Three years.
Thirty-six months.
One hundred, and fifty-six weeks.
One thousand, and ninety-five days.
That's how long it took to find her again.
That's how long it took to find out that she was no longer the girl who promised forever half a world away.
Three years.
She lay motionless in bed, the ring of a jackhammer reverberating off the brick walls from the construction site down the street. The city outside her downtown studio apartment was alive and buzzing, car horns and police sirens blaring in the distance. With a sigh, she turned her head to the side to look at the picture on her bedside table, their picture. It sat in its dark wooden frame, Camila stretching out an arm to run her fingers over it like she did every morning. She remembered the day it was taken like it was yesterday. She remembered the cold wind, and the crowded square. She remembered the elderly couple, and even the tram that rattled along its track across the way.
It had been three years, and she still remembered the sound of her laughter when she'd wrapped her up and swung her in her arms from behind. And she would never forget the look in her eyes when she first saw that photo; that scared, but longing look they got when she was letting her see past her walls.
I miss those eyes.
Camila retracted her hand after a moment. The smell of freshly ground coffee drifted in from the kitchen, letting her know the other girl was awake. The burnt scent still churned her stomach and made her think of her father, the one she hadn't seen in the nine months that she'd been living in New York. He paid for her rent and for the food in her fridge, but couldn't even show his face for her birthday. Twenty-two, and she resented him for it.
She rolled out of bed and padded into the dining area, the wooden floorboards creaking with each step. Ceiling to floor windows covered the whole right wall of her-their apartment, the early morning sun shining in from the world outside. She switched off the coffee maker when she reached the kitchen bench, the machine hissing before the steam died. She busied herself with her own breakfast as pale arms snaked around her waist, Camila relaxing into the familiar embrace. She felt soft lips connect to the back of her neck, and the tingle of breath dance across her tanned skin. She leant back into the blonde, welcoming the peaceful calm that came with those arms.
"Morning, roomie."
A dull ache thudded like an old friend in her chest, gripping her heart and squeezing tightly. She furrowed her brow and took in a deep breath, trying to swallow down that simple word. That feeling, that incessant ache, was always there; it was the one thing that had never truly left her after all these years.
"I thought I told you not to call me that, Alex," she sighed, placing her hand gently on the bare arm wrapped around her middle. She ran her fingers lightly across her skin as she felt the grip go loose, leaving her feeling empty.
"Sorry, forgot," Alex replied in small voice, taking a step back. "Three weeks?"
"Three weeks," Camila repeated in a tired voice.
It had become like a pseudonym between the two best friends, a compromise so that Camila wouldn't have to hear her name said out loud, not that it did much good. Everything reminded Camila of her, every church and statue, every passing plane or rattle of a train. Even sunshine brought back memories of those seventeen days. And God forbid she ever saw someone with a journal and a pen; those days were the hardest.
Alex wandered over to the fridge and pulled out the small carton of milk, pouring some into her coffee, before absently passing it to Camila, who had her hand out waiting. She had on the 'Go Green' t-shirt she'd bought her in Amsterdam, the leaf design worn with light blue paint stains covering the hem from when they redecorated Alex's bedroom a few months ago. The girl jumped lithely onto the breakfast bar, swinging her legs happily as she cradled her steaming cup.
