Addicted | Camila x Reader / discontinued

Pissed

"Why do you do it?" The voice startles me.

Soon after my secret incident with the bag, everyone on the bus had to leave for a rehearsal, leaving Maria and me alone. That's how we've been—alone, with her in her bunk while I watch TV in the back room—until she stumbles through and asks that incredibly vague question.

At first, I try to ignore her, but she shuffles further into the room and sits beside me, forcing me to pay her attention. "What do you mean?"

"Carlo— Camila is your love, no?"

I nod, frowning at her stammer as a protective sort of anger flares in my chest. I knew this girl is bad news.

While her expression attempts to remain merely concerned, I see something else in her eyes, something familiar but unplaceable. "But she is like my Padre. I have seen it."

My teeth grit and I tuck my hands beneath my thighs, looking back at the TV. Camila wouldn't want me to lash out, so I do my best not to.

"She has hurt you." I don't respond, though my gaze falls just below the screen. "Yes, she has. Why do you do it?"

"I love her and she loves me," I state, jaw still clenched.

Maria sighs and shifts her position slightly. "My Padre loves—"

Finally, I leap from my seat, towering over her and snapping, "Your dad was fucking evil. He broke her! And I guarantee she hasn't told me or anyone the worst of what he did." She begins to tremble, but I can't find it in me to care. Nobody has the right to accuse Camila of such things. Nobody. "I don't care to know why you're here, okay? I don't give a shit about you. I only play nice because Camila wants me to. If it were up to me, you'd be gone already, but she's the one who wants to help you, so be fucking grateful."

The door of the bus slams open and footsteps race towards us. I turn to see who is approaching us, and my eyes widen to find none other than Camila, eyes dark as she storms towards us. She glares at me as she passes me, but softens her entire demeanour when she crouches before the shaking girl.

"Camila, she—" I try to explain, but she shoos me away without even looking.

I watch for just a moment as they mumble to one another before huffing and leaving the bus, shutting the door harshly behind me. I come face to face with the others, but simply roll my eyes as I head towards the venue, simply searching for a place to sit for a while to calm the fire spreading through my body, tingling in my nerve endings and setting everything into overdrive. I find a spot around the back of the building, secluded and quiet, except for the nearby droning AC unit. There, I sink to the floor against the brick wall and stare up at the sky.

It's not long until my peace is broken by another's presence. Larsen sits beside me, a little too close for my comfort at the moment.

"She's pissed." He chuckles. "I guess last night didn't help all that much."

I scoff and look away from him to pick at a clump of moss growing in a crack in the pavement.

"She sent us to look for you," He explains, them falls silent as he shuffles about in his pockets. The familiar scent of weed soon fills my lungs once more. He holds the joint out to me, but I push it away. "Said she wants 'a word'," he continues, "But I think she wants more than that, if you know what I mean." His hand gestures obscenely near his mouth, and I try not to gag even as I stand and start heading back to the bus. Unfortunately, he laughs and quickly catches up.

"What's it like, having a girlfriend with a dick?"

What is it with everyone pissing me off? Are they all up to something?

"None of your fucking business, dude." I shove my hands in my pockets and hurry my pace, but still, he remains beside me.

"All that girl anger, all that guy horniness, I bet you guys get up to some real good make-up sex."

"Shut the fuck up!" I push him away and turn to continue heading back to the bus, but Camila is standing in the doorway, brow raised as she stares at me. I groan loudly and slump my shoulders, hanging my head as I stay rooted to the spot. Larsen leaves, finally, and soon her shoes come into view.

She grabs me by the arm and pulls me further from the bus, into the venue and through a maze of halls until we reach an empty tiled room. I look around and realise it's a shower block, probably for athletes to use when games are held at the stadium, and frown in confusion when I look back at her. The fire I've avoided for so long is back in her eyes, and all of my feelings fade away to make room for guilt and shame. All she has to do is sigh disappointedly for the tears to well in my eyes.

She shakes her head subtly, holding me surprisingly gently by the shoulders. "Why are you angry?"

I nervously fiddle with the hem of my shirt, chewing on my cheek.

"Y/n," her tone is a warning, and I close my eyes tightly.

"They said things about you."

She tenses, then tightens her hold. "You're really going to accuse Maria of—"

"She called you Carlos."

I look up to her eyes, which flash with sadness before being masked by anger once more.

"She didn't know."

"She knows full well who you are," I scoff. "She said you're like your uncle."

The corners of her jaw bulge and she glares at me until I look back down.

"Maybe I am. Take your clothes off." I look up with wide eyes, hoping she'll dispel my confusion, but she only quirks a brow. "Now, Y/n."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath before stripping out of my clothes. I'm fairly certain nobody will find us here, so I use that as a crutch of comfort as I stand before her, clothes bundled in my hand. She takes them from me and places them on the row of sinks nearby. I keep an eye on the sweatpants, praying the little bag won't fall from the pocket, until she turns to face me. With her eyes, she gestures towards the wall of showers, so I take the hint and pad towards them.

"We're gonna wash the feelings away, okay?" She explains quietly, positioning me to be bent at the waist, supported by my hands out in front of me on the wall. I close my eyes to avoid the tinge of humiliation washing over me. Since promising to be better about her anger, she's put her creativity into good use in creating punishments for me if I ever slip up. While it's been a while since she's had to think one up, I've no doubt this will be just as unusual as the others she's employed.

The moment she turns on the shower, my breath leaves me in a hurry. The freezing cold water pelts down on me, much heavier and stronger than a regular shower, like an endless stream of hail. Its torrent is focused right between my shoulder blades, though it runs down the rest of my body on its way to the tiled floor. It's not long until I start to shiver, but she doesn't turn it off. She doesn't turn it off until long after it crosses over my pain tolerance, waiting until I've been practically begging for what feels like forever. Then, and only then, does she end it and silently leave the room.

I give myself a moment before drying off and getting back into my clothes. The moment I step onto the bus, she greets me with, "Did you learn your lesson?"

I nod.