D I S C O N T I N U E D
❝Yes, I have been told I'm too rude to be from Amity. Has anyone ever told you that you're an asshole?❞
In which a girl who was meant to be kind must fight for her survival while also trying to keep a secret that could c...
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NO REASON
The knife burned against her ankle, searing her flesh and melting her bone; her blood boiled at the heat. It was heavy. It kept her foot planted to the ground as a dangerous reminder that in the end, everything would be alright. She would be okay.
There was no reason to be afraid.
But fear is not that easily silenced, no matter how sharp the knife may be. See, fear has a way of seeping through the tiniest of cracks; of pounding on the door to your mind, disguised as something else. Fear is clever like that, it has blades of its own; gifting you false confidence for as long as you're unaware of its presence; slowly sinking in its sharp claws, latching on like some sort of virus.
Still though; Camilla had no reason to be afraid.
And she wasn't.
At least, she didn't feel as if she were. Ask anybody else, however, and they would probably tell you otherwise; the telltale signs were all there. Bouncing knee? Check. Constant fidgeting? Yep. Small shake to her hands? Keyword: Small. Almost embarrassing amounts of sweat? Only in her palms (And it wasn't that bad, okay!).
But that didn't matter, for it was only slight nerves, Camilla would say to such an accusation. For if there was one thing she was certain of, it was this:
She had no reason to be afraid.
And she wasn't. Because Camilla was cool, calm, collected, and had a knife strapped to her ankle that was also chaining her to the ground. But that odd and heavy feeling didn't matter, because it also came with a feeling of invincibility; like she could brave the world and emerge without a single scratch. Fearless, was the best term to describe it.
At least, she felt as if she was.
"For the love of god, Freckles, stop wiping your hands every two seconds! It's so annoying."
The hiss was barely above a whisper, though each word was strong and articulated with a precision that only an aggravated Peter could achieve. His eyes were set in a pointed glare, drilling into her freckled face as she slowly turned towards him.
Alright, so maybe the sweating was worse than she thought.
"It's not my fault I'm naturally clammy." She snipped back. Her voice was just loud enough to carry to the boy seated next to her and it held an almost playful but exasperated air to it. "It's not like I actively try to sweat a lot."
"Gross." Was Peter's clipped reply, but Camilla noticed the tug of a smile on his lips. "Remind me to never hold your hands, alright, Freckles?"
Camilla scoffed, "remind yourself- it's not like I'd ever let you anyway."
And with that, their conversation ended. Peter turned back to mindless tapping his pointer finger on his forearm while Camilla returned to wiping her hands. It was like it never even happened.
