Camila Cabello Imagines and Oneshots

56. Drifting

Inspired by: ‪'Sometimes, I can feel myself drifting away and I tell myself not to lock the bedroom door and isolate myself, and I tell myself I should message my friends and try to hang out, and I know I'm not in the right headspace and I know what I should be doing to help but I'm stuck in this unhealthy cycle so if I'm ever being distant to you for no reason, know that I am probably aware I'm doing it and I don't want to be, but I might just need you to come over and hold me for a while.‬'

—
My heart starts racing as soon as I receive the text message from Camila, and not in a good way. It's the first I've received in a few days, and it's not great.

From My love:
Baby I need you

I'm quick to send a reply, knowing that the situation could be dire.

To My love:
Are you okay?

'Have you done something?' I consider asking, but press send before I have the chance to type it. She'll tell me if she has.

From My love:
I don't know.

... is her response. Shit.

As strange as it may sound, the period injects panic into my veins. She only ever uses proper punctuation in her texts if she's being deadly serious about something. Memories of things I've witnessed her putting herself through flash through my mind and I instantly leap into action.

"Where are you going?" My brother asks, concerned, as I grab my keys from the table and rush to the front door.

"Camila." I reply, "I might stay the night, it depends..."

He nods understandingly and I leave the house, quickly typing another text as I dash towards my bike.

To My love:
I'm on my way

From My love:
Please hurry. I'm scared.

"Shit!" I hiss as I drop my keys, quickly bending down to retrieve them before straddling the bike and quickly start up the engine, peeling off of the drive and down the street.

I make my way to her house as fast as I can while breaking the law only a few times. I don't even bother knocking on the door, instead opting to clamber through her window. She leaves it open a crack for times like these, to grant me faster access to her room.

"Camila?" I ask cautiously once I land on her bedroom floor with a small thud, not quite noticing the oddly shaped lump on her bed.

"I'm here." She breathes out, her voice shaky as though she's crying. When it's followed by a sniffle, I know that she is, and where she is.

"Hey, it's okay." I reassure her as I take my shoes off and go stand near the bed, "Can I-?"

"Please, I need you to hold me." She informs me, and that's enough for me to slide into the bed beside her and hold her softly against me. The fact that she's stark naked confuses me, but I don't mention it as she turns over and curls up into my embrace, her forehead resting on my chest. It's a position we're very familiar with by now.

"They were burning me." She explains as though reading my mind, "My clothes, they were on fire and the way they burned against my skin was horrible."

I nod as I listen to her irregular breathing, slowing my own so that she may do the same. She told me it helps when I give her a pattern to follow.

"They were on fire and- and- and I saw-" she stops herself with a sob, her hands finding my shirt and clinging on for dear life.

"It's okay, Camila." I say softly, running my hand up and down her smooth back, "Take your time."

She takes a deep breath and manages to look up at me through her deep doe eyes, tears streaming down her face. I hate seeing her like this, I really do, and I wish there was something I could do about it but she has a whole other week before she can see her psychiatrist again and tell them that the antipsychotics she's been prescribed aren't working.

Her eyes then dart over my shoulder, and she yelps before burying her face in my chest again.

"Are you still seeing things, Cami?" I ask gently, receiving a small, fast nod in reply.

"H- he's, well, it's like he's behind you." She says quietly, adding under her breath, "Not real. Not real. Not real."

"Who?" I inquire. I snake one of my hands down her back and rest it on her waist.

"Um... he's like..." she peeks over my shoulder momentarily, "He's quite tall and he has... he has... I can't, Y/n. I can't."

"Hey, it's fine." I tell her once again, "Everything's okay."

She nods and shifts once more to look up at me. I can sense her efforts to not glance over my shoulder, so I shift a little in hopes of 'hiding' whoever it is she's seeing.

"Camila, you know what's happening, yeah?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm hallucinating." She nods, looking back down as though she's ashamed, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you to come over."

I sigh and lean back to tilt her chin up, simply looking into her sad eyes for a moment.

"Camila, do not apologise. I want to help you, I want to be here for you, and I don't care about your schizophrenia or... or your anxiety, or anything that you think is a flaw because I love you, okay?"

Her nod is unsure at first, but then a little more determined, like she's trying to convince herself of my words.

"Have you taken your pills yet tonight?" I decide to ask, knowing she may not have due to this frightening-sounding hallucination. They're not always scary, but when they are it can be hard for her to focus on looking after herself.

"No." She replies, and I get out of the bed and hold my hand out to help her up too.

"Let's start there then, shall we?" I encourage her. She nods softly, giving me a small hug before heading into the bathroom to find her medicine.