"Lauren, this is twelve minutes of my life I'm never going to get back."
Camila stood in a paved square looking up at the clock tower as the automated knights and festival dancers spun in circles and jousted before her. She couldn't argue that the building itself was beautiful with its grey gothic stone and towering spires, but the clock was another story. She knew it was a national monument, and that it was one of the things you had to see before you kick the bucket, but the mere sight of it was literally driving the girl to drink.
Lauren stood next to her giggling manically as Camila watched with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Tourists crowded around the square, cameras shooting away as the last of the dongs rang out.
"Do you understand twelve minutes?" Camila whined, turning on the brunette. "Does cruel and unusual punishment mean anything to you?"
"I'm sorry, I had to," Lauren choked out. "The look on your face. Priceless."
The girl turned on her heels and started walking away from the square, humming the dull tune the Glockenspiel was playing only moments earlier. Camila huffed and jogged after her as she skipped down a side street, brushing through a crowd of men standing outside a beer hall.
After waking up in a cold sweat that morning, Camila hadn't been able to fall back asleep. The image of Lauren moaning into her ear and nipping at her jaw was enough to keep her eyes wide open and fixed on her sleeping form until she stirred hours later. The peaceful in and out of the girl's soft breathing was like a second hand on a clock; constant and rhythmic.
In, out.
3.53 am.
In, out.
4:16 am.
The morning sun began creeping through the open window, illuminating Lauren's every feature that the brunette had memorized over the past week, and more closely in the last few hours. So many times Camila found herself wanting to reach out and tuck that brunette hair away from the girl's face, the messy strands blocking those almond eyes. She spent most of the time imagining how soft it would be, how it would feel between her fingertips.
I wish I could just grow a pair and tell you how I feel.
But with you it isn't that simple.
By the time Lauren opened her eyes, Camila was up and showering, her bags already by the door. She came out of the bathroom minutes later to sexy bed hair and a lazy smile that practically had her turning for the shower again.
It should be illegal to look that good at seven in the morning.
They hopped a train north to Munich, crossing the border into Germany. Camila hadn't really noticed a change other than the buildings and the culture seemed older somehow. The accents were thicker, the food was heartier. It was just more.
Lauren stopped abruptly outside an old wooden door with flaking green paint and a blackboard hanging on the wall to the left. She spun around and smiled at Camila, before jerking her head toward the door and ducking inside.
"Is this where you whack me?" Camila called into the dimly lit passageway.
"If I wanted to kill you, I'd do it while you were sleeping," Lauren quipped back.
Too late.
Camila mentally shook off the vivid images that the teasing words brought back, and followed her through the door. The smell of beer and roast meat hit her as soon as she closed the door behind her. The stone walls had her pulling her leather jacket tighter around her, bracing herself against the chill. Steps led down into a cellar like room, open flame lanterns hanging from the walls and lighting the way down. Each step she took echoed off the stone, the hollow sound mixing with the voices that got louder the lower they went.
