Her Light

IX

And Camila was right, day by day, she is making the most of this trip. She's getting through the day, trying to be open with the (her) crew mates. Except one thing is wrong.

One thing is really wrong.

Stuck on a sailboat with four other girls, Camila thought she'd be overwhelmed by the company. And she is; she is overwhelmed by the company most of time—the company of Dinah, Normani, and Ally. Her time with Lauren, being alone together with Lauren, has been becoming shorter and shorter.

Up to the point where she hasn't even seen her today. It's not that big of a ship; Lauren wasn't in her corner of the bed when Camila woke this morning, she wasn't out on the deck, and she must've eaten her rations before Camila. Illusiveness is a funny game. It's after lunch, she's should've seen her by now, had a fleeting hello, before she was swept away. But Lauren's been busy.

Third day out on the seas and Camila is bummed. She's sat up on top of the ketch, practicing her knots so she can be helpful on board. Don't get her wrong, Camila loves being on the ocean. It's everything she (kind of) thought it was going to be. But Lauren...

Lauren has been good to her, dependable and sincere. But she should've known it was too good to be true. Somehow, upon this ship, Camila is lonely. It ebbs at her heart and soul, taunting as it disintegrates all she's worked for these past couple months.

It's only been a few days Lauren has been ignoring her, but when it rains for Camila, it pours. She always had to be careful of warning signs, especially when it came to her father; if he came out of his room grumpy, Camila would run to hers and lock it. If he came out of the kitchen drunk, Camila would run outside and hide where she knew he wouldn't find her. Obviously Lauren wouldn't hurt her physically, but she might unintentionally hurt her emotionally.

And Camila has to prepare for that; it's all she's ever known.

Of course being on a ship would take Lauren away from her. Lauren had no choice whether to be around her when they'd been at the lighthouse together; especially being someone who thrives on company, Camila was her only option. But now she's reminded of her pirate life, and Camila... Camila isn't part of that.

A wave of nausea crashes over her as if she's the rocks on the side of her cliff. No longer feeling welcome aboard, a dreadful sense of unease and misplacement creeping upon her, Camila realizes she doesn't belong here. Her father was right.

Staring off into the sea, Camila can't help but fantasize about if she'd survive jumping overboard and swimming to shore. Realistically, she knows she'd die from a number of deadly possibilities beneath those waves. But still, she yearns to go.

It hurts a little. Because she'd have to leave Lauren. But Lauren's going to leave eventually, it's inevitable—only further proved by her behavior as of late.

Her face caving in on itself, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips frowned, it's going to hurt more than just a little. Camila shouldn't have gotten attached, she's lost so many people in her life, but losing a friend, especially Lauren, would fuck her up. She hates it; hates how vulnerable this makes her, how clingy she's gotten only after two months (two months of literally just the two of them, but still). Camila feels stupid. It's— she's hears her.

Lauren.

"Lauren." Her voice is weak under her breath.

There she is, like a slow-motion movie scene, her hair bouncing with her walk, her running a hand through her hair before placing a hat upon it, straightening her poet shirt, all with a grin on her face. There she is.

Stumbling down from the top of the cabin, her feet hit the deck with an echoing clump. Lauren is turned away from Camila, probably discussing strategies for their ambush on her crew. Camila lulls in her step behind her, nervously clearing her throat.