Haven't Forgotten My Way Home (Camren)

Chapter Nine

Days later, the morning had dawned bright and sunny, but there was the distinct air of something dark as soon as Camila had woken up. She and Lauren hadn't slept in the same bed since that first night, and Camila was far too used to seeing Lauren's bleary-eyed, sleepy but smiling face first thing when she made her way to the kitchen to fix their morning coffee. Today, though, Lauren sat quietly in the living room, staring down at her hands. She looked, for all intents and purposes, exactly as she had that first day Camila had seen her in Lakeview House. Oh, her hair was washed and she was clean, wearing one of the simple outfits they'd bought when they'd gone shopping, but she wouldn't look up even as Camila sat a cup of hot coffee in front of her on the table.

"Lauren? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Miss Camila."

Camila wasn't inclined to believe that, not one bit, but she didn't want to push, so she had to be satisfied with quietly worrying as she cooked and served up Lauren's second favorite breakfast of the week: French toast with whipped cream and strawberries. She worried for exactly 40 minutes and 15 seconds, eating her food and watching as Lauren barely touched hers. So Camila tried once again while Lauren stood at the sink and helped her wash the dishes.

"It's nothing, Miss Camila."

So Camila stayed silent. It was hard to do; her first inclination was always to push and prod and to be slightly annoyed, because you didn't just not tell Camila Cabello what was going on in your head and in your heart. But she did have somewhat of a general idea, and she trusted Lauren enough that the truth would come out, whenever she was ready. Once back in the guest room (which Camila had begun to dangerously and absurdly think of as "Lauren's room") Lauren finally told her what she was thinking.

"I don't want to go back."

Camila finished placing the last of Lauren's new clothes in her brand-new suitcase, and sighed.

It had been a good week. She was proud of herself; she felt like she'd gotten everything right at least as far as Lauren was concerned. Lauren seemed happier, easier; she was already so different from the person Camila had met just a few weeks ago. They'd spent the last days of Lauren's visit being so mundane that Camila was partly afraid that Lauren would get bored. But she hadn't seemed to; it was almost as if Lauren flourished in an atmosphere of grocery shopping, watching television, and making breakfast together in the mornings.

She didn't want Lauren to go back. She'd realized that after the incident with Normani and Dinah, realized it when Lauren had fallen asleep against her while Camila was reading to her, and rather than wake her up, Camila had just slept with her on the couch. In the morning they'd woken up with Lauren snuggled under Camila's chin and her arms wrapped around her in a death grip. It had struck Camila how comfortable it was, even though her back would ache for days. It felt natural. In seven days they'd fallen into a routine so casual and domestic that if anyone didn't know the story they'd be mistaken for a married couple. She didn't want Lauren to have to go back; she didn't want her house to return to the same emptiness and suffocation it had held before a meek, frightened young submissive had been helped through the door.

"I know, but you have to."

Lauren looked down at her hands again, her black hair falling into her face and making her seem even more vulnerable, even more lost, and Camila's heart clenched. "I don't see why," she said softly. "I want to stay here. I want to be with you, Miss Camila."

Camila put the suitcase in the hallway, then crossed the floor again and sat next to Lauren, resting her hand on the other girl's. "It's gonna be all right, Lauren," she said, and squeezed her hand gently. "I'm going to come visit you, a lot. You won't be able to get rid of me," she teased, but Lauren didn't smile.