Raining (Camren AU)

The Interlude: Numb

Her chest burned around her broken heart. She's drowning her heartbreak in alcohol. It sounds cliche. Well, it is cliche, but bars are for the broken. The vodka was lighter fluid for her spirit, shot after shot, sparking flames.

"Hey." Camila didn't hear him at first, her ears were stuffed with her own ashes.

"I've seen you throw back nine of these in the last twenty minutes, which douchebag broke your heart?" It was a statement and a question coated in a thick British accent, and it caught the brunette's attention. She needed a distraction from her misery. She turned to the man with the platinum blonde buzz cut, the scraggly beard and tattoos galore, his leather jacket hugging him tightly as he took a drink of his own.

"The douchebag that can't be broken up with. The douchebag called life." Camila answers, and she's 88% sure anything she says for the rest of the night won't make any sense, and she's kinda okay with that. The bearded man laughs anyways, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He's the type of guy Camila's inner self would usually tell her to stay away from, but as she throws back another drink full of fire, her conscience is scorched and silenced.

"Let me guess, boyfriend cheated, got another girl pregnant, and has a gambling addiction." He smirks, and the Latina raised an eyebrow at his horrible guess.

"More like, everyone I've ever loved is dead and I'm drinking to keep myself from joining them." She's never been this honest in her life, and it's mostly because she doesn't care anymore. She doesn't care about what people think, she doesn't care if this guy is a rapist or possible killer, it's an exhilarating feeling, to not care. Camila has always overthought things, considering everyone's well-being and happiness in everything she's ever done. But tonight, she feels nothing. Alcohol is her morphine in the hospital for the broken.

"So you're drinking poison to heal yourself? The irony of your dilemma is more interesting than your incredible alcohol tolerance." His lips curl into a seductive grin as he speaks, and Camila watches closely as he licks his lips.

It's the type of grin that scares grown men in clown costumes. That type of, you might die tonight grin. That serial killer smirk with cold eyes that reveal all the dark tales of their past. But Camila saw it as opportunity, relief, escape. She needed that type of grin right now.

"Are we gonna fuck now or are we just gonna sit here and act like that's not what you want?" The petite Latina inquires, growing bored with the back and forth banter.

"I'm not that kind of guy."

"Well, I'm that type of girl." Camila immediately responds, both of them staring each other down in a silent war. Camila fighting her pain, and the stranger trying to understand it.

"Okay bad girl, let's go." The handsome man gestures for her to stand, and he leads her out the bar and to his slick black Mercedes Benz. Everything screamed expensive about this guy, just the way he guided her with his hand on the small of her back made him seem entitled, like he suddenly owned her. Camila is observing everything objectively with no emotions, taking a backseat in her consciousness and letting her instincts drive. They soon start riding to nowhere, and he turns down the radio and clears his throat to speak.

"My name is Zayn." He says, not turning to look at his recently obtained prey.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you don't seem like the type of girl who has one night stands with strangers. I think if you weren't drunk and grieving you would actually have some sort of respect for yourself. I'm telling you my name so that later you won't regret having sex with someone who's name you didn't know." The unnatural blond smiles slightly, as if reminiscing on a distant memory.