Worth The Shot

Drowning

Camilo rested his crossed arms on the window sill, his expression coldly unreadable. "(Y/n). We need to talk."

He'd leaned a ladder against your house. 

Your fingers halted on the guitar strings and you took a deep breath.  "Okay." I already know he doesn't want to be with me anymore. I won't get emotional.

Camilo swung his legs over the window and said nothing. His back rested against the wall and he ran his tongue over his lips, thinking.

The suspense was torture. You wanted to talk to him, to touch him, to be with him so much it hurt. But not right now. The cold water from your drenched clothes soaked down to your skin, giving you chills. Your abuela was gone. All he had to do was flick you, and you would break down.

Go easy on me, Camilo. You mentally prayed. I can't take much more.

He frowned and ran a slow hand through his hair. Your heartbeat painfully jolted as if its strings were wound around his fingers. You waited for his verdict.

"When were you going to tell me?" He finally challenged, staring you down. You loved his eyes. But at that moment, you wanted their hazel intensity to be focused on anyone else but you.

"What?" You said, confused. You blinked and set your guitar down on your bed. 

"Were you even going to tell me?" Camilo's voice was angry now, barely concealing its undertones of betrayal and hurt.

It felt like a knife in your chest, having him talk to you like that. Your back was against the wall opposite to him now. You pressed your eyes shut as if that could seal any tears from leaking out. "Camilo, I-"

Camilo aggressively took two steps forward and tilted your chin up to look at him. He didn't hurt you, but you couldn't move out of his fingers' rough grasp.

"Don't lie to me." He growled. "Maybe it's your destiny to break casita. To break my family. But you had no excuse to break my heart."  His voice cracked on the last sentence, and he furiously blinked back tears, looking away. "I can't wait until I can hate you."

That was what did it.

The knot in your throat tightened and you shuddered with a sob.

Camilo awkwardly froze. You felt his unsure eyes watch you struggle against the tears that cut your throat and chest like shards of glass.

I can't cry. I'm not going to cry in front of him.

But it was too late. Once your unstably-suspended glass dam had caved in, you couldn't stop the accelerating rush of emotions from pouring out. You were crying, and you couldn't do anything about it. And the last person you wanted to see it was watching.

Camilo's eyes stiffly flickered back and forth between yours. He watched you in a cruel silence.

He finally took a deep breath.

"Hey." Camilo's eyes softened, and he crouched on his knees, looking up at you as if begging you not to cry. He was breathing heavily, trying not to cry himself. "It's okay. It's okay."

"I didn't do anything- Mirabel saw- the prophecy-" your words were jumbled , crammed between desperate inhales and bouts of tears. "I wouldn't-"

"Come here." Camilo whispered, wrapping you in an embrace. "I believe you. If you say it's nothing, it's nothing."

It came out in a flood. "My abuela, she's gone," you choked out. "My father is lying to me. Mirabel hates me."

"Oh. Mariposa." He murmured into your hair.

You stood in silence, pressed against each other's bodies in silent companionship and comfort.

Camilo finally spoke.

"Let's run away."