Addicted | Camila x Reader / discontinued

You're My Friend

"Camila?" Despite how I tried to prevent it, my voice comes out meek, my nerves evident in its quivers. 

Seemingly tired of bringing food back for me, Camila has brought me to lunch catering today. I was grateful for warm food instead of cold mac and cheese in a styrofoam cup or, on days she was particularly distant, a small box of cereal like you'd get in a variety pack. I was elated when she took my hand as we walked into the venue, and I could barely withhold my excitement when she led us to a table away from the others where we could sit opposite one another, almost like we were having a fancy date at a candlelit restaurant. The atmosphere, however, is far from romantic. Camila, after having gathered our food, sits and pushes her food around in silence. The air is heavy.

Her eyes lift to meet mine, causing her to seem to glare at me. I can't tell if it's intentional or not. Still, I force the question from my lips. "Are you okay?"

She scoffs and lowers her gaze once more, though I notice how her head seems to bounce as she drops it further, as if she's shaking it 'no' without meaning to. My brows furrow, but I look down to my own food and take a small bite.

"We'll be in Miami again, soon." Camila says in lieu of a real answer. "I guess the tour planner fucked up and we're looping around, but we'll be there for a week, and I'm dropping Maria off at my parents' place."

I can't help the smile that grows on my lips, so I hide it by eating more. Maria will be gone. I'll have Camila all to myself again. "When do we get there?"

This time, she raises her head along with her eyes, and her stare is meant to be harsh. I flinch, clenching my jaw and looking off to the side, anywhere but her eyes. "Soon," she practically growls, grabbing her plate and standing from her seat. I feel her eyes continue to burn into me as she walks away, only turning away when she drops her plate full of food into the trash can and storms from the room. Sighing, I work on finishing the rest of my meal, knowing I'll have to take advantage of the opportunity to eat a fresh cooked meal because I've likely just lost catering privileges once more. My attention is so faded, so focused on Camila's small yet controlled outburst, that I jump when Larsen sinks into the seat opposite me.

"Trouble in paradise?" He asks, toying with the black ring encircling his lower lip as he smirks. 

I huff, shrugging. "What's it to you?"

He brings his forearms up to rest on the table, shifting forwards slightly. "What, can't I care about my friend?"

"If you care about her, shouldn't you be asking your friend and not me?" I retort, stabbing at my food. He laughs, causing me to glance up at him in confusion.

"You're my friend, Y/n," he clarifies, though it only makes my frown grow, "Speaking of us being friends, can you do me a favor? I need someone to cover me tonight. I'm going to a party after the show, but I'm not meant to. Think you can tell 'em I'm visiting a friend?"

"I-"

"Thanks, Y/n," he winks, standing from his seat. Before he leaves, he whispers, "I'll be sure to pick up something for you."

I groan and lay my head on the table, resting on my chin as I stare down my plate. My appetite has dwindled, so I throw the rest away before heading to the bus.

...

Larsen is waiting from me when I leave the bathroom, which makes me jump. He seems to be getting into the habit of doing that.

He smiles and runs a hand through his curly hair as he regards me. "Hey!" He greets me enthusiastically, though keeps his volume down. I mumble back the same word and he begins rummaging through his pockets. I'd leave, but he's taking up the hallway. "I, uh, wanted to thank you in advance for later." Finally, he pulls out his phone and taps on it a few times before showing me an empty contact. "Give me your number and you can let me know if there are any complications. I'll let you know what to do."

I have a feeling he wont leave until I do, so I apathetically type in my number before pushing his phone back into his hand. His grin grows as he steps back, finally letting me leave. He seems to glance at the bathroom cabinet before slipping away and out of the bus, though I know for certain that I closed it, ensuring nobody will know that I've been using it to store that little bag he slipped me. By the time I reach the back of the bus, he's gone.

I was hoping for the time-skipping effects I got the first two times I used Blu, but it seems those are long gone as I'm once again launched into the sensual stages of its effects. I sigh as I flick through the channels, wanting to simply ignore the way every natural twitch of my body seems to heighten the side effects of the drug. After a while, I pull out my phone to see that Larsen has texted me multiple times already. The first were an hour ago, and were just a greeting and an explanation that this is his number. The second was some dumb message about me wishing him luck before his performance. The last two, however, catch my attention. There's a photo of Camila performing, then his own words saying, "You sharing the pills?"

My brows furrow as I open the photo to its full size, scanning it over to find anything unusual. I don't find anything at first, perhaps maybe the overly-affectionate way her dancer seems to be holding her from behind, but then I see it. I know its an accident, she wouldn't out herself, especially not in this way, but she's doing very little to hide what I know she's aware of. Her eyes are shut closed, her mouth open in song, her legs spread a little further than shoulder-width, and her bulge visible in her almost-skin-tight outfit. It didn't seem she'd even bothered wearing concealing cup she revealed she uses to me once tour was rebooted.

My phone falls to the floor as my legs clench shut. Despite how I worry for her, I can't deny the eroticism of the photo. 

I can almost see Larsen's smirk as he snapped the photo, not to mention the reactions of the many fans she's performing for. At that, I grow bitterly jealous. First Maria takes her attention, and now the world takes that very private part of her. What's next? Who else will take my spot?

Huffing, I toss my phone into the bunk before dropping into it, staring up at the ceiling. My body still throbs with desire, but the rest of me wants to storm onto the stage and drag her away to remind everyone and her, that I'm hers, and she's mine. I briefly wonder if this is how Camila felt about me. I know she couldn't, though, because she got the fuck over it pretty damn fast. There's no way I'll be getting over this, getting over her. She's my everything, and I'm just a side project. Sighing, I tug the blanket over my body, trying desperately to avoid the memories its soft fleece brings. Maybe I'd be better off at home with the ducks.

Miami can't come soon enough.