Numbers (Laurmani)

one.

"Stay with me."

    "No."

    "You're my girlfriend."

    "I know."

    "So then be a good girlfriend and stay with me."

    "That's okay."

Lauren sighed in defeat, pulling the thin grey sheet over her head, not bothering to shut off the lights. Camila would do that anyways. Camila would check the stove, turn off the TV, get the lights (in order starting in the bedroom, kitchen, living room, dining area, bathroom, and the entry hallway), and lock the door. It was routine, just as routine as Lauren finding herself angrily wiping away tears underneath the sheets each night, stifling her sobs. She found it harder and harder to swallow down the lump that would form in her throat every night when she'd prepare to be left alone. She winced at the sound of clicking heels on the hardwood echoing throughout the loft. She could hear Camila cross the lower level from where her heels had been left earlier in the evening, kicked off and forgotten somewhere beside the couch in the corner next to the TV when Lauren had placed herself between Camila's legs. The continuous tapping caused by the smaller girl's firm steps against thin flooring did nothing to quell the impending fear Lauren felt creeping into her chest. She almost wanted to throw the sheet off of herself and quietly lean over the railing of the small landing to watch Camila get dressed and collect her things strewn across the floor below- at least she'd know around how much time she'd had left until she'd see her again. It always took her longer to get dressed than it did for Lauren to undress her. She knew how long it would take, it was an exact science. Tonight she had a skirt, a cropped turtleneck, thigh high sheer socks, and those fucking heels. Lauren didn't know just how much of it Camila had on right now- besides those heels. A quick image of Camila wearing nothing but those stilettos as she collected her discarded clothes flashed through Lauren's mind. She was curious to see if her fantasies at all mirrored reality- she felt the insane need to catch a final glimpse at the brunette too- but had to stop herself from leaving the isolated paradise of her six by seven mattress. She knew that watching her leave was harder than her actually leaving. Lauren learned this early on and it was a lesson she still hadn't quite mastered despite being taught that reality every night since the first night they shared. The nights never seemed to get easier.

    Lauren tensed as the clacking of heels began to reverberate off of the stairs, coming closer to the bed. She gripped the grey sheet tighter, curling her knees into her chest. The soft light barely piercing through the thin sheet began to dim with the prominent click of a switch nearby. The green eyed girl could feel nausea threatening to emerge. There was a pause- no tapping of stilettos on oak. Lauren dragged in a slow breath, fighting to keep her voice out of it. Two beats pass. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. The raven haired girl released the breath she had been holding, the ghost of a sob lingering in the quiet exhale. Another flick of a switch, and the space beneath the sheet harboring Lauren from the outside world grew darker. Then another. And another. And another. And another. And finally, one last pause. The air was thick with tension. Maybe only she could feel it. It wasn't the first time Lauren thought she was the only one able to feel something. Those moments happened often. She counted thirty seconds before the entirety of her world went black, and the door creaked open. She'd have to fix that. It slammed shut almost immediately, the final click of the lock echoing through the loft apartment.

    Lauren let her tears flow freely now. She didn't have to hide them now. Fuck, tonight hurt. Her chest felt as if it would tear in two, her heart was beating so fucking fast. Not tonight, god. Heavy sobs wracked her nude form as she didn't bother to suppress them. She turned over beneath the blanket, facing the previously occupied side of the bed. She ran her fingers over the small and fading indent in the mattress, slightly warm from the body that had once been laying there. She gripped the duvet tightly, as if to lay claim upon the form that had been there. No use, Lauren figured. Laying claim to that girl never meant a damn thing. Not to her.