Prompt:
"Fluff: Drunk Camila (not the cute kind, tho.. ; we want the disgusting, annoying, throwing up everywhere kind of drunk)"
• •
Lauren's PoV
"Fuck me, Lauren!" Camila slurred.
Her arms hooked tightly around my neck, her body basically dead weight, as I dragged her out of the club at two in the morning. Two in the fucking morning!
"Shut your filthy ass mouth, Camila, or I'll leave you on the sidewalk and watch while you puke on yourself," I grumbled, pissed at the fact that I was called up by Dinah while I was studying for my exam tomorrow, asking me -- wait, no, telling me to pick up my stupid roommate because she was dead drunk and trying to dry-hump a bouncer named Big Rob.
When I asked her why she can't drop Camila off to our apartment herself, the blonde shithead simply said that she's pretty sure she's gonna go home with a drunk groovy professor she's been buttering up all night, so she can't deal with Mila's huge Cuban booty. Who the fuck even still uses the word groovy?
So here I was, literally hauling ass, and when I say ass I meant Camila being a fucking ass with an enormous ass. And boy, I was sweating all my fucking fat out and I wondered how the hell could someone as tiny as she was be so heavy? You guessed right, it's her goddamn ass probably weighing a ton!
"Lauuureeennnn, play with me!" Camila was basically slobbering in my ear, and people might think that's cute and shit, but it's not, okay?! I can smell her stinky vodka breath fanning my face, and I'm pretty sure I can smell some garlic chicken wings in the mix, too, so it's really hard to keep my temper in check when it's two-oh-five in the motherfucking morning and I was dragging a fucking fuck-up while I was sleep-deprived and currently suffering from pre-exams anxiety.
It's hard not to give in to the urge of pushing Camila down to the ground and body-slamming myself on top of her, with my elbow pointed straight at her throat, but I kept it to myself because it's not fair to beat up a drunk girl. Even one as annoying as my roommate.
"Camila, one more word from you and I'll punch you in the face," I grunted as I lifted her slumping body and balanced both of us as I continued to walk. "Don't fucking test me."
Look, I'm not as terrible as I sound, okay? I would have been fine if it was a simple pick-a-friend-up and bring-her-home and accept-her-thank-you-as-I-help-her-to-her-bed. But no, it's pick Camila up, my annoying roommate, and drag her drunk (and apparently horny) butt all the way to the parking lot, at ten-past-two in the motherfucking morning, while trying to prevent her from doing shit, like keeping her from fucking a cactus we just passed by. She said it's the cutest dildo she has ever seen and literally ran towards it, her intent obvious when I saw her trying to unbutton her jeans, while cooing at the cactus as if it was a fucking dog.
Why the hell was there even a cactus in here? Wait, the real question was, why should I stop her from doing what she wanted? If she wanted to fuck that mean-looking cactus, who was I to stop her? I'd even be willing to drive her straight to an OB-GYN in the morning, when she woke up bleeding from her vagina.
No, okay, I wasn't that entirely heartless. Maybe next time... if she pissed me off too much. Right now, I just wanted to get home, pronto.
I could see my car at the corner of the dimly-lit parking lot and I almost jumped for joy because I have never felt elated upon seeing my beat-up ugly Honda; but I couldn't, because this dweeb beside me was hanging on my neck like a fucking monkey. I had an urge to elbow her on the ribs but I didn't wanna risk her fighting back in a public place because the last time we did that, fight in public I mean, she shouted rape at the top of her lungs and anyone who knew Camila could attest how high-pitched her voice could go. In fact, she shouted so loud that people started recording us with their cellphones while I was telling her how stupid she was being because who in their right minds would believe a girl like me would try to rape her in public, right? I told her I could get anyone to drop their panties with just a simple wink. But then I heard an elderly woman nearby calling 911, and I panicked and I had to bribe Camila a hundred bucks just so she would stop playing the victim (for once in her damn life) and to get in my car so we could speed away before the police came.
Suffice to say, she didn't stop laughing until she had her face stuffed with Hawaiian pizza which she paid for with the blackmail money I gave her.
Why was I helping this bitch, again? That's the million-dollar question that I have no answer to as we finally reached my car, and I not-so-gently pushed Camila over the hood while I fished for my keys in my pocket.
I can hear her muttering. Something about her zipper or something, whatever, I really didn't care about the ramblings of a drunk Camila because based from countless of horrible experiences I had to endure, drunk Camila is bad Camila and I have learned to tune her out whenever she's intoxicated.
Besides, I was too busy trying to open my car door. The quicker I got her inside, the quicker we will be back in our apartment.
When I finally unlocked my car and I turned towards her to help her get in, I choked when I saw her squatting and peeing on my tire with that stupid grin on her face as if what she's doing was helping fix global warming. Well, she sure was warming up my tire, not to mention, my blood which was quickly bubbling into an angry boil.
I tried to be patient with her, I really did, but at that very second I snapped.
I smacked her head -- hard, forgetting that I was still holding my car key with a big ass metal Eifel Tower keychain and it made a satisfying clunk when it hit her skull, but she was too absorbed in her drunken stupor to even notice that her head almost bounced against my car. What happened was, since her pants were down her ankles, and she was generally, even when sober, a huge klutz, she unsurprisingly lost her balance, and before I could do anything else she was slumping backwards. The sudden loss of balance must have been a shot of adrenaline to her body because I saw her stiffen up, which could have caused her urethra to contract several times and her pee to shoot out in spurts. Suffice to say, I felt a warm sprinkle on my feet and legs, and believe me when I say that I could have killed her in that very second if I were holding a knife or something. As much as I considered myself adventurous, being peed on wasn't in my bucket list. Not even on my sexual bucket list. Unless I was stung by a jellyfish I would rather not be urinated on, especially not by Camila.
But I saw her rolling in her own puddle of pee, her pants still down by her ankles, giggling like she lost her damn mind, and really, could I kick a deranged girl?
"You fucking filthy piece of shit, you peed on me, Camila!" I was snarling, I wasn't even gonna lie. "Are you a fucking dog?! Do you want to lick my shoes as well!?"
"So, pee on me, too... I don't care. Pee on my face, I bet it tastes like pineapple juice!" She giggled uncontrollably -- seriously, who the fuck she thinks I am, R. Kelly?! "And uhmm nope I don't wanna lick your shoes... I wanna lick your pussy. Let me eat your pussy wussy, Lauren, while you unirate on me!" She turned to me excitedly, her eyes twinkling so much I was stunned into silence as I looked at her eager expression.
What the hecking fuck? Ew!
"Okay, let's be clear on this," I huffed, "first of all, it's urinate, you fucking idiot. Second of all, pee tastes like pee. Nothing else. Not juice, not Pepsi cola, not anything! Just the plain disgusting taste of urine! --"
"How do you know? Have you tasted it?"
This fucking bitch.
I ignored her and continued, "and thirdly, there'll be no pussy-licking happening between us," I pointed at the both of us to emphasize my words, "because we're both straight! Did you forget that fun fact?"
"Fun fact your face, I'm gay for Lauren, but don't tell her I told you," she giggled as she made a shushing sound as she put her forefinger on her lips that meant I should keep quiet. "She's my hot roommate, I don't want things to be awkward."
She was seriously speaking as if she forgot she was talking to me. Was I in Twilight Zone or something? I rubbed my forehead frustratedly, because, why god why? Why me? Why now, when I have exams tomorrow, do I have to deal with my crazy roommate who's obviously damaged her head when I hit her with my Eiffel Tower.
"Camila, I'm Lauren!" I reminded her. Unless she had another roommate named Lauren, I was pretty sure she was talking about me, which was super weird.
She seemed to have snapped back to reality though and she blinked her eyes repeatedly as she stared at me. "Oh. Hi, Lauren!" She smiled sweetly.
"Hi, Camila." I sighed, humoring her despite my fast-growing annoyance. Good thing I've been using that awesome meditation app I downloaded a week ago or I would have already stabbed Camila with my eyeliner pencil.
"Did you take something? I swear, if I hear you're taking drugs I will report you to the dean, and then I'll call Sinu!"
I was so tempted to just leave her lying there, smelling like alcohol and urine, but see, I'm not a terrible person, you know? My mama taught me manners and kindness, and my papa said that our purpose in this world is not to achieve wealth or fame or prestige, rather, to do good to other people, to inspire them, and to strive to be a better person.
I'm not perfect, though, and right now, what I was inspired to do was kick Camila's ass.
"Lauren, love me!" Camila said in a sing-song voice. "Play with me!"
She was still lying on the urine-soaked concrete, and I have no idea how she could even remember my name when she can barely notice that she's marinating in her own pee.
Jesus. I'm gonna fucking kill Dinah. I hope she's getting great sex right now with some middle-aged professor suffering from midlife crisis, because that's the last tumble in the sheets she's gonna get before I murdered her damn Polynesian ass.
"Get up, Camila," I growled. Yes, I growled, that's how mad I was, I growled like a damn lion, get the fuck over it.
"No. I wanna sleep here," said the pee-stained idiot.
"You can't sleep in a parking lot," I rolled my eyes when I saw her lie on her side in a fetal position. I admit, Camila is cute, if she wasn't the most annoying person to ever exist.
"Yes, I can. If hobos can do it, so can I."
"Well, you're not a hobo, dumbo."
"Lauren, shut up, I'm trying to sleep. Can you get me my blanket, please?" Camila said, her eyes were closed, and her hands were tucked under her cheek.
"You are not in your bed, you dumb ass! Get up!" I yanked her arm up, but it slipped because it was still kind of damp with her urine, and I screamed, I swear I screamed like an angry banshee when I realized I touched her pee.
"Fucking bitch you little shithead get the fuck up before I fucking break your stupid jaw and then poop on your bloody face!!"
No response. All I heard was a tiny grunt that was a tell-tale sign that Camila was about to fall asleep.
"Oh, hell no, Cabello!"
And so I kicked her butt. I kicked her hard, but then my foot just bounced back and I don't think she even noticed what I just did. What the hell is her butt cheeks made of? It's like a pillow filled with cotton and I can't help but wonder how her ass would feel like in my hands. Stop, please don't make assumptions, it doesn't mean I like Camila, hell no. I just love butts, plain and simple. And her butt, I gotta admit, was one of the best I've seen in my entire life.
"Hey, get up," I bent down to check if she's really sleeping. I saw her smiling dopily so she's probably just daydreaming or something. "Get up, or I'll drag you by the hair," I warned her.
Well, that got her standing up on her own. She had a thing for her hair, I knew that. She has a fear of getting bald or whatever and wearing wigs, I don't get her words sometimes. One time she said her wig flew out of her scalp, and I thought she was being paranoid, because her hair was perfectly fine - the right amount of wavy and just the perfect shade of dark brown.
So I watched her get up, her knees obviously wobbly, and she looked like a toddler just learning to get up -- butt up in the air, palms down on the floor -- and I wanted to kick her in the ass and watch her tumble back down.
But I didn't. I'm not a horrible person, even if it's two thirty in the morning and I still have one chapter to review and I knew shouldn't be doing this, yet I still believed in good karma.
"That's a good girl, steady now..." I coaxed her as she tried to balance herself by spreading her arms out like a tightrope walker. She looked stupid.
When I guided her around the car towards the passenger side, careful not to touch her because she's a walking urinal right now, she pointed at my car excitedly as if she just saw it and squealed, "That's your car!"
"Yes. The one you peed on," I grumbled as I opened the passenger door.
Camila almost got hit on the face because I didn't notice that she was leaning closer to check herself out in the mirror, but she swerved too quickly for a supposedly drunk girl. "That's the door," She giggled, pointing at the offending object which almost smashed her nose.
As she was about to get in, I yanked her back because I didn't want my car to be smelling like pee, but what can I do?
"Camila, can't you do something about your smell? You're gonna rub off your scent all over my car seat."
"Sure," she shrugged.
Before I could even react, she yanked her damp shirt off her body, and was already unbuttoning her pants, and I looked around in panic to see if anybody was lurking around. Even if I didn't like Camila that much, I still would wanna preserve her dignity. I didn't like the idea of strangers seeing her body only clad in a red lace bra and -- oh, okay, apparently a matching red thong, what the fuck. What am I feeling? I feel weird. Maybe I've inhaled all the toxic fumes from the bitch and now I'm suddenly feeling hot and intoxicated too.
That ass, though!
"Why are you stripping?" I whispered after snapping back to my senses, afraid to speak louder to avoid getting the attention of any lurkers nearby.
"Clothes. With unir-- ugh, pee," she grunted. She crumpled her clothes in a big ball of disgusting heap and turned to me with her glazed eyes and asked for a bag. She's standing there in the middle of a parking lot in her Victoria's Secret lingerie, holding her urine-stained clothes, and here I was staring at her chest. I mean, her bra. Yeah, I liked the design of her brassiere and I thought I gonna look for the same one next time I shop for underwear. Yeah.
When I handed her a plastic bag which I got from my messy back seat, she grabbed it and shoved her clothes inside and then asked me to tie the bag up in a knot (coz her motor skills aren't fully-functioning) and proceeded to bend down to get inside the car. I made sure not to look at her jutting butt, although, I may have peeked a bit.
My conscience was telling me to warn her to bend lower as she clambered up inside, because if she didn't, she will definitely bump her head. But I didn't, because I was petty, and when I heard a loud thump, it made this whole shitty night seem better. Camila has a pretty hard head anyway so I was not worried about concussions. She fell on her ass and bumped her head on a daily basis, nothing new.
Finally, we're inside the car, and the stench of urine wasn't as bad as I thought it will be.
"Put on your seatbelt," I ordered her as I started the car.
I was about to step on the pedal but I heard grunts and saw movements on my side and when I turned to look at Camila, I saw her struggling with the seat belt and her bottom lip was jutting out in a childish pout.
"Need help?" I asked her, rolling my eyes.
"Nope," she tugged on the belt some more but she still wasn't able to lock it in properly. Sighing, she looked at me with her expressive puppy dog eyes and I huffed and leaned forward to grab the belt over her shoulder. I deserved an award for all this shit.
I was too focused to not breathe in because I hate the smell of pee, so I really wasn't paying attention to anything else, so when I felt a warm tickling sensation on the side of my neck I was confused. It didn't immediately register in my head what it was and I turned towards Camila with a questioning glance. But then I saw her refusing to meet my stare, and she looked like the world's best behaved kid, which I sure as hell didn't buy for one second.
That's when it clicked.
"Did you just -- did you actually lick my neck!?" I glowered at her.
"No, eww, why would I!?" She exclaimed innocently, still not looking at me.
I touched the spot where I was licked and felt that it was still kind of damp.
"Yes, you did, you creep!" I successfully fastened her seatbelt, and settled back in my seat with a huff. "God, Camila, do I look like food to you? You're so weird and gross!"
She crossed her arms childishly and stared at the window without saying anything while I drove out of the parking lot.
For a while, it was silent and I welcomed that fact because my brain felt like it was about to explode, and I didn't turn on the radio because I knew that if I did she'd just wanna listen to her favorite bubblegum pop station.
My serenity was short-lived though, as Camila apparently seemed to have already forgotten that she was pretending to be mad at me, because she's back to her usual chatty self. I swear she has the attention span of a goldfish.
"Hey, do you know that bananas float on water?" she casually mentioned. "If I get stranded on an island and I made a raft made from bananas, I wonder if it will float and carry me all the way home?"
Sometimes, I wonder why Camila chose to party every night and not attend classes, because she's not entirely dumb. Well, she knew some pretty useless trivia, but that still goes to show that she could excel in school if she put her mind to it.
It's the reason why we always don't get along, we're too different. She's too weird, and I'm too sarcastic. She's too goofy, and I hated her brand of humor. Like, she's not even funny at all.
"You know what else floats on water?" I kept my eyes on the road, but I felt her staring at me.
"Yeah, watermelons!" she answered excitedly.
I almost smiled at her enthusiasm. But I shook my head and replied, "No. Your mangled corpse, once I'm done murdering you for pissing on my tire."
Camila gasped loudly. "Rude," she pouted.
"Creep," I bit back.
"You're pretty. Your side profile makes me hot," Camila randomly said, making me almost hit the brake.
I quickly glanced at her and saw that she was smiling at me.
"Cut it out, Camila!"
"What? You're supposed to compliment me back... Or at least say thank you!" she giggled. Her slurred words reminded me that she's still drunk, so I drove faster so we could get home sooner.
"You know, sometimes I wish I was a tomato," Camila sighed.
Okay, apparently, drunk Camila was just a fountain of random nonsense, and I had to deal with it for a short while, so, I figured I'll just humor her. I can't deny that I was curious as to why she wanted to be a tomato.
"Care to explain why?"
"Because if I was a tomato, I would be free. I could be a lot of things. I could be tomato sauce... Or salsa -- the food, not the dance..." she clarified, as if I didn't know what she meant. "I could be on top of a bacon or ham and make a sandwich taste better."
"So, basically, your ultimate dream is to become food? I could drop you off to Indonesia and offer you to the Sawi people. My professor said they're into cannibalism."
Her pout was so cute.
"Nah, you'd miss me," she smirked, poking my cheek with her forefinger.
"Ha! Dream on, Camila," I scoffed.
"Whatever. So yeah, if I were a tomato, I could lead a double life without judgment, without people making a big deal out of it. Like, we treat a tomato as if it's a vegetable, when in fact, it's actually a fruit. And most of us know that, but we don't care about that fact, you know? We still treat it like a vegetable."
"Or they could be blatantly being speciesist or something," I teased.
"What? No, I just meant that, as a tomato, I would have the freedom to be a fruit or a vegetable if I wanted to. I could be both."
"So, a tomato could be bisexual, and people are accepting of it without making it a big deal?" I joked.
"Yes, exactly, Lauren! That's what I'm saying!"
"Well, okay then, Camila the Bisexual Tomato, have you considered the challenging aspect of being a tomato?"
"Like what?"
"Well, you could accidentally roll down the floor and be squished to death."
"Hmmm. I haven't thought of that. I admit, that's kinda scary."
"I know right? And what's worse, people could forget you in the fridge and you'll rot in there and they'll eventually throw you away. No tomato sauce or salsa life. You simply wasted away your life and spent it inside the fridge. Your life would be meaningless."
"Jesus, Lauren. Way to piss all over my dreams."
"Just like you did my car. You're welcome."
After a short silence, Camila spoke again.
"So, did you know that a tomato is a ripened ovary of a plant? We're literally eating ovaries!"
"Oh my god, you're still talking about tomatoes!?"
"Well, yeah. Coz they're interesting."
"Will you shut up if I bought you pizza!?"
And that's how I made her shut up for an entirety of five minutes. Before she started squealing excitedly what toppings she's gonna get, and of course she blabbered on and on about pizza trivia and puns which I drowned out after the seventh fun fact.
Fun fact, a fun fact eventually quits being fun if you don't stop talking about it. That's a fact.
When I parked in front of Say Cheese, one of my favorite 24-hour pizzerias, I told her to wait in the car while I order, but she said she wanted to dine in. Of course, I fought her on it, reminding her that she's in her underwear and that they wouldn't let her in especially in her drunk state. She stubbornly said that she would eat her pizza nude if she wanted to, and they wouldn't be able to stop her; even threatened that she will pee all over my interior if I left her alone in the car, and vomit on my car seat, for good measure. I ended up giving her the cow onesie I bought for my best friend Lucy which I left at the backseat awhile ago.
So that's what happened.
She ate an entire ten-inch Hawaiian pizza, save for two slices which she graciously offered me, and a strawberry milkshake. In a cow onesie.
We ended up talking for a solid hour without bickering, and I realized that Camila isn't entirely annoying. Other than her useless fun facts, stupid puns, and drunken slurs, she actually was a very interesting conversationalist, and I can't believe I have never noticed that before.
On our way back home, she succeeded in convincing me to turn on the radio and was belting out some shaky runs to Worth It, which she said was sung by her favorite girl group. I have no idea who they were, because I rarely listened to pop.
She was screeching her vocal chords out, occasionally bragging that the song needed her flair, and said that she should be the sixth member of the group (apparently, there were five of them, and Camila said she hoped they never break up, and I told her it's impossible to keep a group intact, and she hit me on the arm and threatened to fight me, so I just let her do her thing). I didn't bother telling her, because she seemed to be enjoying her adlibs, that I thought I would have done a better job if I were to sing parts of that song.
Finally, I parked my car in front of our building, and when I assisted Camila out of the passenger seat she raised her arms and asked for a piggy back ride.
Oh, hell no.
I left her and walked towards the building, but then I heard whimpering and I felt a tugging in my heart, as if I was built-in to react a certain way to any kinds of child-like crying. I looked back and saw her leaning against my car, with a dejected look; her lips jutting out, eyes cast down, and her hair in shambles.
"Fuck," I groaned as I stomped back towards her.
When she saw me standing in front of her, I saw her eyes widen with excitement, and I abruptly turned around and slightly bent over.
"Hop in," I grumbled. Good thing our apartment was on the ground floor.
She squealed and I felt her jump onto my back, warming me up, and her arms hung limply on my shoulders. She was obviously excited because I can feel her quick breaths on my neck, and while it's now mixed with the smell of pizza I could still detect a hint of whatever the fuck that got her shit-faced drunk tonight.
"You better hang on tight, Camila, because I won't be responsible for any concussions if you fell down."
"Okay," I heard her whisper.
We haven't even reached our door when I felt her hands sliding down, grabbing and squeezing my boobs so casually as if it's the most normal thing to do in the world, while her head was laid on my shoulder.
"Camila!!"
"What!?"
"Get your dirty hands off my breasts!"
"I don't wanna!" she said stubbornly. And as if to prove how much she didn't wanna, I felt her hands give me another squeeze.
"See? Your boobies fit perfectly in my palms." What kind of an adult says boobies?! Jesus. Camila is a fucking perverted child.
Okay, fine, I thought her hands felt kind of nice. Gentle with a hint of mischief. So unlike the guys I've hooked up with where it felt like they're milking cows whenever they play with my boobs, like seriously, did they think I was lactating? Okay, what the hell was I thinking?
"Hands off, Camila, or I'll drop you."
"No. It's only fair. Why do you get to grab on my ass, and I can't touch your boobs?"
"What?!" I asked confusedly.
"My ass," she said. I swear I could feel her smirking on my neck. "Your hands are on my ass."
Apparently, they were. Shit. When the fuck did that happen? I swear I was holding her thighs to secure her in my back.
"Sorry," I said sheepishly. My hands sliding back down her thighs and making sure they don't stray again. I blame her ass for my slip-up. It's too goddamn big, it's like an entire continent, so it's not like I wanted to grope her. It was an accident -- one that I hoped to live down.
"It's okay, Lo. I liked it," she giggled.
"Shut up."
Miraculously, we got inside the room without any accidents. I never thought I'd appreciate the warm smell of second-hand academic books, photocopied papers, the garlicky scent of left-over Chinese take-outs, and rotting wood, but I can't explain how happy I was for being home. Now, I can go to my bed and maybe get enough sleep so I could wake up thirty minutes earlier than my usual alarm to do some more reading.
I glanced at her and saw that she was slumped against our front door where I left her, seemingly too tired to function.
"Goodnight, Camila. You should shower first. You smell gross."
When I didn't hear any reaction, I took a deep sigh and helped her up.
I dragged her to the small bathroom and helped her out of "her" onesie, before pushing her towards the shower.
"Remove your underwear when I get out. Make sure to wash your hair thoroughly, I swear I can smell urine in your head," I instructed her as I turned on the shower myself, setting it in a good enough temperature.
My hand was already on the door knob, but I frowned because I never heard Camila answer back. That's highly unusual, because Camila always answered back. Even when she's fast asleep, she has this insane ability to sleep-talk and carry a conversation (granted that it won't make sense half the time, but still).
I figured I already wasted enough time and energy anyway, might as well check that she didn't bump her head or anything.
"Camila? I'm opening the shower curtain okay, if you're naked, I'd appreciate it if you turned around. And I swear if you're masturbating I'll kill you! The first time I caught you was traumatizing enough."
Dreading to see something inappropriate, I slowly peeked in and saw Camila sleeping on the floor, mouth hanging open, with the stream of water landing on her face I was afraid she's gonna choke to death. Her bra straps were pulled down, I guess she tried taking it off but was too drunk to unhook it.
Did I ask to be a babysitter, God?
But what can I do? I can't leave her here.
"Camz, get up... C'mon, let's do a quick shower and then you can go to bed."
Apparently, I've said a magic word because she's suddenly awake again. "You'll shower with me?" she asked. Too eager for my liking.
"No, dumbass. I'll help you shower. I'm not showering with you," I explained while I tied my hair up in a bun.
"Okay," she mumbled. She then pulled down her panties and I almost inhaled and choked on the soap suds I was lathering up in my hands when I saw her giant ass in all its glorious naked glory.
What the fuck. Is this even real? And why do I feel hypnotized by it? I swear I heard something whisper in my ear telling me to touch it. To poke it with my finger. To grab it. To smack it and watch it jiggle. But I fought that urge.
"Can you please help me with my bra," Camila glanced at me and I think she saw me staring at her ass, but if she did, she didn't comment about it, thank god.
I cleared my throat as I tried to unhook her bra. My fingers were shaking so it took me a few times before I managed successfully. And she thanked me when I did, slowly removing her straps from her arm, as if making a show of it. And why the hell can't I look away from her slender back down to her butt?
Next thing I know I was mumbling the lyrics "gotta eat da booty like groceries." Oh my.
Shaking my head furiously, as if that'll make the random thoughts fly away from my head, I gave Camila the soap and ordered her to wash her body quickly, as I squirted on a big glop of mixed berries-scented shampoo onto her head and started haphazardly rubbing her scalp as fast as I could.
"Ow! Be gentle, Lo! Do you want me to be bald?"
Still rubbing furiously and trying to stare at the wall, I didn't know what I was answering until the words already tumbled out of my mouth, "Seeing as you're already bald down there, I don't see a problem..." I froze.
And she gasped.
"You peeping tom!" She faced me and I closed my eyes to avoid seeing anything else. I asked her to turn back around but I knew she didn't listen to me because I can still feel her breath on my face. "Open your eyes, Lauren," she whispered.
I closed my eyes even harder. My hands remained on her soapy hair, but unmoving.
I didn't know why I felt so nervous at that moment, but I was and I can't deny the tension I felt in the air. What was I feeling then? Attraction? No. It couldn't be. It's just probably awkwardness because this situation was too intimate. Yeah. That must be it. And I should go.
"You seem fine now, Camila. I'll leave you to it..."
I took a step back but Camila grabbed my wrist.
"Wait, Lo."
I stood rooted to the spot, my eyes glued to Camila's brown ones. My throat was dry and I felt my heart thumping so fast and hard.
When she leaned closer, I didn't find the will to move away. It's like my body just shut down at the touch of her fingers encircling my wrist. I kept glancing back and forth from her eyes and her lips. What was I expecting, anyway? Did I want something to happen!?
God, no! I didn't even like Camila as a person! And I'm straight! I have Brad as a fuck buddy, although I must say that he's lousy at eating pussy. Probably because he basically has no lips. But whatever, my point was, I love dicks too much to be attracted to a girl!
"I want to kiss you, Lauren."
Wait, what?
"Aren't you gonna say something?" I heard her say.
I was still too shocked to move or talk, and the warmth on my wrist which was her hand ironically kept me frozen. Her unfaltering gaze made my heart flip several times for reasons unknown. All I knew then was that I've never been more nervous in my entire life.
"Okay, I'm gonna kiss you now, Lo."
I felt her breath on my face, the hint of alcohol only barely detectable, probably because her mouth was washed up from all the water she swallowed awhile ago.
I didn't even know why I didn't avoid her lips. Despite my mind telling me it's wrong, still, I didn't move away.
You know, sometimes it just doesn't matter what you have believed all your life. You could have been a Republican for forty years, and one sunny day, you decide, hey, you don't like Trump, you're gonna vote Dem this one time because you still value humanity over bigotry. And guess what, it's okay. It doesn't make you a hypocrite. How you feel in a single moment, is what matters the most, because that is all life is. Life is living in the present.
So what if I thought I was straight my entire twenty years of living? Kissing Camila now doesn't make my past a lie. I could go back to kissing guys tomorrow, or girls, whatever, and that's all that matters. That one moment where everything feels right is the only true moment.
So I kissed Camila back.
And boy was it life-changing.
It was soft, it was gentle. It was sweet, with a taste of alcohol (and pizza) which made it even more memorable.
It was highly exciting, but at the same time, it felt so completely normal. Like, why do people even make a big deal over same-sex love, when it should be as normal as heterosexual connections? It's simply two people kissing, no matter what the gender was. That's what I realized the whole time I was kissing my roommate. It was both special and normal.
Kissing Camila felt normal.
What didn't feel normal was her burping directly into my mouth, I could practically smell what she ate this Monday; then tasting something sour and bitter in my tongue, and as I gasped for air, I thought I swallowed a piece of ham. And that's when I heard the sound of retching.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Camila puking her guts out. And I screamed bloody murder because the bitch vomited in my mouth!
I could kill her.
But not before running towards the sink and poking at the back of my throat because ewwww I swallowed bits and pieces of her last meal, how disgusting was that!?
• •
I woke up the next morning and immediately knew that something wasn't right.
The place was quiet. Too eerily quiet.
No sounds of snoring, or loud music, or Camila's high-pitched voice singing some Taylor Swift songs.
Groggily, I rolled out of bed, and when my feet touched the floor I felt something wet and sticky on the soles of my feet. I looked down and saw blood.
In fact, there was a trail of blood all over the floor, and bloody prints on the wall, and while I knew that I did get heavy periods at times, it was quite impossible to comprehend that this amount of blood would come out of my vagina.
What the hell happened in here last night?
All I could remember was a lot of puking.
I found my slippers and gingerly walked towards our tiny kitchen, making sure not to step on any blood which was nearly impossible because the whole room was literally a bloody mess.
"Camila?" I croaked out. My throat felt dry and scratchy, and I recalled staring at my reflection in the mirror last night after I puked, still listening to Camila's annoying retching.
The blade.
I can dimly recall seeing a razor blade in the cabinet in front of me, and I remember the feel of the blade in between my fingertips, the cold glint of steel that looked as menacing as it was when I buried it skin-deep, cutting flesh that wasn't mine.
A series of black-outs. A few hazy images flashing through my mind. And then Camila's face, eyes widened with horror as her hands clutches at her throat, blood spurting out from a long gash at the base of her throat.
That's all I can remember.
My head was aching.
I needed some water.
"Camila!?" I shouted again. Still no answer.
The loud hum of the refrigerator brought back more images in my mind. Me, grabbing our butcher knife. Camila's loud cries and pitiful begging. A series of thuds which sounded so much like bones cracking.
I opened the refrigerator door and I screamed. But nothing came out of my mouth.
I was screaming silently as I saw Camila's head on a plate on the top shelf of our fridge. Ironically, a couple of bananas sat beside her lifeless head. A bunch of chopped up body parts littered the rest of the compartments, and when I opened the freezer, there's a heart inside a jar I knew Camila liked to put her jelly beans in.
And I crumpled on the floor. I didn't know if I passed out or just laid there crying, but eventually, I felt the floor shaking.
Maybe an entrance to hell was opening up, because I killed Camila. Why? Because she puked on me!?
My god.
A hazy cloud flooded my mind as I heard a voice in my head calling my name. I was still shaking, or the floor is.
The voice became louder, and as seconds passed by, I realized that it sounded like Camila. I jolted upright and my forehead hit something hard, and suddenly, I saw myself back in my bed, and staring right in front of me, with her hands covering her nose, her eyes watering, was Camila. Looking very whole and alive.
"Ouch, Lauren, you hit my nose! Jeez!" She complained, her voice kind of distorted and nasally, but to me, it was music to the ears. She's alive.
"I'm sorry, Camz! What happened?"
"You're having a nightmare."
"Oh my fuck, thank god! It was never real. I thought you were dead.
"What? You're delusional."
"I know. It was so scary."
"Well... I'm glad I'm alive, too. I guess," Camila joked feebly. Her face looked pale, her eyes had dark circles underneath, and her lips looked chapped.
She looked hungover.
I gasped as realization hit me. "Wait, you really puked on me last night, didn't you?! It wasn't a dream!?"
I saw her slowly backing away, guilt evident on her face, and when her back hit the bathroom door she opened it quickly and locked herself in.
"Camila! I'm gonna fucking kill you!"