FORGET YOU LAUREN

CHAPTER 3

Track 2: So It Goes... (4:23)
Camila POV
I sincerely wished romance authors would start adopting some kind of warning: "this shit will never happen to you" on the stickers in all their books. This little thing could save me from increasing my hopes, from waiting for each of my new relationships to end differently from the previous one.
And maybe, just maybe, if we started with the stickers in the novel books, the trend could spread to colleges that induce people to think that the phrase "Semester at sea: fall in love with your education while sailing" is not total nonsense.
When my academic advisor uttered the words "Semester at sea," I fainted at all the things the program offered. A "renovated cruise ship to the classroom", a way to "take your classes to the water" and a way to "expand your worldview by spending time at the numerous port stops of foreign countries".
I imagined endless nights by the pool, countless hours spent watching the waves pass by and making lifelong friends. I even convinced myself that I would find the love of my life on board and that we would share the sea together.
Since I was a seventeen-year-old freshman who wanted to get away from my father, Lauren Jauregui, and everything that reminded me of our small seaside town, I signed my name on the dotted line to spend three years at sea.
I now regretted this decision, and the only cool thing I could say was that every trip could give me a small advantage in my post-college career because I was an expert in Visual Arts and Design. (Keyword: power).
The "endless nights in the pool" were nothing more than false hopes, since the pool was always crowded and closed at eight o'clock. The constant view of the waves became a reminder of how much I missed seeing the beach at home, and the "friends" I made didn't last a lifetime. They were just mine for one semester at a time.
Most people - smart people - chose to do the "one semester" option and treated the trip like a summer studying abroad, and all their "I'll keep in touch!" always failed after a few weeks.
Between non-existent Wi-Fi, predictable daily food in the dining room and the endless seas, this no longer seemed like the education of my dreams. It was a nightmare.
Not only that, but my hopes of finding love at sea were just gloomy. Most of the guys who joined the show were just looking for sex, and the few who weren't? They were good only until the end of the trip.
In fact, my last relationship was yet another reminder that only a sad and ill-informed person would sign up for three years on this ship.
"Hey, baby." My two-semester boyfriend, Matt, smiled as he walked into my room. "What's going on?"
"Noting some ideas," I said, pointing to my calendar. "I'm also counting the minutes of my last day on board."
"Cool". He closed the door and handed me a pile of envelopes. "I cleaned your message box for you. Want to take a break?"
I shook my head and closed my notebook. "Let's have a coffee in the cafeteria for an hour."
"Well, I was thinking I could have you for an hour."
"Do you want to have sex?" I smile.
"Well, our special version of sex." He walked up to me and pulled me up, taking me to my bed. "We're not ready for the real thing yet."
Sighing, I lay on the bed, completely dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans, and he turned me around - positioning me on all fours.
"You look so sexy in your hoodie, baby," he whispered in my ear while holding my hips. "Are you ready to feel me?"
"Yes, of course."
"You can't say 'Yes, of course' at a crucial moment like this, Camila." He whined. "I told you what you need to say to make it work for me, what I need to make sure you're the only one. Say it."
"I'm beyond ready to feel you, love," I said, as convincing as possible. "I want us to become a soul."
"What else should you say after that?"
"Hurry up and make me feel good, Bear."
"Yes that's it". He growled. Like a goddamn brown bear. He kissed the back of my neck - moving my tongue in circles, before pushing my head on the mattress -. He whispered something about taking things slow, and then started rubbing his sweatshirt against my jeans. Like all the other times before we did this, I could only feel a small hard knot between his legs, and I knew there was going to be another case of roasting in the pulps of his ass when he was done.
"Honey, I feel like you're not here in the zone with me," he whispered in my ear. "Are you?"
"I'm here." I faked a moan. "Oh yes".
"Oh yes, Bear." He corrected me. "Say louder and growl with me."
I didn't answer that.
He accelerated the pace and I felt my body begging me to do something more rewarding with my time.
Something like sleeping...
"Ohhh, yes," he said. "Imagine me deep inside you, sliding inside your wet and greedy sponge." He grabbed my breasts as if they were detachable, growling even more than before.
"Ahhh...". He rubbed himself against me for a while longer and then let me go before falling into bed.
I turned around and noticed that his whole face was covered in sweat, as if we had really had sex.
What is this stain on the front of his pants? Did he really come after that?
I breathed and took a small towel from my dresser, handing it to him.
"Was it good for you, teddy bear?" he asked.
I nodded, still refusing to verbally respond to that name.
We were silent for a few minutes, and I was about to suggest that we get an espresso from the cafeteria, but it cleared.
"Do you love me, Camila?" he asked.
"What?" I raised my eyebrow. "We just met last semester."
"So?" He sat down. "I can honestly say that I love you."
"We barely know each other, Matt."
"Well, that's why I wanted to talk to you before we get to the next port..." He straightened up. "I mean, even if what we just shared on your mattress was magical, like every other time, I don't think you're my soul, Camila."
"You mean your soulmate?"
"No. I mean my soul. Like the other half." He seemed to be struggling to find the words. "I feel like you're no longer excited about the things I like."
I leaned against the wall. ""Is that because I'm not always excited about all the dry humping?"