Every passing day without a letter in return feels more and more hopeless.
Camila knows the mailmen are better than this, and usually letters send and are returned before two weeks can pass. Or maybe not, and this is normal. Camila hasn't sent much mail within her lifetime, but it's 1961 and Camila knows the mail service has gotten better from when her parents would send letters out.
She can't help but notice how Lauren grows more and more tired each passing day. She has been here with Camila for over a month now, and Camila can imagine she's feeling stuck.
They're sitting outside, their faces pointed to the sea. Camila lifts her head from her palms, ripping her eyes from the crashing waves, and glancing over at Lauren. She's sitting leaned back on both hands, her brown hair obscuring her face slightly.
"If I had a car, I would drive you there."
Lauren looks like she's been pulled from a deep monologue herself, her expression a little dazzled. "Drive me where?"
"The California coast." Camila explains, lacing her own fingers together and tapping her thumb against her other thumb. It's soothing to her. "My family never had a car, we never had enough money for one. Being a lighthouse keeper doesn't make the most money. I'm sure I could buy one now if I really wanted—it is the 60's—I just..."
"It's okay." Lauren offers her a smile, shrugging a shoulder cutely. "I prefer the seas over anything."
Camila feels a little more relaxed now. She's not even sure she would be able to drive in the first place, she'd probably zone out. Still, she feels uncharacteristically talkative at the moment. Maybe it is in character and she's simply been out of herself for too long. She can't tell.
"So, about the seas...?"
A chuckle is exhaled from Lauren, twisting toward Camila again. "What about it?"
The sun has set already, leaving the land in a calm darkness. It's not pitch black, though. Camila can still see Lauren and her surroundings; they're just dimmed. It brings out a pretty hue of blue in the water, anyway.
"What're they like?" Camila asks, somewhat embarrassed.
Lauren knits her eyebrows together momentarily, sending Camila a bizarre look. "Well, they tried to drown me, first of all."
Rolling her eyes, Camila scoots away from Lauren. She rests the side of her face on her knee, gazing over at Lauren. Even with her moving away, they're closer than they are most nights.
"I don't really know how to explain it, I guess." She admits, dropping her eyes to the grass before raising them back up. There's a certain light behind them that Camila has grown to admire. "They're free. The wind and the water, the way the boat moves under you. No land in sight and you feel... well..." Lauren avoids eye contact with Camila by casting her gaze out into the ocean. "Kind of lonely, I guess."
That perks Camila's head up. "What do you mean? I thought you had your crew?"
She sighs, still not meeting Camila's eyes. "I thought I did. But thinking back on it this month, I realized my crew had been drifting away from me. There were nights where I wouldn't sleep, I'd just be up in my bed, wondering what else is out there. I guess I got so in my head, I stopped being a good captain."
Camila listens, her eyes dropping to Lauren's fingers picking at the grass again. A winter chill rushes through her and while spring should be cracking through the frozen land soon, it hasn't yet. They should be heading in soon—before the incests mistake them as part of the earth.
"On my ship, I was out finding that what else, you know? I loved the rush of plundering and fighting and porting in new places. It was really fun." Lauren hides a sad, nostalgic smile with her knee, still picking at the grass. "I was lonely, though. Surrounded by my crew all day, everyday, I craved for company in midst of all the company I could ever need."
Inhaling slowly, Lauren looks up at Camila, her eyes dim like the sky tonight. "It's hard to explain."
"I get it." Camila chimes in. Lauren's initial shock settles into a humane expression. She does this every time Camila opens up, as if she's taken aback, and she has full reason to be. "Well, the opposite of it. I sought loneliness within being alone. I could've seen people but I chose not to."
Lauren gazes at her with this puzzled look on her face; like she's been trying and trying to figure her out the whole time she's spent here. When there's no resolution to the confusion, Camila figures she'll just have to keep searching.
"It sounds like you were cowering from what I was craving to."
They meet eyes and Camila knows Lauren isn't mentioning to easy transparency between being alone and not. But she also isn't sure what it means, either. Camila's heart beats a little louder in that moment and she cowers from it.
Wait.
She chooses not to comment on it. She doesn't want to think about it or even entertain the idea in her head. It's hard to imagine being with someone after years of running from just that. A normal life—even if Camila has never done anything wild in her life, she can't say she's lived a normal life, either. Perhaps she'll find someone when she's older. But she isn't sure love or normalcy are even for her to begin with.
Lauren hums gently, a playful smile hidden with the upturned corners of her lips. She stands up, brushing off the jacket she is wearing—it's Camila's, of course.
Extending a hand to Camila, she says, "let's head inside. It's getting dark out here and I don't want to become a bug nest."
Rising to her feet without taking Lauren's hand, Camila is still in her head about a couple things. She didn't even notice Lauren offered her hand to help her up. They walk back to the lighthouse door together.
That's where Camila pauses, lingering. Whenever she goes inside, it feels like she can't be open. It's this suffocating feeling that follows entering the lighthouse; not particularly because of the house's size or shape, not even by how small her bedroom is. It's full of reminiscent memories of repression.
She really wants to tell Lauren about how she dreamed of becoming a pirate since she was little. Camila wants to wrap up in blankets and spill her guts to this girl who happened to wash up on her beach one morning. But at the same time, she doesn't. It's not that she doesn't want Lauren to know these things—even though they are kind of embarrassing—Camila doesn't want to remember herself like that, anyway.
She shakes her head at the thought of it now.
"Are we going in?" Lauren asks, her hand hesitant on the door's latch.
Lifting her head, Camila gives a strained smile, "yes."
...
As Camila lays awake in her bed, she can't help but think about Captain Lauren staying up all night wanting company. What does she mean by that? All these years, dreaming of sailing, she never once thought how she might become lonesome until now.
How many times would she be okay with the boat rocking her to sleep instead of a human being? The wind singing her a sweet song in place of a gentle voice? The ocean depths being the only person she knows through and through?
She thinks about Lauren. Maybe she's awake right now, thinking about Camila. Camila smiles stupidly at the thought.
It sounds lonely but at least Lauren had her crew, right? Camila knows Lauren said they were distant, but they were always an option. Camila supposes she had options but they felt unobtainable and wild; better to stay within her solitude than to risk company.
But really, how many creaks in the floorboard until she's wishing they're someone's footsteps?
Not enough.
...
It's around ten in the morning as Camila is stepping out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her body. She dries her body off, slipping into clean underwear and pajama shorts. It's still cold outside but Camila is planning on taking a nap with lots of blankets after not getting much sleep last night.
Flipping her hair forward, Camila dries it with her towel, vigorously rubbing it against her scalp. She hears the door click open and immediately covers her chest with the towel.
"Camila!" Lauren sings, barging in while looking down at a piece of paper. "Check it ou—! Oh, fuck. I'm so sorry." She goes beet red, shoving her face into her hands and covering her eyes. "I didn't mean to."
Lauren turns around, still holding her face within her hands. The piece of paper is wedged between her index and middle finger. Camila stands frozen in the bathroom, holding her towel to her. She knows Lauren didn't actually see anything, but walking into a room and seeing someone unexpectedly covered up is still shocking.
"It's all good, just give me a second." Camila turns around, too—just for extra measure. She drops the towel and puts on an old button up. Buttoning it up, she turns back around. Lauren is standing there motionless. "Okay, I'm good. What is going on?"
Slowly, Lauren removes the fingers from her eyes and turns back to Camila. Her cheeks are still lightly pink and her eyes are wide. "I- uh... the mailman came up to me when I was outside and..." her voice trails off, biting her bottom lip. "I'm sorry, I thought you were in here cleaning or something. Not... you know."
Camila laughs, picking the towel off the floor and setting it in the basket near the sink. "I was cleaning, dummy. Cleaning my body."
At the laughter and somehow endearing term, Lauren relaxes slightly. She extends her hand, the paper being offered to Camila. "It's a letter, anyway. From your mom. Don't worry, I didn't read it."
Camila stops before her fingers can reach the letter, her muscles tensing slightly in apprehension. She hears her heartbeat pounding within her chest.
"My mom?"
Lauren is speaking but Camila can't hear her anymore; the blood flowing in her ears rages over any other noise. She takes the letter in her hands, careful as if it might burn her or jump out and scare her. The vision around her eyes grows dark and blurry. Camila feels dizzy.
"I—" Camila cuts in, concentrating on keeping her body steady. "I think I need some time by myself. Just... give me a second."
Turning and walking up the steps, she keeps her face down at the letter. Her mother actually sent her mail—she hopes it's good.
Behind her, Lauren sighs faintly, left behind near the bathroom door. "Okay."
Locking herself in her room, she's not taking any chances of Lauren bothering her if she happens to become overwhelmed. It's not her favorite side of herself and she hates for her to have to see her vulnerable and raw like that again. Camila plops down on her bed, her wet hair drooping in front of her face. A droplet of water slides off a stand of her hair and onto the envelope.
She takes a deep breath before pulling open the top of the envelope. It pops open with a sticking noise, revealing a neatly folded letter inside. Camila's hands are shaky—god, they're so shaky—as she plucks it out gingerly.
"Here goes nothing." Even her voice is trembling.
Unfolding it, Camila immediately recognizes her mother's scribbled handwriting. It reminds her so much of her own. It's done messily in black, bold ink, with a couple of stray splotches here and there.
Dear Mija,
You don't realize how grateful I am you reached out to me, even if it is for a simple favor. I've missed you so much and everyday I think about how I messed up when you were younger. As much as I hate that damned lighthouse, I'm sure you hate it ten times more. I will come and watch the lighthouse while you are gone—anything to help.
I should be there by dark Friday, okay? I hope this letter reaches you before then. I'll be taking the ferry from Juneau. Don't feel pressured to stay until I arrive. Leave a note at the door for me. Muchas gracias, cariño.
Con amor, Mamá
Camila doesn't realize she's gripping the letter so tightly until it crinkles under her fingers. Her mom... misses her? After all this time, with all this radio silence between them. Why hadn't she reached out before then?
Tremendously thankful the letter was shorter than expected, Camila exhales a nervous repressed breath. She must've inhaled this breath nearly ten years ago. It's weird, looking down at her mother's handwriting after all of this time.
Her relationship with her mother was never bad—she just didn't do what was best for Camila. She left Camila here with the man she fled from.
And now she's letting Camila run free for a while.
Another shaky inhale, Camila sets the paper down on her bed. She caves into herself, hugging her torso as tightly as she can without breaking a rib. She keeps her breathing steady, making sure her vision and consciousness stays consistent. Years and years of dealing with moments like this, she knows a few of her triggers.
Whenever her mind shifts to thinking about her father, she immediately shuts it down. Camila knows repressing her own emotions will get her no where, but she doesn't want to deal with the emotional backlash right now.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...
"You're okay, Camila. It's okay." She murmurs to herself, her eyes closed.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...
"You are doing your best."
Inhale, exhale...
Camila drifts off into sleep—the nap she's been looking forward to all morning.
...
Bounding down the stairs like an energetic puppy, Camila plows into the lighthouse door. It's around four in the afternoon, and Lauren should be outside since she wasn't in her room or the kitchen—Camila checked.
"Lauren!" Camila calls out, scanning the landscape around the lighthouse quickly. "I have good news except I don't know when Friday is!"
It's rapidly evident, however, that Lauren isn't sitting in Camila's usual cliff-side spot.
That's where Lauren always sits, so much so, Camila's new spot is right beside her. Panic rises in her chest, she feels her arms adapt a tingly sensation and her head begins to hurt.
"Lauren?" Camila asks, softly at first and then louder the second time. "Lauren?"
Dumbfounded, Camila stands alone on the cliff, looking out to the horizon. Then her eyes move down the hill from the lighthouse but she still doesn't see Lauren, just shrubs and greenery that fade into rocks and beach. She couldn't have gone far, where could she have gone? She wasn't in her room and she wasn't in the kitchen. The bathroom was empty and Camila had left her bedroom, so there's no way Lauren was in there while she was napping.
Maybe... maybe Lauren—
No, Camila's not thinking about that. Lauren wouldn't just go without telling her. Right? Lauren is the one who requested she come with her in the first place.
But what if she is tired of Camila's back and forth? It is exhausting, even to Camila. Her promises are never quite enough and never make it as far as she'd like.
What if Lauren went without her?
Camila stands very still, her hand clenched near her chest. Her eyebrows furrow and she lets out one last "Lauren" before tears well in her eyes.
No answer, no reply. Camila can't see Lauren from atop this cliff, where she can see everything except the rocks near the beach below.
Eyebrows still furrowed, Camila walks back into the lighthouse. Maybe something went wrong and if she goes outside again, Lauren will be there. She has to be there, Lauren is always out there. She stands on ground floor before opening the lighthouse door again. Lauren still isn't out there.
Closing the door, she waits again. Then opens the door, expecting Lauren to be there, waiting for her. But she's not. A cold draft flows into the house.
Camila huffs through tears, shutting the door loudly, tapping her foot nervously. Angrily, Camila pushes the door open once again. No change, Lauren is not there. Lauren should be there; every time Camila opens this door, Lauren is always there.
"Please," Camila whispers, her voice cracking even with its soft undertones.
Leaning her body weight against the door, Camila reveals her teary face to the harsh cold for a final attempt.
She's simply gone.
Letting the heavy door close behind her, she rests her back against it. In her mind, Camila makes a list of all the places she checked—because Lauren isn't gone, Lauren wouldn't leave, she wouldn't. Then it hits her.
Tears obscuring her vision, Camila sprints up the stairwell, around and around the lighthouse, all the way to the seventh floor. She breaks out into the cold, grasping onto the safely rail around the high platform. The beacon hasn't been lit yet, but Camila will have to light it in a few hours.
Her hair flies around her, getting in her eyes and in her face. Lauren isn't up here. But she should be. Lauren always wanted to accompany Camila whenever she would check the lamp and do the weights. Why isn't she up here?
"Lauren!" Camila cries over the railing, into the howling wind. If it was bad down there, it's worse up here. "I don't understand..."
Lauren isn't gone, she's just— she's just— Camila's mind tries to make excuses for where Lauren may be. She can't stay for over a month and then go without a goodbye. Even Camila doesn't deserve that. She's already had someone stay their whole life and then leave without a goodbye. This has to be different.
Wiping her eyes with her balled up fists, Camila runs down the steps messily. One step. Two steps. Three steps. It passes by in a blur. Ground level passes through her line of sight. Suddenly, she's back up at the top of the lighthouse.
Camila hates when she can't tell what is happening. All she knows is Lauren is missing and no matter how many times Camila opens and closes the main door, she doesn't appear.
Turning on her heels, she runs down the flight of stairs, panting and sweating from scaling and descending the lighthouse. Footsteps echo her own, approaching from below.
"Camila?"
Camila stops instantly. Her arms fall like rubber to her sides. She waits, becoming part of the moment, no longer a person, but solely a vessel in time. She's a mere second in the future, a minute in the past—Camila's scared she's wrong.
Then she turns the corner, clad in the same clothes she was wearing when Camila saw her earlier. Her hair looks wind blown and she's breathing heavy. She must've ran up here, too.
"Camila, what's wrong? I heard you and I—"
Camila practically jumps every step she can get, plowing herself into Lauren's chest. Her arms wrap around her easily, and Lauren has to grab onto the stair railing to keep them from falling down the steps from the impact.
Squeezing her tighter than Camila's ever held something, Camila cries into her chest. Usually, whenever Lauren tries to hold Camila when she's crying, Camila wants out of her embrace as quickly as possible. But not now. Not now.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Lauren sounds like she's tearing up. It's a funny thing she does when Camila cries. Or at least Camila thinks it's funny. Why would she be crying if Camila is one who is sad?
"What day is it?" Camila mutters into her shirt, inhaling big gasps of air. "I don't know when Friday is."
Camila feels Lauren running her fingers through her hair soothingly. "I'm sorry, you don't know what day it is?"
Lauren pulls back slightly to glimpse Camila's face. It's red and her eyes are puffy with tears, a frown sits upon her lips. "Oh, Camila." She coos, wrapping her arms around her again. "It's Wednesday."
"Okay," Camila seems to have caught her breath, still trembling with fear and remorse. "That's what I was going to ask you. But I couldn't find you. I could not find you. The door... it wouldn't— I don't—"
"It's okay," Lauren assures her. The gentle breathing and heartbeat echoing within her chest calms Camila. "I was down at the beach. You were sleeping so I figured I'd leave you alone for the afternoon."
Camila nods, pushing herself away from Lauren now. "I like being alone. It was scary, though. You were gone and I could not find you."
"Well, I'm here now."
Chest still heaving though her breath has returned, Camila hums, "yes."
Lauren is staring at her with this certain expression in her eyes, as if she can't figure her out. She looks worried, though, and protective. Camila realizes she is staring back and drops her gaze; Lauren's doesn't waver, however.
"My mom is coming on Friday." Camila informs Lauren abruptly, feeling uncomfortable under her watchful eye. "That's what she said in the letter. She said we can leave before then, just to leave a letter at the door."
"That's amazing!" Lauren exclaims, grabbing both of Camila's hand in the midst of her bliss. Camila's eyes go wide and she shakes her hands free, clenching them, and pressing them into her thighs. If Lauren noticed, she doesn't show it.
Nodding with Lauren, Camila feels a wave of exhaustion hit her. Not the kind that makes her want to crawl into her bed and sleep, but the type that rattles her bones to crave solitude. It hits her so suddenly, it nearly knocks the wind out of her.
But Lauren is still in front of her, both of them standing idly in the stairway, Lauren's cheeks now pink with excitement. She's looking at Camila warmly, expectantly, her eyes glowing.
"Do you want to leave before your mom shows up or not?"
The question is a simple yes or no question, but Camila never can circle yes or no without sitting for hours contemplating it. She feels like a deer in the headlights within the stairwell now, her pupils shrinking in the light.
"It's okay," Lauren assures her, a knowing smile appearing on her lips. "I'll give you time. Just let me know when you figure it out."
She turns away and Camila feels familiar fear kick up in her gut. "No!" She reaches out, recoiling her fingers before they brush against Lauren's shirt. "I- I want to go before she comes. I don't want to see her yet."
"Are you sure? It's no big deal if you think about it." Lauren frowns, pivoted on her toes. Camila notices Lauren grab tentatively at her now exposed cut down her forearm.
It's healed nicely for such a nasty wound originally. The small nicks upon her face have faded over the month and weeks, and the cuts down her legs look better and better every time Camila rubs medicine on them. But the scabbed cut on Lauren's forearm is the worst one.
It reminds Camila, if anything.
"Yes, I am sure." Camila lifts her eyes from the healing wound. Shifting self-consciously, Lauren nods with acknowledgement.
"Okay," she smiles, "we can get ready tomorrow and leave at sunrise. Does that work for your schedule?"
Camila confirms, pulling at the ends of her own shirt. She watches as Lauren heads down into the kitchen. Sending a final look out the seventh floor's door window, she sees the trees swaying with the wind and the sky becoming a darker blue.
...
Laying in her bed, her mom's letter sat on her chest, Camila looks disdained up at the ceiling. Her mind cannot stop replaying the moments when she found Lauren after thinking Lauren had... had gone.
Camila is someone who very much needs comfort to thrive and she's found comfort within Lauren, she's used to Lauren after these weeks. Security in her always being there was stripped from Camila and it sent her into a daze of anger and confusion. She feels almost embarrassed by the way she acted.
When Camila's mom left, she didn't say goodbye, either, and Camila's life lost such a huge part of Camila's alleviation. Someone Camila felt safety in, especially when her father was a walking hell demon on earth.
Lauren's been there for Camila this month, now it's time for Camila to be there for her. It's time to leave the lighthouse behind and venture out into the horizon line. It's terrifying, to say the least, but Camila wouldn't want Lauren going by herself. She's lost too much in her lifetime, she can't lose Lauren.
Sighing, she sits up, folds the letter neatly, and places it on her desk. Camila rubs her tired eyes, shutting them momentarily in the peaceful silence.
Peaceful, nevertheless, it is oddly silent. Tucking herself back into bed, her mind wanders and finds itself wishing for footsteps creaking the floorboards.
——
A/N: kind of embarrassing this took five days to come out when I started writing it literally the night after I published chapter four?? I would've had it done last night, except I started school Tuesday and can no longer stay up until 2 a.m. writing and editing. If you're curious, I started my senior year of high school and it's all remote—so boring so far but hopefully it gets better.
Take care of yourselves and stay safe. I love you!
- StrangeBlob