Camouflage (Camren)

Camouflage

"We're almost there, Miss," the driver says from the front seat.

My only response is a small nod, even though he's not even looking into the rearview mirror. I use the palms of both clammy hands to smooth out the wrinkles in the little black dress that clings to my thighs, as if the act of doing so will also get rid of my nerves.

I pull out my compact mirror and tube of dark red lipstick for touchups before arriving, and when I look at my reflection, I pause as I see the anxiety radiating out of my dull grey eyes. They haven't been the sharp green they once were for a while now, not since a few months before Fifth Harmony split, not since Camila and I broke up.

It takes a few seconds before I snap out of my thoughts of the brown-eyed girl, but I shake my head quickly and take one more quick look at my make-up to make sure it's perfect. As I snap my mirror closed and tuck it back into my clutch, the SUV comes to a stop in front of the club.

I can already feel the bass from the music thumping inside the building and there are spotlights out front, signaling that this is the place to be. Of course Dinah would go all out for her 21st birthday party. She's come so far from when she used to get kicked out of the clubs we'd go to when she was underage, and I laugh as I picture her hiding under her coat in shame on her way out.

It's a common occurrence, thinking about my time spent with the group. But that's not surprising really, considering they were such a huge part of my life for so many years. Not a day goes by where I don't think about them and the memories we created. Even if it's something as small as seeing a specific brand of whipped cream and remembering the time Dinah got almost an entire can on Normani's face while she slept and Camila and I laughing while we watched, or seeing silly string on a shelf at the store and remembering the time we crashed Demi Lovato's final performance when we were all on tour together and Camila kept constantly slipping on it and falling to the ground, or seeing a movie on tv and remembering when all five of us girls watched it in the back lounge of the bus while Camila and I held hands under the blanket.

And that's how my train of thought always works. Everything always leads back to Camila.

The driver opens my door and offers his hand for me to take before I can continue to dwell on any more thoughts of Camila and the other girls. Lights flash in my face as I step out of the vehicle and the paparazzi, as well as the paid professional photographers, snap pictures of me stepping out onto the sidewalk. Dinah had a red carpet set up so people could pose for pictures on the way in, but I forgo the spectacle and rush right inside. I've never been a fan of the paparazzi, but even less so now that they usually yell out questions about Fifth Harmony or Camila.

As soon as I enter the club, I can feel the bass vibrations in my chest, causing me to shake almost as much as my nerves. The lights don't stop flashing, but this time they're in the shape of strobe lights and lasers instead of cameras. I can smell the stench of alcohol in the air and see liquid being sloshed around in a variety of shot glasses and tumblers. The smell alone makes me cringe, but I knew I would be around this tonight. But I have the self-control these days to not give in, something I wouldn't have been able to say a few months ago.

Those days after Camila left fucked me up. Then I fucked myself up for days and weeks and months.

I take a deep breath and muster up the courage to walk to the bar, trying to ignore everything around me tempting me to get a drink instead of just a water. But as soon as I take two steps forward, something small and hard collides into my back.

"Laurennn!" I hear a high pitched screech and know immediately that it's Ally that has latched onto me from behind, squeezing me in a death grip of a hug.