but the words came ringing back. The truth is that I'm in love with you. How long had she hoped to hear those words? How long had she imagined it? (Too long, too long.) And yet, though the words were out—though she wanted nothing more than to press Camila against the nearest wall, to tell her everything she'd never said with her hands and lips—she swallowed hard a second time and nodded gruffly.
"Let's go."
"Why can't we talk here?"
"Because this wasn't where it started."
//
Campus was practically empty, students off on their winter break, faculty and staff taking a much deserved break. They walked side by side, not speaking, not allowing their hands to brush as they often did, their eyes focused on the building they approached.
"It's cold, Lauren. And we're not students anymore, we won't be let in the library."
"Stop whining and come on." Camila huffed, but she obeyed, following Lauren to a bench across from the library, settling down next to her, letting out big puffs of air and smiling slightly at the sight of her breath. "All right then, Camila. This is where it started."
"Yeah," Camila muttered, shoving her hands into her coat pockets, careful not to brush Lauren at all. "This is it."
"So when did it fall apart?" At Lauren's words, Camila turned to her with a small frown, a furrow between her brows.
"Well, that's obvious."
"Is it?"
"It fell apart when I fell in love with you."
//
Later, she'd think one thing: it was entirely Lauren's fault.
She'd known—it was really rather impossible to not know—for a while that the things she felt for the brunette were far different than the things she felt for Shawn, Normani, or Ally. Oh, she loved them all. She even loved them equally. But with Lauren.
With Lauren she could never get enough.
It was like breathing, it was like her art, it was like a fucking drug. She had to be around Lauren, had to see her smile, had to hear her laugh. A single day without her by her side was a day wasted. It was all rather alarming considering she hadn't even known Lauren that long (so unlike Normani or Ally who she'd basically known her entire life).
But the kiss. It was that first kiss. She blamed it all on that kiss. (And on Lauren, but Lauren was the instigator of the kiss, and thus, the kiss and Lauren were one and the same and she blamed them both.)
She'd known her feelings were different, but she had assumed it was because Lauren was her best friend. The one who understood her, the one who could calm her down, the one who could make her laugh, the one whose mere presence left her heart palpitating and quite possibly making her go into cardiac arrest. But with the kiss—oh, the kiss left nothing to doubt, left nothing to chance, made it abundantly clear why the feelings were different. (The fact that she knew, the fact that she was sure of why it was different, didn't change anything. She knew, and yet she resolutely refused to admit it to herself, because admitting it would make it true, and that wasn't something she could handle.)
Because Lauren's mouth barely brushed hers, because it was a sloppy kiss that tasted like beer and fries, because it left her head spinning with a single, monumental thought:
Uh oh.
Her feelings were not those of friendship (though it was an unequivocal fact that Lauren was her best friend). Her feelings were so much more, so much deeper, so much more insane and all Camila wanted to do was punch Lauren for doing this because it was entirely her fault.
Because who wouldn't feel this way with Lauren? With her crooked grin and sarcastic comments? With her (annoyingly) ever-present calm, her wittiness, with her ability to make the most mundane of things fun and exciting? Lauren, who brought her muffins and coffee when she was nervous, who intuitively knew how to act around her, who never, ever, not for one moment, thought of herself. (Who got flustered over Normani's teasing, over her shoddy artwork, over admitting to Camila things she hated admitting, like whether or not she liked Chinese.)
Lauren was Lauren, and Camila stood no chance against her. She rammed her way in, not caring about the fact that Camila had most definitely not issued an invitation for her to take up residence in her heart.
You weren't supposed to feel this way, Camila knew. Not at only twenty. Not so young, not when she barely knew what she wanted to eat for dinner that night, let alone who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with (but she did know, she wanted to live with Lauren, forever only Lauren, and that terrified her, and she refused to admit her feelings, refused to put a name to it).
So she blamed Lauren, blamed her for being perfect, blamed her for the feelings, blamed her and wanted her and was desperate to tell her. (She refused to admit it to herself, but loving Lauren, oh, loving Lauren—that was entirely Lauren's fault. Her fault for being it, her fault for being unapologetically herself, unapologetically kind, unapologetically wonderful. And Camila, oh Camila, she fell hard and fast, and she had no idea what to do under the enormity of what she felt.)
(So she kept silent.)
(That was mistake number one.)
//
"I don't believe it, not for one second," Lauren muttered, shaking her head, the tips of her fingers getting cold despite the gloves she wore. She thought that Camila's cheeks were paler, the tip of her nose just a tad red.
"Believe what?"
"Believe that you knew you felt that way since the first kiss." Camila huffed, looking away and shrugging.
"You wanted the truth, Lauren. And that's the truth."
"That would mean you felt that way a full year longer than I did. That's just not possible, Camila. I'd have noticed." Camila's head, which had swiveled towards Lauren halfway through her comment, was suddenly too close for Lauren's comfort.
"Was that an admission?"
"No."
"Lauren, that—"
"You said you'd tell me the truth, Camila. Keep going."
"Your crooked grin is back."
"Don't try to distract me, it won't work. Keep going."
"You're stilling grinning."
"Camila."
"I know, I know. I'm telling you the truth."
//
Matt was mistake number two.
She'd liked him for a while. In a sense. In the broadest of senses. (He was cute. He was caring. He was compassionate and loved her.)
(She never loved him.)
"Dammit Camila! Why are we even arguing? If you didn't want to go, you should've just said it."
"I'm not going to deal with your shit, Matt." She turned to leave, but he reached out, grabbing her wrist.
"Where're you going? To Lauren? Running off to your best friend?"
"Yeah, actually, I am. What of it?"
"You know she doesn't love you, right? You realize that, don't you? Fuck, Camila. I'm here. And I'm all in, all in for us. But you keep picking fights. Why? What do you think you're going to get?" Lauren. The thought didn't take her by surprise, not really. Because though Matt was an ass, he was an intuitive ass. He knew what was up.
She'd said yes to him—went out with him—purely because she wanted to try to cover up the feelings she had for Lauren. She wasn't even entirely subtle about it, hell, she was sure the entire world knew she had feelings for her best friend at this point (except, of course, for her best friend, her best friend who'd never see her in this light, who'd be there for her but never want to be with her). Lauren the battering ram had left Camila shaking in the wreckage, and Matt was a capable construction worker. He could build her up, repair her, and if she was being unfair to him...well, he'd known what he was getting into. He'd always known (he'd never really made that a secret, using it against her constantly).
"This isn't about her at all."
"Don't bullshit me, Camila. It's always about her. You're pissed off because she's been distant. You're better off without her, but you don't fucking see it."
"Matt. It has nothing to do with her. I'm angry because you're being an ass." (That was true. She'd tried. She'd tried so hard with Matt. Gave him her all, her best, but her heart wasn't in it, and though Matt still held out hope, Camila knew why—some things could only work in the hands of a select few, in this case, only in Lauren's.)
(It was entirely Lauren's fault.)
"Camila. Just. Listen to me." His voice changed, her grew softer, the part of him that Camila always liked shone through. "She's just hurting you. You know that. You said it yourself. You barely talk anymore."
"She's my best friend."
"Yeah," he muttered, his shoulders deflating. (Camila never felt more sorry for him than at that moment, that moment when he seemed to realize the hopelessness of his cause.) "I'll still be here, Camila. When she's gone, when she's forgotten you, I'll still be here. Because I love you."
"I'm going, Matt."
She left, immediately seeking Lauren's embrace, Lauren's warmth, Lauren, and as always, when Lauren saw her in pain, the distance between them, the pained words, the strange cloud that hung between them, all was gone. Lauren saw her in pain, and Lauren was back (Lauren the battering ram, and Camila reveled in the ache that took up residence in her chest, the pain overwhelming and overpowering all the feelings that she could never seem to run away from).
And for a night, for a night, they were fine. They were themselves. And Camila loved Lauren.
//
Their shoulders brushed now, but Lauren assumed it was only because of the cold, the both of them intuitively seeking the nearest heat source. But then, with a move that left Lauren feeling breathless, knocking the air out of her lungs and her cheeks burn from the effort it took not to smile, Camila leaned her head on Lauren's shoulder, effectively eliminating the last of the distance between them.
"I never realized how pretty our campus was in the winter," she said, playing with her scarf, her eyes on her lap.
"I always hated Matt."
"I know."
"I didn't think he was good enough for you."
"I know."
"I thought I was good enough for you. And I hated him because he didn't let you see it." Camila's hands ceased playing with the ends of her scarf and instead she tentatively reached out, silently asking Lauren for permission. And after a long moment, Lauren pulled her hand out of her coat pocket, letting Camila hook their arms together, their fingers tangled.
"I didn't know that," she whispered, head still on Lauren's shoulder, grip on Lauren's hand tight. "There's more. Should I continue? It's not pretty."
"We'll see. Keep going."
//
Never, not in a million years, would she ever consider the second kiss a mistake.
On one hand, she realized that made her sound like a bit of a dick—she had a boyfriend, for god's sake, she was in a committed relationship. (Though, as she'd later learn, she'd been far more committed than Matt ever was, and she'd taken the farce of a relationship far more seriously— even head over heels for her best friend—than Matt ever had.)
On the other hand, it was Lauren.
The party was supposed to be fun, but though Lauren was back, she wasn't really back. She was aloof, even cold with Camila, speaking with her in curt tones, as if she was physically holding herself back, as if she wanted nothing to do with Camila. And so, in a moment of childish frustration, Camila fled, fled to the safety and sanctuary of her room. (But of course, she wasn't safe even there.)
"Where's Matt?" Lauren asked, entirely too close (it was always entirely her fault).
"We're in a fight." Another one, she didn't say. About you, she didn't say. I want to leave him, she didn't say. I love you, she didn't say.
"Another one?" The question, really, made Camila want to shake her, because of course Lauren would hear the one thing she didn't say that she didn't give a fuck about.
"Yeah," she answered, close to rolling her eyes. Instead, she shifted, facing Lauren on the bed. "I feel like you and I aren't really talking anymore." Her heart—oh, she'd forgotten for a while that she had one, forgotten that it was there as it felt so dead for so long—thudded against her ribs, as if it wanted to escape (a wise idea, Camila would later realize, her heart merely wanted to avoid the train-wreck). "I miss you."
"I'm right here."
"Yeah. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, did you know that?" She didn't know why she said it—she was thinking it, she was always thinking it—but she was better at pretending around Lauren, terrified that she'd leave for good, terrified that she'd lose the friendship she had, terrified of being too open because she knew for a fact that Lauren would never return those feelings —
Uh oh.
Camila's first thought, oddly enough, was that Lauren tasted like home. After that, she determinedly stopped thinking, and just allowed herself to feel. She pulled Lauren forward, needing her to see, needing her to feel, needing her to understand. She put everything she had into the kiss, because maybe Lauren felt it too. Maybe Lauren understood her yet again, maybe, maybe she'd endured pain for no reason, maybe this was something they shared. She kissed Lauren back, wanting more, always wanting more. It was a heady feeling, a rush of something, and she never wanted it to stop —this was her new fix, she needed this every day, she'd choose this every day, this was better than her art, than breathing.
But just as Camila allowed herself to believe there was something there, Lauren was gone, practically falling off the bed in her haste to get away.
"Lauren—" she began, ready to say it all, ready to admit it all, ready. But Lauren interrupted her.
"Oh, god, I'm so sorry. God. You have a boyfriend. What am I doing?" She was across the room in the blink of an eye, and Camila sat up, ready to try again, ready, ready.
"Lauren, no—"
"I'm just drunk, I'm so sorry. I'm drunk." Lauren had always been a battering ram, Camila just hadn't realized battering rams weren't necessarily good things.
"I kissed you back," she tried, wanting Lauren to see, trying hard to stem the tears that threatened to fall.
"You've been drinking too?" She wanted Lauren to see, but judging by the horror on Lauren's face, she didn't like what she'd seen. And Camila, Camila was used to the pain. The ache was familiar. She took comfort in it—reveled in the pain.
"Yeah," she murmured, hanging her head, not wanting Lauren to see her face.
"God, Camila. I'm so fucking sorry. I'm tired and drunk and an idiot. Can you forgive me?" For what? she wanted to ask. Why are you sorry? Why do you want forgiveness? I wanted this. Did you? But instead:
"Of course. Already forgiven."
"Camila," Lauren said desperately, like she needed Camila to hear her—but Camila heard her loud and clear, she didn't want to listen to more. "It didn't mean anything, I swear."
She'd never understood the term 'heartbroken.' She studied biology, the heart was a muscle, nothing more. A pump, liters of blood being sent to every single corner of the body, sustaining life. If it broke, you died. But in that moment, in that moment—oh, she understood. Heartbroken. It was nothing like the ache she was used to (the ache she so often took comfort in). It was a shattering, it was a shard thrust right through the middle of her most important organ, it was a divide (because Lauren had taken the last remnants of her heart—the last bits she'd not yet managed to steal as Camila fell deeper and deeper for her—and stomped on them).
She'd never understood the term 'heartbroken.' Oh, but she did now.
"It meant nothing at all," Camila managed to say. "I don't really feel all that well, I think I'm going to just stay here and try to sleep."
"Okay. Do you want anything? Tea, soup, or—" It was entirely Lauren's fault. For being kind. Selfless. For fucking kissing her and claiming it meant nothing when it was everything.
"No. No, just being alone would be nice."
"Okay. Let me know if you need me."
I need you.
But Lauren didn't hear her.
//
"I was waiting for you to say something," Lauren said quietly, taking a shaky breath. "I needed you to say it first, because I couldn't risk you."
"Yeah. But I tried to say it. And you—"
"—wouldn't let you?" Camila grinned and ducked her head, but Lauren forced her to look back up by nudging her shoulder. "It was a good kiss."
"Shut up."
"It was."
"I broke up with Matt because of that kiss. I mean, mostly it was because he was cheating on me. But the kiss, the kiss definitely factored in."
"That was the night I realized I had to move out. Because I couldn't do it anymore. Be around you without being with you."
"That wasn't what you said."
"No," Lauren admitted. "No, it wasn't."
//
She no longer found the pain comforting. Three words, three simple, ridiculous, confusing words, turned a pain she took refuge in into something horrifying, something that left her in pieces: "Camila, I'm leaving."
The words that followed, the accusations, the slings, they were nothing compared to the first three words. Because she'd kept silent for so long, had held back so long, out of fear that Lauren would leave her for good, that Lauren wouldn't want anything to do with her, and though she'd done her best—though she'd done everything she could—Lauren was leaving anyway.
The issues with money, Camila understood. Lauren never wanted to be beholden to anyone, not even Camila or her mother. Even the part about needing to focus on law school made sense, Camila could appreciate it, could reason with it.
But it was the rest, it was the rest—and the three words at the beginning—that left her heaving yet unable to breathe, her heart beating yet unable to keep her living. It was the rest of Lauren's tirade, the look in her eyes, the determination in her shoulders, that left Camila reeling, left her standing in the middle of Lauren's bare bedroom, her head spinning.
"It's hard to talk to you, Camila," Lauren continued, maybe not seeing the pain she was causing, maybe not caring about it, maybe not minding it, maybe. "Because every time I try to tell you something you just ignore it."
"So not only am I a distraction to you, but I'm also a shitty friend," Camila snapped, suddenly angry, feeling a fire ignite in the base of her belly. Because Lauren always left. She was leaving now. It was entirely her fault. "Well I'm glad you decided to move out, who knows how long I'd fool myself into thinking we're best friends if you hadn't."
"Camila—" But it was Camila's turn to not listen, her turn to cut Lauren off, her turn to fire back.
"No, I get it. We're just two people who live together. Certainly not friends."
"What do you want me to say? I'm sorry? Because I'm not, I have to do this."
"Why? Why do you have to do this? Why in this way?" (She wouldn't admit it, would never dare, but this was what hurt the most, not that Lauren wanted to leave, but that Lauren didn't feel she could trust Camila enough to just tell her that she wanted to leave.) "Why without even a word of warning?"
"Because you don't get it," Lauren said, her voice harsh, shrill, jarring. "Everything is easy for you! Everything has been given to you. So you don't try and you're holding me back. You're dragging me to bars and force me to listen to shit about your boyfriend or girlfriend of the week and you're just...you're holding me back." Camila blinked, feeling as if all systems had shut down, overloaded and broken. Because this, this didn't make any sense.
"Oh." She looked at Lauren, took in pained expression on her face, and she found she didn't know what to feel. "I'm sorry." Her lungs, her lungs had lost their elasticity. They weren't filling with air, she couldn't breathe, she was suffocating. "You're right." She desperately held onto her middle, vainly hoping to alleviate the crushing feeling inside her. Because after everything, after everything, Lauren was still leaving. "I wish you the best of luck, Lauren. In everything you do."
It was entirely her fault.
That was all Camila could think as Lauren left without looking back. It was all Camila could think when she didn't get out of bed for the next two days. It was all she could think when she began to merely go through the motions, listening and laughing and living because she knew that was what she was supposed to do.
(It was all she thought when Matt came around saying bullshit. It was all she thought when Normani and Ally told her to get her shit together. It was all she thought as she studied for classes that hadn't even started yet.)
(When Lauren called her three weeks after leaving, however, when she tentatively asked if Camila wanted to get a coffee, to catch up, Camila forgot entirely about her mantra and said yes.)
(Because when it came to Lauren, anything was better than nothing at all.)
//
They didn't speak, not for a long while, the two of them shivering in the cold, looking out on Wren Library, the silence broken only by the occasional sniffle. Finally, Lauren turned to look at Camila.
"I'm sorry."
"Already forgiven."
"It shouldn't be."
"I wasn't fair to you. I was in love with you but dated Matt. And after breaking up with him... well, I wasn't exactly celibate."
"I wasn't better. I should've spoken to you. I should've told you something. Leaving the way I did and saying the things I did..."
"At least, in terms of the magnitude of our mistakes, yours was relatively harmless."
"I hurt you. How is that harmless?" Camila's eyes, her dark brown eyes, bored into Lauren's. And there was no pain. There were no walls. But there was so much guilt, so much self-hate, and Lauren didn't know how to make it go away.
"I hurt you worse."
//
When it came down to it, the accident was entirely Camila's fault. David Lovato's death was entirely Camila's fault. Matt's incarceration was entirely Camila's fault. Because Camila, Camila was entirely to blame.
She shouldn't have said Matt could come (regardless of the promises to 'stay friends,' promises she knew were never sincere). She shouldn't have had so much to drink (but Lauren was there, Lauren was beautiful, Lauren smiled her crooked grin and Camila needed to distract herself somehow, and she ended up distracting herself with her drinks). She shouldn't have asked Lauren to take Matt's drunken ass home (she knew they hated each other, she knew Matt always blamed Lauren for the fact that he and Camila never worked out, knew that Lauren hated Matt because Matt was fucking Matt).
She shouldn't have allowed it to happen. She should've known better.
It was entirely her fault.
Getting the call from Shawn was a blow. There was a certain physicality to it, even if miles and wires separated them. She felt the words, felt them hit her head on, knocking her off balance, crushing her with their weight. (It was her fault, she knew. It was entirely her fault.) The guilt was too much, the pain overwhelming, and her only coherent thought was to call Lauren.
"How could you just leave him?" Camila asked, desperate for something to latch onto, desperate for something to keep the guilt at bay. Because maybe if she'd never dated Matt, he wouldn't have been there. Maybe he would never have gotten drunk. Even more importantly, maybe, maybe if she just hadn't been around, none of it would have happened at all. She wouldn't have fallen for Lauren, Matt wouldn't have been treated so unfairly, and David Lovato, David Lovato would still be alive. ("There're kids, Camila," Shawn had said, solemn, his voice devoid of blame, but Camila heard it anyway: How could you? he wanted to know. She wanted to know as well, wanted to know how on earth she could allow something like this to happen. But for once, she and Lauren weren't on the same wavelength.)
"I'm not having this conversation with you," Lauren said harshly, defensively, and Camila didn't understand.
"Lauren, I'm the murderer," she whispered, needing her best friend to hear, needing her best friend to understand, needing her support and comfort—to take refuge in the ache, to find safety and solace in Lauren's embrace. But their wavelengths were still out of sync, a destructive interference, erasing everything that'd ever been there.
"You know what, Camila? I think we're better off alone. Dealing with this away from each other."
"Lauren—" But the call w as over, and Camila was left shaking, was left alone, was left hating and blaming herself, unable to dig herself out of the hole she'd dug. And for the first time, she was angry with Lauren, angry that she wasn't angry; she hated Lauren, hated that she couldn't hate her. For the first time, she wondered if she was better off without Lauren at all.
(It wasn't until much later that Camila learned Lauren dealt with far worse.)
(That was mistake number three.)
//
"That makes no sense," Lauren said immediately, crossing her arms over her chest, getting to her feet and facing Camila. "That makes no sense and you know it. You blamed me."
"I've said it again and again and again. I've never blamed you. Never. Not for what happened to Matt." Lauren shook her head, leveling Camila with an accusing gaze.
"I thought Cabellos weren't in the business of bullshitting, Camila." She leaned closer. "You said you'd tell the truth."
"I am. I never blamed you."
"Then why leave? Why abandon me when I needed you! Why? Why let me deal with the guilt alone?" Camila, who had tears in her eyes at that point, stood up as well, her back straight, no longer willing to take and take, her shoulders stiff and strong.
"Because I didn't know," she said simply. When Lauren glared at her, she let out a soft sigh and elaborated. "I called," she began slowly, her lower lip quivering, "because I needed you. And you, you just shot me down. Didn't even listen. And I was angry. And I thought I was stupid for ever trusting you, stupid for falling for you. Just...stupid." She swallowed hard, stepping forward and poking Lauren hard in the sternum. "I didn't trust you and I was angry at you, and I forgot. I forgot that you...that you're better than me. I forgot that you'd shoulder the blame, that you'd think it was your fault. I forgot, Lauren, because I was so caught up in what I was feeling. And for that, for being so fucking selfish, I'm sorry. But I never, ever, blamed you." Lauren—who couldn't feel her fingers and toes anymore, though she wasn't sure if it was because of the cold or because her heart had long since stopped beating—stared at Camila and wasn't quite sure what to say.
"You were angry," Lauren mumbled, "because you thought I'd left you again? Not because you thought I had anything to do with the accident?"
"That would be stupid," Camila muttered, snorting mirthlessly. "I'm the only one who's to blame."
"Fucked up cycle," Lauren said pointedly, and Camila blushed, sitting down.
"Like I said, I'm the only one to blame."
//
Visiting Matt wasn't a mistake.
It was nearly two and a half months after the accident, and Camila had been determinedly ignoring all of Matt's calls and letters. Until one afternoon, when Normani actually bothered to open and read what he'd written rather than toss it out as they usually did.
"He mentions Lauren, Camila."
"What?"
"Says he needs to talk to you about her. That it's important." Camila rolled her eyes, returning her attention to the television, annoyed at the pang she felt in her chest at the very mention of Lauren.
"Matt can fuck off."
"He says she visited him, Camila." For a long moment, Camila didn't breathe, then she shook her head, trying to act disinterested.
"He's lying. It's a trick. To get me to visit him."
"Camila, I don't know..." Normani trailed off and Camila, unable to help herself, pushed herself off the couch and walked over to Normani, snatching the letter out of her hands. She skimmed it quickly, only feeling sicker and sicker as she read, finally tossing it aside with faux carelessness.
"Lies," she said easily. "It's all lies."
"It sounds like Lauren."
"Matt is making shit up."
"Camila...I know you said not to talk about her, but she's not doing so hot. You're angry, but... have you thought that maybe you don't have a reason to be?" Camila stared at Normani, knowing that this was something she wanted to say for a while, always holding back in fear of being the tipping point, of breaking Camila beyond repair. But there was no fear now—now, her only concern was for Lauren, and Camila wanted to laugh. Because Lauren, oh Lauren, she had that effect.
She ended up seeing Matt not a week later. She learned three things from him:
One, Lauren blamed herself for the accident.
Two, he'd tried, in his own shitty way, to help her, and failed.
Three, their fucked-up cycle wasn't one of blame.
"The better wo-man won," Matt said, grinning as if this was an inside joke, the receiver pressed tightly against his ear. "Murderers don't get happy endings, but you two do. You two should."
(Visiting Matt wasn't a mistake. But she did wish she had opened her eyes earlier and not needed the visit at all.)
//
"You saw him at least three weeks before you even called me about pretending to be your girlfriend. If he opened your eyes, you sure took your fucking time."
"I was going to call you the very next day. But your mom told me not to." Lauren, who was still standing, arms crossed tightly over her chest, felt her knees go weak and immediately sat down. "She said that you wouldn't listen to anything I had to say. She said I'd have to go about it in a smarter way."
"My mother...my mother told you that? When did she talk to you?"
"She called to ask about the clinic. A few of the physicians who teach at the med school have connections there, she thought I might be able to help."
"You...you knew she was sick? You helped get her into the clinic?"
"I knew she was sick, yes," Camila admitted. "I called her once, a few weeks after the accident. But talking about you morphed into talking about her health and we sort of kept up with each other. But my mom got her into the clinic. She pulled a few strings."
"That's...that's why you didn't look surprised when I told you she was sick. That's why you just hugged me. Because you already knew."
"She told me not to say anything until you were ready. She didn't want you to know she'd asked for help, because she didn't want you feeling worse. Feeling guilty." But Lauren wasn't listening, she dropped her head into her hands, feeling stupid.
I read up on her condition and emailed a few physicians from school, Camila had said. But Lauren hadn't asked the obvious question: How had Camila known her mother's condition, something Lauren had never mentioned? (Had she let it go, assuming that Sinu must've told her? Not questioned it because she was full of relief and couldn't think of ruining it with questions she didn't want answered?) How silly it was now, to think it'd been so obvious. How Camila— inquisitive, curious, questioning, caring Camila—hadn't asked a single thing about her mother's welfare. Not once. Why hadn't that raised red flags?
"Oh my god, the cost—"
"Lauren—"
"I can pay—"
"Lauren, relax!" Camila put her hands on Lauren's shoulders, pressing down hard, forcing her to meet Camila's brown, brown eyes. "This is why she didn't want to say anything. You're freaking out."
"But Camila, while I thought you hated me, blamed me, you were finding my mom a spot in the clinic, and god, paying for it, and—"
"We didn't pay for it. Lauren. Calm down."
"Then—"
"When my grandfather passed away, he left money for things like this." Some old dude died, apparently, Dinah had said. Left a lot of money for cases like ours.
"You're lying."
"I said I'd tell you the truth. That's the truth." She frowned. "Well. We did have to part with his very large baseball card collection for it."
"Baseball cards?"
"Baseball cards."
"Mrs. Cabello was willing to give up a part of her husband for me and my family?" Camila snorted, knocking her shoulder with Lauren's.
"Please. You are family. She'd do anything for you." Camila paused, a furrow appearing between her brows. "Come to think of it, she may love you more than me."
//
They walked around campus aimlessly, barely speaking. Conversation surged briefly, then fluttered and died out soon after, the cycle awkwardly repeating itself again and again. Finally, Lauren came to a halt, unsure how to word her final question—unsure if she needed to get the final truth from Camila. Yet, her mouth had a mind of its own, and she was speaking before she knew what she was doing.
"So why ask me to pretend to be your girlfriend? Why want me to say the safe word?" She was sure she knew, sure because she knew Camila, understood Camila, for the first time in a long while, on the same page with her best friend. (But she also didn't want to leave anything to chance; their problems arose because they stopped talking, and she wasn't keen to make the same mistakes again so soon.)
"Be honest, Lauren. If I'd called you a few weeks ago and told you everything between us was just a huge misunderstanding, that I never blamed you, would you have believed me?"
"No."
"I was hurt," she said, smiling and shrugging. "I was hurt, and I was angry. But the only one who deserves to be blamed is me. Asking for your help was just so that you wouldn't be alone, so that you'd have all the support you could want. So that you could stop blaming yourself for everything."
"And the safe word?"
"If you said it, I knew I'd done my job. You didn't need a backbone, Lauren, regardless of what my grandmother said. You just needed the reminder that you'd done nothing wrong."
"And asking me out?"
"I thought...we got into this entire mess because I never spoke up. I wanted to fix it. And I'm selfish. I wanted you." Lauren nodded, noticing they'd made their way back to Wren Library. It was odd, to think of it now, that it all started because Camila had noticed her not study for her exams, because Camila's brown eyes had stood out on a wet, miserable day. And on some level, she knew she could walk away. She got her truth, she heard it all. She wasn't obligated to try and forgive Shawn, Normani, and Ally, wasn't obligated to stay behind and fix things with Camila. She could move on, take Carol's advice. She could stop it right there—cease their fucked up cycle, a cycle that wasn't so fucked up anymore, a cycle that reached its natural end. But it was Camila, and with Camila, it was always worth it—always worth fighting for.
"You're not to blame either," she found herself saying, found herself believing. "I think I've said that before."
"Lauren, if I had spoken up, if I hadn't asked you to take him home, nothing would have happened."
She smiled and shrugged, imitating Camila, "I could have said something too."
"I let him think he had a chance."
"He told me himself he knew it was hopeless. Camila. The only one to blame for Matt's actions is Matt."
"I hurt you," Camila whispered, tears in her eyes. "I messed up because I was so focused on me. I'm a terrible friend, let alone fake girlfriend."
"Understandable. You're the protagonist of your own story." She bit her lip, taking a deep breath. "So that's it, huh? The entire truth?" But rather than nod and continue on their way, Camila shook her head, her eyes taking on a strange gleam.
"The only truth that matters, that makes sense, that makes me, well, me, is that I love you. I love you, Lauren. God, I love you." Lauren's first thought was to kiss her, to shut her up, to cease the babbling, but they'd been through a great deal, and though the truth was out, though they'd sat down and talked, it would take more than a mere kiss to heal the wounds and rift between them. So instead, Lauren pulled Camila into an embrace—an innocent embrace—unable to help her grin, unable to help taking a deep breath, inhaling the soft, sweet scent of Camila's shampoo.
"Falling in love with you was easy, hiding it from you was hard." At her words, Camila dug her face into her neck, and Lauren could feel the beginnings of a smile. "This can't happen again, Camila. We can't stop talking, we just can't." There were three truths to Camila Cabello, Lauren knew. (She'd been wrong about all three.) There were, however, three undeniable, unavoidable, unbelievable truths to the two of them.
"No, we can't. But we're smart. I don't think we'd make the same mistake twice." (One, Camila loved her.)
"Haven't you heard? Med schools just accept anyone these days." (Two, she loved Camila.)
"Yeah, yeah." She pulled away and stuck out her hand. "Hi, I'm Camila. I was watching you in a very creepy fashion, and noticed you dropped your book. Here you go." Lauren snorted, accepting the invisible book Camila offered her.
"Wow thanks, you creepy good Samaritan. I'm Lauren, by the way."
"It's lovely to meet you, Lauren. Hey, you wouldn't want to get a coffee, would you?"
"Yes. A coffee sounds wonderful."
(Three, this was inevitable.)