Harana: Camilo x Reader

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

𝐅𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧: 𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐝

♫

     The knocking on her door made her bury her face deeper into the black ruana. She didn't feel sad nor angry, almost like her mother— she was unresponsive. The word was numbness, she had gotten to the point that beating herself up in her mind turned repetitive and boring. That every jab she took towards her character was something she had already heard before. 

     The knocking continues and it followed the rhythm of her heartbeat, the tempo quickened with every second. Was Gutiérres right? Was she doomed to belong nowhere? Her tears seared her skin, she pulled on her hair. She wanted to scream, she wanted to burn but all that came out of her was her ragged breathing. The knocking stopped and everything became still.

      "Y/N? I'm coming in." Francisco twisted the doorknob, entering her room with his hands hidden behind his back. He stepped over the crumpled papers, dirty sheets, and pencils thrown on the floor. Her room was trashed, everything was a mess.

     Surprisingly, Francisco was patient with her. He would bring her meals to bed, sometimes he would sneak some snacks in. They hadn't met eye to eye lately and she forgot that through it all, her father was only doing the best he can. His misdirected frustrations weren't excused but it was a reminder that he was flawed like any other human. Although the tension hadn't magically disappeared, the air between them was laced with awkwardness. 

     Francisco looked worn out with each passing day, his hair was a tousled mess and he hadn't shaved his stubble. He struggled with Leonora, there was no progress and sometimes he could see a look in her eyes he had never seen before. It was resentment. He had no gateway, no friends, and no life outside this house. So he clung to what was left, pushing and pulling, hurting and loving. 

     Here he was before his daughter, she hadn't told a thing about why she was so upset. His vision had grown so blurry from the stress that when Y/N started sobbing yesterday, he had seen his little girl for the first time in years. He felt her tears.

     "A delivery boy came by earlier." His weight shifted the mattress, she hugged her knees and turned away. "A secret admirer perhaps?" He raised his brows, trying to get a smile from her at least. No response. Francisco stood up, placing the pot on her bedside table. He knew he wasn't going to be the one to make her happy— she no longer confided in him, no longer chat about the silly rumors... She was no longer herself with him. Before he left her room, he gave her a long look. "Maybe he isn't so bad after all." 

     And he was slowly accepting it.

     He closed her door softly. Down the stairs, he staggered, his foot lumbered against the hard floor. He needed air, he needed to breathe. He swung the backdoor open, the leaves on the trees rustled and the sun hid behind the clouds. Slumping on a stool, he inhaled deeply. His hand gripped his knee, trying to restrain his leg from jumping. Eyelids fluttering close, drooping with drowsiness. 

     A memory played— Leonora smiling sweetly, her chest rising and falling as she lay on a picnic blanket. Crisanto running towards the light, ready to face the world by a storm. And finally, his little Y/N whose fingers nimbly intertwined with his. She looked up to him, eyes doe-like. He nodded, loosening his hold on her hand. He let her go.

      And he will, he doesn't know when but he can feel that it's getting sooner. To love a child was to know when to let them blossom by themselves. Through pain and laughter, let them have the world as it is. Francisco felt his consciousness dwindle. He was drifting into sleep, finally resting.

      Now alone, Y/N took a peep at what her father had left her with. Daylight hits, the plant shimmered with a faint glow. A gasp slipped her lips, she held onto the ruana as she reached for the pot. It looked like sampaguitas and yet different— it was centimeters larger and the tips had a blush of pink on them. She leaned and inhaled the scent, wondering how on earth did someone get their hands on such a beauty.

     Better yet who were these from? An unpleasant feeling gnaws on her stomach. She would gladly throw this plant away if it came from Lucia. It makes sense, he was the only one who knew about her favorite flower. She scowled; the kiss came out of nowhere. His lips were trembling, it was a desperate attempt to make her stay.

     It was the betrayal that made her blood boil. She gave him her trust, her friendship, and he repaid it with an unwanted kiss. And the regret made her want to vomit, she had been vulnerable around him. All their touches, was it all with an intent?

     Yet he showed no prior interest towards her... No, he showed no interest in anyone at all. She removed the bracelet, dropping it on the floor. Their friendship was supposed to be uncomplicated.

     The pot was heavy on her lap, she turned it to the side and saw a note attached to it. Scribbled on the front were the sun and the moon— it was from Camilo. She wanted to see him, she really did but she tucked her tail and hid in her room. And imagine the conversation if she ever did show up, "Hey, I met the prick that we were going to prank." She was in no mood for revenge, she just wanted to crawl in her man cave and rot for eternity.

     She detached the note from the branch, opening the card. "A flower in the image of you, not as radiant though." And there it was, a winking face, this time unerased. She chuckled, caressing the flower, "I guess I'll name you junior." She stood up, her legs wobbled for a second before she regained her balance. Placing the pot on her windowsill, she crouched down to its level and whispered, "I promise to take good care of you."