Shawmila Imagines

List

A/N : THEY'RE NOT FAMOUS

Camila

I've finally finished unpacking. Propping a photograph on the window ledge by my bed, I glance round at my new flat. The plant that Lauren bought me as a moving in present sits next to an empty bottle of Cava and two ancient champagne flutes, remnants of our celebrations last night.

A bed, two stacks of books and a bulging clothes rail make this half of the flat look overcrowded already.

A second hand sofa acts as a divide between the 'bedroom' and the 'kitchen', consisting of a coffee table, three deep purple floor cushions (borrowed from the café where I work) and a 1970s kitchenette that I can't wait to repaint.

This is my new studio flat containing everything that I own in the world. To a stranger, it might look pathetic, but to me it's perfect.

After a relationship that should have ended a lot sooner, I finally broke up with my boyfriend of three years three months ago. I've been couch surfing ever since I moved out and it feels incredible to finally have my own space. I've craved this opportunity for so long that I don't mind forking out the extra rent for a studio flat. Now that I've finally bagged a serious job, it's time to have a place of my own as well.

The last year with my ex was unbearable. He'd always been jealous, but the further we grew apart, the more suffocating his possessiveness became. If I went out without him I'd have to 'forget' my phone to avoid getting fifty arsey texts and having to reassure him that no, I hadn't danced with any guys, and yes, it was a crap night without him. It got so bad that I stopped wanting to see my closest friends – even a night with Lauren would result in a fight.

But the worst sacrifice I made was losing contact with Shawn. Lauren is my oldest friend, but Shawn was my closest. I met him at my first Saturday job, waitressing at his Dad's restaurant. He made me laugh on my very first shift and we were inseparable from that moment on, always slinking off on our breaks with bottles of half-finished wine and tasting each course, "just to make sure that it's OK for the customers". Little did I know that my weekend job would inspire my future career. But even then I guessed that my partner in crime would be a friend for life.

Shawn is one of those drop dead gorgeous guys that every girl wants to go out with. Predictably, he's had a string of pretty, dull girlfriends for as long as I've known him. There's nothing between us, we're just friends, but try telling my ex that. We had so many fights over Shawn that I stopped seeing him and allowed us to drift apart completely.

Alright, there was one time when I wondered whether anything would happen between us. We'd been on holiday together to stay with his aunty in Spain. We had so much fun spending long, lazy days on the beach, sipping cold beers with countless bocadillos. It was one of the only times in eight years of friendship that neither of us were in a relationship. In fact, I was only there to stand in for a girlfriend he'd broken up with days before.

The night before we went home he dared me to go skinny-dipping. We were sitting on the pier where one of the restaurants had placed a few tables up by the water's edge. I knew he thought I'd never do it and I was more than a little tipsy so I pulled my strapless dress off there and then and jumped straight in. The water was freezing and I rushed to the surface, squealing.

Shawn was bent over with laughter. Reaching down to pull me up out of the water, he gripped me in his tan, muscled arms and a wave of electricity ran between us. I hadn't been wearing a bra and, as I clambered up to him, I realised my tiny knickers were see-through from the water.

Of course I felt self-conscious, but as his eyes flickered along my body, lingering on my chest, I almost forgot my embarrassment. I wanted him to look at me, I felt like it was the first time that he'd really seen me.