Lost at Sea || Shawmila [Completed]

the road not taken looks real good now

The rhythmic and metallic noise of the train accompanied her journey, which had been lasting for hours. She could imagine the wheels screeching and the rust being worn away as they touched the tracks, while the once pristine snow was now speckled with toxic smoke and black oil dripping from the train.

On her lap, there were numerous newspaper headlines featuring her name in bold letters. The black print seemed to scream as it announced to the entire nation what she would have wanted to forget. She had spent the night on the uncomfortable seat covered by worn-out fabric, in a solitary carriage, so far from the driver's cabin that she made sure to be forgotten by everyone. She wanted to ignore the large black letters that mocked her, tear those crumpled pieces of paper apart, and erase the shame she felt along with them, but she couldn't. Thus, she had spent the night reading those articles, which repeated a story she knew all too well.

«Actor Everett Grant Shatters Camila Cabello's Fairy Tale with 'Happily Never After»

«From "Write" to "Wrong": Actor Everett Grant Exposed Cheating on poetess Camila Cabello»

«Heartbreak in Tinseltown After Actor Everett Grant's Infidelity Revealed, Writer Camila Cabello Left Devastated»

«The Script of Deception: Actor Everett Grant's Cheating Revelation Leaves Writer Camila Cabello Heartbroken»

She hated those headlines, the way they made fun of her with their puns, swirling around her misfortunes like hungry vultures. She hated becoming the laughingstock of everyone when her only fault had been trusting a man.

So she had run away in the middle of the night, leaving her New York apartment after hastily packing a suitcase. She arrived at the station with paparazzi flashes blinding her, and boarded the first train to Maine. She tried to distract herself by admiring the forest outside the window, the pine and fir trees covered in a thick layer of snow, the dense steam from the locomotive clouding the view in large white puffs. Then her eyelids grew heavy, and the train's motion lulled her into a light and troubled sleep.

She woke up to the screeching brakes and the glare of the pale sun reflecting off the snow. She got off the train, huddling in her fur coat, and the cold, salty air whipped her face, making her tear up. She buried her nose in her coat and walked toward the waiting car outside the station, suitcase in hand.

It had been a few years since she had last been in Harbor Cove, but nothing seemed to have changed since the last time she set foot in that place. The sound of the sea persistently crashing against the coast had been a sound that accompanied her for most of her life, as well as the gray skies and the sight of fishing boats coming and going from the city's port. That place held cherished memories, but after her departure, they had been tainted with a bittersweet taste.

She entered her parents' villa, welcomed by the pleasant warmth of the fireplace. Their house had not changed at all, always filled with precious objects but lacking that cozy and familiar feeling that a family home should have. Camila never thought she would return to live within those walls; she was convinced her future would be in New York, alongside Everett. However, the humiliation resulting from his betrayal had swept away that possibility, leaving no trace. The engagement ring she had flaunted for months had gone missing somewhere in the actor's apartment after Camila had thrown it at him before fleeing the Big Apple.

She had no idea what her life would be like from that moment on. Would she ever return to New York? Would she ever be able to face the public opinion again? Would she ever sit in a cinema hall without her thoughts drifting to Everett?

Her only certainty was her pen. She knew that, despite everything, she would never lose the desire - and above all, the need - to pour her emotions onto paper. It had always been that way ever since she could remember. She always carried a notebook and a pen with her, waiting for inspiration to strike so she could turn her thoughts into words and rhymes. She had been fortunate enough to turn that innate gift into a lucrative career. Of course, she had to acknowledge that part of her success was due to her mother and the grand schemes she had for her, schemes that she hadn't shared for a long time but eventually succumbed to.

She believed the woman had the best intentions, pushing her toward a glamorous and gallant world worthy of their family name, but now Camila wondered if all those sacrifices had truly been worth it. After all, she found herself exactly where it all began, beside her only the editions of her poetry collections and the shadow of a future that had been ripped away from her.

And as regret made its way inside her, filling her chest and choking her like a toxic cloud, in her mind echoed only one name, a name she had buried in her memory for years. Shawn.