To You, Graceless (CAMREN)

18 - Maybe I Should Run, Run to a Safe Place and I'll Take You With Me

***I know this is late but I have personal reasons. Forgive me if this is bland. This def needs a shit ton of tweaking. 

"Mani!" Camila exclaimed at the top of her struggling lungs, meeting the frigid wind's assault with the speed her legs were propelling her.

At least, to her, she was definitely yelling.

In reality, it was nothing but a strangulated yelp as her throat was gripped by fear she developed in her childhood and the cool mid-November air she was inhaling. Her eyes frantically darted around the muddy dirt path and the endless fields of long spikes of dry grass covered in clouds of white, and assessed the distance separating her from the black cruiser, where she could see Normani wildly gesturing for her to get in with wide swooping gestures through the open passenger door.

She was high on adrenaline as she took a deceitful step to the left and leaped over a withered bush in the hopes of escaping her bony-legged nightmare, landing on her feet as the snow concealing the gravel crunched beneath the soles of her shoes. She could already feel the strain on her legs and the sting from the unexpected strike she took on her right calf was more pronounced.

It gave her a good yard and a half but it did nothing to deter the enemy. Hooded, dark, beady eyes encased by wrinkled, bluish flesh trained onto Camila's retreating figure. Its black, thick coat puffed out in an intimidating stance but the sounds gurgling in its throat had Camila fleeing.

It had only been five hours into her shift and already, fate seemed to be chasing the young detective away from the job she'd devoted a significant amount of her life to.

She'd only made it two weeks and three days without attracting the worst luck since her return to the force. Tripping on the smallest dust particle was a given, though.

Then again, she should have known things would turn out like so after her less than pleasing conversation with the Chief. That should have been a warning, a precedent to her ten-hour shift. That monologue might as well be 'proceed with caution' spread out in a tens of thousands of unnecessary snide and condescending remarks.

And to think it was supposed to be her lunch break.

Instead, Camila was out in the far west side of the city to meet with the domestic violence victim Normani had asked her to speak with, where buildings were sparsely scattered (by buildings, she meant warehouses) and unkempt grass occupied empty plots of land, which was then covered in snow. They were mere miles from landfills and while she would adamantly deny it, she was praying – very desperately imploring that they weren't headed that way as Normani maneuvered the car to their destination.

Well, unless those landfills wanted her to contribute in the form of human waste, and by waste, she meant her bile.

Four long strides brought Camila crashing down to the passenger seat and scrambling to shut the door.

With her body at rest, all she could hear was the drumming in her ears as her heart pounded into her ribs and blood rushed through her veins along with the gusts she was blowing out of her lips with every greedy inhale. Glorious, warm air. Her face was numb, her hands were prickling from her sprint in the fifty-degree weather and she was just sure it froze her lungs over.

That was until...Normani started laughing, the undulation bouncing off the car's interior a mockery to Camila's ears. It didn't help that she was slamming her hand on the wheel as the upper half of her body bounced between doubling over and leaning back. It reminded Camila of a damn paddle ball, a toy only one person could enjoy, much like Normani was solely enjoying her partner's misery.