Miss Cabello

Take The Hindmost

As the sun rose, sparkling in its morning waves, Lauren reclined against her chair in her vanity table, surveying her make-up through oversized Gucci sunglasses. She wore a tight, long-sleeved Chanel dress, emphasizing the curve by the hip, waist and buttocks. It was her husband's funeral and she had to look the part of a widowed wife in front of the crowd and his family. Oh, if only they knew. She and the Lawyer had to agree on keeping tight lips about his affair to protect his "clean" reputation. Well, fuck him in hell.

She was staying in her Manhattan suite, a couple of miles away from her mansion. In times where work called in until early morning, she needed a place to hit.

She applied a darker shade of red to her lips, slightly reminding her of him. Mateo would always bring her blood-red lipsticks, saying her lips looked desirable in that color. She looked desirable in anything, or nothing.

Revenge sat peacefully on Lauren's fingertips. He and his slut might have won this battle but she would wage her own war, that victory was surely on her side, not that it wasn't. The little attic room and plastic chair and table was only a glimpse of what was to come for Camila. Slut.

Lauren tugged at her hair, tying it to a clean bun. She looked like a rich Upper East Side widow about to attend a funeral she doesn't have any slight interest or empathy. 

Perfect, just perfect.

On the other room beside Lauren's was the object of her hate, her detest.

Camila put her worn-out leather bag and old-knitted sweater on the bed, something Lauren called as 'only-my-grandmother-wears-but-not-really-since-we-are-rich' sweater when she first saw Camila wearing it on the way to her suite. She took out her vintage dress, the only thing her salary as a waitress could afford her. It was in contrast with Lauren's own dress, loose and cheap. She stood on the front of the full-body mirror in her undergarments, eyes falling on her stomach.

It had only been a few weeks, but she felt this new life slowly unwrapping itself inside her. Her own baby. Her own life. Though the act was a mistake and tragic, the baby will always be right for Camila. She never once thought of abortion. The baby was the only good thing she probably will ever have in her life, her own blessing to saving herself from the harsh pull of reality. Her baby will be the anchor in the unforgiving waves and winds of life. Just eight more months, little one. 

"Camila, are you done? We'll be leaving in a while. It would be best to be done early, so as not to upset Mrs. Alegria." Esteban was on the other side of the door, voice hinting a little bit of pity for Camila.

"I'll be done in a few."

She hastily put on the dress, ripping a little bit of the cloth by the side. She wore her flats, and her signature vanilla scent. As much as she didn't want to attend his funeral,  Lauren just had to ask, command her rather, to come.

Slut. Mistress. Whore.

That's all she'll ever be to Lauren. And it's all she sees in herself.

-

Lauren was waiting for her by the door of her suite, looking impatient, and fuming like she usually was. The moment her eyes took the image of Camila's dress, they wanted to rip themselves off their sockets.

"The fuck you think you're wearing!?"

"My v-vintage d-dress..." Camila looked down, ashamed. She curled her hands on her dress. wrinkling it a bit.

"Where do you think we're going? A grandparent's party? A funeral, Chippie! People will be wondering why a woman with THE Lauren Jauregui-Alegria is wearing a dress no woman would even want to see!" Lauren pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling a long sigh. Camila wasn't classically beautiful in a dress that was out of style thirty years ago, and eyes showed profound pain only added to the mismatch of basically everything.