𝑶𝒂𝒌 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒆 ✔️

I. Butterfly

Year: 2017

They didn't know how their life ended like this as every day would be the same thing and the same thing was never tiring it was just the usual.

Camila would wake up on the big bed that was meant for two people and there once was two people but Harry kept going to bed late and waking up early so he wouldn't see her.

And although he thought she was asleep she was mostly awake and she would stare at the indented mark he made on his side of the bed, not only just physical indents but the scent and warmth of him.

Maybe she was just hallucinating but it always just felt like he was there without being there.

And he was there, in between two and seven in the morning when he stumbled in the dark room with hickeys on his neck that stood bold and prominent but neither of them seemed to care.

So Camila woke up on the bed that was made for two and she would stare at the wall, her mind blank but the only thing that seemed to pop up is Harry Harry Harry.

And she didn't want to think about him because he always stumbled home at two in the morning with bold and prominent hickeys marking his skin and she should care but she didn't.

And Harry didn't care but all he seemed to think about was Cam Cam Cam.

He shouldn't be thinking about her when a girl with jet black hair and a curvy figure touched the warmth of his skin.

He shouldn't be thinking about her when caramel skin is touching his pale like.

He shouldn't be thinking about her when there's a different girl almost every night with their skin touching his.

But that's all that comes up in his mind

Cam Cam Cam

Harry would wake up at seven and get dressed thinking she was asleep but she wasn't as she just stared at the empty space that was laying next to her and all she could think was that this bed was made for two.

But every morning without fail he would look at his ring on the dresser before kissing Cam on the forehead and going to the job he hated so much because there was no imagination- just one way. There was no pencils- just keyboards. And there was no smiles and dimples as it was just frowns and serious expressions and murmurs of gotta get this work done.

But Harry was rich- he was successful.

But he wasn't happy.

Because he didn't have a pencil behind his ear and he wasn't doodling quotes in the corner of pages with the girl that once had a goofy smile and frigid hands in front of him.

His fingers tapped the table, etching to do something with his hands- put a pencil in between his thumb and index finger. But he dealt with numbers and money and computers- all the things his father wanted him to do.

Camila stayed in bed. She wanted to get out but she couldn't.

And some days she stayed in bed and her vibrant skin turned pale and the strength she once carried on with was now weakened and she was supposed to stay strong but she couldn't.

So she laid on the bed meant for two and when she got up she would get a piece of bread from the fridge that was once filled with Polaroids and sticky notes with doodles but now it was just a grey fridge.

She knew on Wednesdays Harry finished early and even though they both left their rings on the dresser and he came home at two with hickeys prominent on his neck, she still wanted to be near him.