FAMOUS (Camren)

Chapter I: You Again

Five years later...

Lauren's POV

"So... how are you feeling about... all of this?" my best friend questioned almost silently.

Tracing my scars along my eyebrow and wrist, I swallowed my coffee... slowly. "How do you think I'm feeling about all of this? You know me, Ally. Don't start being dense now."

She furrowed her brows, "You don't always have to be a dick, you know. I'm just trying to get you to open up."

"It's been over a year. I'm out and I'm fine," I said tiredly.

"No, you're not."

"How do you know?" my gaze looked harsher.

"You said so yourself. I can read you like the back of my fucking hand," she shook her head. "Look at you, Lo, you're even more rude, lazy, broke-"

"I'm not broke," I countered.

"You're living with me when I pay all the bills and you have a job at a goddamn basketball arena. Face it, you don't have money," she chuckled, only pissing me off more.

"Madison Square Garden is the best arena in the world. How dare you disrespect such an iconic venue," I grumbled for her to laugh.

"That's actually so pathetic." I closed my eyes and clenched my fists, practicing the deep breathing that my parole officer advised me to do.

"Just stop right there, alright?" I put my hand up, leaning back into my chair. "Okay, yes, my life is shitty. It's been like that for four years. But what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Oh, I don't know... maybe go back into the world and become a decent human being for once? Work toward getting your life back together? Just some ideas," she suggested.

"Damn, a real best friend you are, Ally. God, I can't live without you," I was over this conversation, standing up and taking my coffee with me to head into the kitchen.

"The thing is you're right. You can't do shit without me. You haven't for the past twelve years since we met. Now here we are at 28, living together in Manhattan, me working for Billboard, you working at MSG and sometimes Z100, after you were sentenced to jail for two years," she ranted angrily. Like she usually did about three times a week.

"What? You're not living the dream? It's New York City, baby," I spread my arms before digging into the left over pizza in the fridge.

"You know damn well I'd rather be traveling the world with you," she sighed.

As if I didn't dream of that everyday as well. Ever since my sentence I hated myself. Wait, no, that's been like that my whole life. But all those moments of trying to escape prison, getting into fights with other inmates, almost getting killed, and trying to kill my own self said a whole fucking lot. Yes, self harm and suicide was an issue for me. It had been since I was a young teenager. I had my reasons that only Ally knew and will only know. She was the only one who I trusted to see the scars all over my body despite the tattoos trying to hide them.

And the stories behind each and every one of them.

I had a lot of fucked up shit. There was no time to open up and fucking deal with that even if she was my best friend. I was tired.

"I'm sorry I'm not famous anymore, sweetie pie. I'll make it up to you one of these days," I uttered.

"You can start now by paying for at least half of the rent," she shrugged with that sassy but sexy look in her eyes.

"Why do you have to look so beautiful when you're mad?" I asked, taking a bite of the crust.

She turned her head and averted her eyes insecurely. "Stop."