Listen to: One Night by Ed Sheeran
Lauren Jauregui was officially spent. It was her first night off of tour, her first night back in her own home, laying on her own sofa and sleeping in her own bed. Whoever told her that the last few days of tour would be a breeze was a straight-up fucking liar.
She collapsed into the plush leather sofa and let herself relax for the first time in what felt like years, but was really only a few months, and let her mind wander lazily. Now that she could do whatever the fuck she wanted, she had no idea what the fuck she wanted to do.
Well, really, that wasn't entirely true. She did have one idea of what she wanted to do...or, rather, who.
But she really wasn't sure that was such a good idea. She didn't exactly want to fall back into old habits, especially after she told herself she wouldn't. So she spent the next few hours or so distracting herself with anything she could to try to keep her mind off of the one thing it kept going back to.
She lay in her bedroom about four hours later, playing songs on her old Benson (which she probably hadn't picked up in years, to give substance to how desperate for a distraction she was) and toking up from the pipe she kept on her bedside table. She'd been trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to keep her off her mind for four fucking hours, but she just couldn't, no matter how hard she tried; the girl with the deep brown eyes and hypnotizing smile seemed to consume her thoughts even when she was nowhere to be seen, and Lauren couldn't change that. She wasn't even sure she wanted to.
She huffed in frustration and threw the covers off of her half-naked body, grabbing a white flannel shirt from her desk chair and buttoning it loosely over her toned abdomen. She knew full well that her phone still sat on her nightstand, and she knew full well that she'd end up using it before the night was over.
But she definitely wouldn't be sober.
She grabbed the pipe from the nightstand, along with her phone and a lighter, and walked lazily to the kitchen. Setting the objects in her hands down on the granite countertop, she retrieved a shot glass from the cabinet and the whiskey that sat untouched on top of her refrigerator. Pouring herself a shot, she sighed bitterly and laughed despite herself. How pathetic could one person be?
Here she was, drinking and smoking enough for two, all because she was procrastinating a booty call that she promised herself she'd never make again because that's how fucking lonely she was. She knew damn well that there was no shortage of people in the world who would kill to be the person she came home to, and yet she felt so alone it drove her absolutely insane.
There was only one person who made her feel like she wasn't alone in the world. And that scared the living shit out of her.
Downing her third shot of whiskey, she picked up the phone and opened up her contacts, knowing this routine all too well. She probably could have pinpointed the exact contact in question with her eyes closed. She stared at the contact on the screen for a few seconds before mumbling "fuck it" and pressing the "call" option.
The phone rang for a few seconds and for an instant Lauren thought there would be no answer, and she was almost relieved.
But then there was the sound of the call being picked up and the unmistakable raspy voice that Lauren had become accustomed to over time.
"Hello?"
The voice brought goosebumps to the surface of Lauren's skin.
"Camila?"
Her name rolled off of Lauren's tongue like her favorite lyric.
"Oh, hey. I wasn't expecting to hear from you, after last time...what's up?"
