Riptide (a camren fic)

Chapter 5: photographs are eternal

                  

A/N: sorry for any typos. i kind of skimmed and i'm half asleep so yeah.

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After Camila washes down the pills with the water bottle sitting on her dresser, she decides to do something different, besides the daily hours curled up in bed.

Perhaps she should learn by now that breaking this routine hasn't exactly panned out the way she's wanted it to. Considering all of the times she's deviated from habit recently. Nonetheless, Camila closes the door to her room and heads into the kitchen.

It's a familiar sight - her mother at the stove, the frying pan sizzling with bacon, the smell of pancakes in the air, and Sofi at the dining table eating off of her breakfast plate. Camila assumes her father is at work. She doesn't know, hasn't really paid attention to his schedule.

It's almost picturesque in a way. As if Camila might see this scene perpetually frozen in a black and white frame on a photography blog.

For a moment she just stands there, leaning against the doorframe, watching them. Her mother is humming distractedly, as she flips over the pancakes. It's the first time Camila has seen anything come out of that woman besides sad looks and uneven sighs. She's not even looking at her mother's face and she can already tell that that fragile tea cup expression is not present.

For a moment, she wants to go back into her room and not disturb this scene. It's almost happy. She doesn't really do well with almost happy. She doesn't trust herself with it.

But at the last minute, Camila steps into the kitchen.

They don't immediately notice her until she pulls out the nearest chair. The wooden legs scrape against the tile floor, causing both her mother and sister to turn to find the source. Her mother's eyes widen, as she sets down the spatula in her hand and Sofi stops mid-chew of her scrambled eggs.

"I was just about to bring your food to you room, mija."

"I, um, thought I'd eat here today," Camila admits in a small voice. She takes a seat, and her mother hastily begins to serve her. Camila can see the way her mother tries to hide the smile as she sets the plate of food before her.

She feels a hand stroke the top of her head affectionately. But her eyes fall to Sofi, who's watching the entire interaction with a blank expression.

"I'm going to be right back, and then we'll go see Dr. Abernathy," her mother says. Camila can already tell from the shakiness of her voice that her mother wants to cry. It wouldn't be first time she'd caught her anyway.

As her mother leaves the kitchen, Camila shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Her eyes fall to the food before her, and her stomach churns sourly.

She picks up her fork, tossing a few pieces of egg, before setting the utensil down again. It looks just so far from appetizing. It's not that her mother's cooking is bad, because it's not. It's more so that she still has that awful taste from the medication on her tongue. As if she'd learn by now how to take the damn things without tasting it.

"You look normal," Sofi's voice breaks through the silence. Camila nearly drops her fork at the sound.

Sofi isn't looking at her, but piercing her pancakes, face resting against her left hand.

"What?" Camila sputters.

Her sister doesn't say anything, as she continues to eat. The lingering happy atmosphere fades away as Camila studies her and the discontent expression on her face.