Habit

Chapter 22

Lauren's P.O.V
I woke up to Camila's note and was slightly disappointed she'd left-after all, she'd swooned me so effortlessly with her voice of angels. I just couldn't believe the ease with which she made me feel... simplicity. Happiness. Comfort.

Love.

That was why as soon as I woke up, saw the note, and felt my heart flutter in my chest for the umpteenth time because of Camila Cabello, I texted her. I texted her the words I'd been craving her to see, to feel, to know I meant with everything in me. I need to see you. Again. And again. And again.

I smiled to myself, knowing how needy and ridiculous I sounded and not caring at all. This was Camila. Camila knew things about me now no one knew about, not even my best friend. Camila had held me in her arms and serenaded me to sleep; that only happens in romantic comedies with dramatic moments before the characters really fall in love.

Only this time, it isn't a romantic comedy. It isn't even a damn movie. This is my life. This is me falling in love. I know it sounds ridiculous, knowing this girl should hate me, resent me for all of the things I put her through, yet she holds me like she does, tells me she'll always be beside me, but for what? Why? What reasonable, logical explanation could she have for having this affection for me, making me fall for her with everything she does? Why? Why?

I could ask myself this question over and over again if I wanted to, but I know there's no concrete reason why. Just like if a scientist asks himself why atoms make up everything in the universe. He will never be able to tell you that-they just do. Knowing that gives me comfort.

Camila is like atoms for me; she's my atom. She'll always build me up into the person I am, the person I want to be, the person I wish I was for those horrible years I mistreated a girl who'd gone through hell. But in a way it didn't seem to even matter anymore. It was almost like for so long the two of us have danced around the idea of her maybe, possibly being able to look past our history. But now, it's like the question isn't even there. We're just together. We're comfortable. We're easy-and that feels safe.

My phone buzzed and I look down to see the reply I'd nervously, anxiously anticipated with my whole being.

"Camz 😍:  Come over."

I guess you could say I left pretty damn quick.

I arrive at Camila's house to find a single light on upstairs, her room. No other lights are on, and when I try the doorknob, it's loose. I walk into the house, calling out to Camila but not getting a response. I turn the lock on the brass doorknob under my hands, realizing with no one else home, Camila was alone in an empty house, essentially unaware that anyone was even in her house, even if it's just me. Silly girl¸ I think to myself. Silly, silly girl.

I walk slowly, lightly up the stairs, trying my best not to scare Camila if she really didn't know someone was there. I didn't want her coming with a bat at my face in self-defense. I creep up and sidle against her closed door, knocking lightly. No response. I knock a little harder, but there's still no answer, so I lean my ear up close to the wood panels and listen intently.

Water.

She's in the god damned bathtub.

In an unlocked house.

Come on, Camz.

I open the unlocked door and stroll lazily through the messy room. There were clothes everywhere, undergarments and school dresses tossed carelessly to and fro on every piece of furniture, on the floor, everywhere in sight. I laugh to myself, knowing it would have been silly to expect anything less or more from Camila.