Ink ➳ Camren

Chapter Eight

All rights go to original author.

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The front room of Lily's tattoo parlor felt completely unlike the one Camila had walked into earlier that evening. The shade on the front window was drawn, blocking out the lights from the street. There were couches in the corner of the room, a coffee table, side tables and lamps, and with the over-head lights turned off, it was cozy and warm like a living room more than a waiting room.

Camila hadn't noticed any of this before; but given the opportunity, she took a second look around. This was no longer just another tattoo shop after all; this was Lauren's place of employment. This was where her plain wrist had been adorned with her perfect letter L. It felt familiar to her now and as Lauren hung her jacket on the rack and everyone shouted their hellos, she smiled at the beautiful woman beside her and felt her heart swell, just a bit, as Lauren smiled back and gave her a wink.

Lily was there, of course, with Mike hanging all over her. They were sat on the couch along the far wall; Lily was smoking a joint, Mike was drinking from a can. Zayn, Adam, and their other band mates, along with a couple of what Camila could only imagine to be groupies, were scattered about the room. They were all chatting and laughing, as they drank their beers and smoked weed.

Camila had never been one to get on with the sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll crowd, not like she would have ever been invited to anyway. She was far too busy for that. She had been accused of having a one-track mind on more than one occasion. It was her mom who would try to remind her that she was young and should have some fun once in a while, but Camila would always just roll her eyes and then return them to the book she held in front of her.

Harry tried his best as well and was successful from time to time. He'd take her out to parties or bars, on weekend nights only, of course, and they'd get pissed and have a laugh, but Camila always kept herself under control.

When the part of the night arrived where Harry would take off with some hot girl, and that part of the night came every night they went out, Camila would settle her tab and head home. She and Harry had sort of an unspoken agreement when it came to him getting his dick wet, as he so eloquently put it. It was only Harry who assumed this agreement worked both ways.

Once the coast was clear, guys would approach the pretty brunette with brown eyes, sure, but after a minute or two of boring small talk exchanged while shouting over loud music, she'd find some reason to excuse herself and just go home, alone. The next morning, Harry would always call, partly to make sure she got home alright, but mostly to tell her, in graphic detail, about his sexual conquests.

Camila would call him a pig and act indignant and disgusted while he described his carnal fornication, but at least one of them was getting some action. Harry would inevitably turn the tables on her and try to get her to confess as to who was lucky enough to stick it in. She would simply say that it was none of his business and change the subject. Harry never pushed too hard; he figured that she'd tell him when she was ready.

Camila felt her stomach sink a bit as she remembered those morning phone calls, how Harry would make her laugh until her sides ached and how he was always so protective of her. She missed him; she missed seeing him at school every day. She missed their closeness.

They had kissed once, it was right after the election for student president, right after she had lost, before they had become best friends, and before Camila had really truly allowed herself to accept that she was interested in girls and only girls. The kiss hadn't lead to anything, Camila had stopped it, but she always thought back on that day with fondness because of the way Harry had smiled at her as he re-buttoned his shirt. She knew that his heart was in the right place, even if he was a prick most of the time.