Hate that I love you

i

Everywhere she goes, houses, buildings and pine trees were lit up with Christmas lights and bundled up with Christmas decorations. The malls would be packed up with people, gifts possessed in their arms and elated children holding onto their parents' arms. People dressed up as Santa Claus, pretended to be him and receiving wishes from the little ones. The atmosphere was of Joy.

Camila's house stuck out like a sore thumb. With it's lack of lights and Christmas decorations, Camila didn't bother to even put up a single ornament. Her house looking utterly lifeless and dull, which highly reflected the owners. Camila didn't think it mattered anyway. Not anymore.

Camila was all alone and will be until next year, having given her helpers early and long breaks to spend it with their families. And she didn't mind, she was used to it — Although, cursed at the fact that it started snowing, for once in a blue moon, it was snowing in Miami.

Camila decided to wear her fuzzy banana socks and clothed herself in her bright yellow minion onesie, lolling right across their fireplace to keep herself warm with a thick blanket wrapped around her body.

Her eyes lazily scanned through her book and reached up to fix her square rimmed glasses perched up in her nose that was sliding down. She'd occasionally rub her cold hands together for heat and sniff audibly, letting out a few sneezes here and there and reach up to scratch her already pink nose.

Camila was never a fan of cold weathers, hence, the seemingly permanent scowl was plastered on her face as she took yet another glimpse of the white falling snow through their large glass windows, almost glaring menacingly at it.

It wasn't the first time she'd experience this kind of weather, and it wouldn't be the first time she'd hate it. (The last time she went out, she ended up falling on her ass that left a bruise and getting ambushed with snowballs by ten year old kids messing around in their neighborhood.)

Although Camila admits the scenery was undeniably beautiful, she still hated the weather. Just like how she hated Lauren. Boy, does she hate her so much. But Lauren didn't need to know that.

Lauren wouldn't understand, and Camila was a mess.

Camila groaned, letting her back hit their cold wooden planked floors of their living room and stretched out her arms and legs, before she reached for her blanket and curled up into a ball.

The control panel to adjust the temperature of the room was somewhere around her (Camila couldn't quite remember where exactly it had been placed, tried to rack her brain for the lost info but miserably failed, so she ended up shrugging it off). Albeit, she wasn't in the right state of mind at the moment, she was pretty certain that it was far from her reach and there was just no way she was standing up on her feet just to search for it.

So, Camila settled on rolling over to be closer to the fire and nuzzled her face on the blanket, the heat radiating off the fire made her close her eyes in content, hugging the soft fabric closer and sniffled.

Camila may have heard the familiar loud ringing of her doorbell as she laid there, followed by obnoxious knocks on their wooden doors a few seconds later, but all in all ignored the interruptions and hummed out a tune in an attempt to block it out, but later on stopped when her throat itched and lets out a rough cough.

Camila didn't bother to move even when she hears the door closing, because one whiff of that addictive perfume scent and her worries about a burglar trying to rob into her house and how she was doing, well, nothing about it was completely thrown out of the window. Camila was then rolled over and was met with stars blinking down in concern above her, smiling lazily in return.