Reason To Fight

Chapter 9

I had awakened in Lauren’s arms; head snuggled into the crack of her neck. It was difficult to fall asleep. How could it be easy when my heart was pounding noisily and out of pace? How could it have been easy when Lauren’s fingers played with the ends of my hair as she slowly fell asleep? It wasn’t easy because it was all a constant reminder. It was a constant reminder that it all wasn’t real. It was a constant reminder of my dying longing for it to bereal, to be meaningful. For the both of us, and not just for me. I wished she were sober, I wished that it meant something. But in reality, I knew that today… she’ll complain about her hang over and it’ll be like last night never happened. I wasn’t completely sure as to whether I hoped Lauren would remember last night or not. I wondered if she remembered how she pressed her body against mine, and attached those soft lips on my neck. I wondered if she remembered how she made me moan, how she made me feel, just by that one simple touch. I wondered if she remembered everything I said to her. Oh dear god, I hope not. I’ll seem pathetic. I am pathetic.

However if she didn’t remember a thing, I didn’t want her to wake up to this. She’ll get the wrong idea, and I didn’t want her to. I tried slipping away, but it was too late.

“Camz?” She cutely rubbed her eyes, and rapidly blinked to clear her vision.

She looked so sweet, innocent, sleepy but beautiful. “G’morning.” I half smiled.

“Good morning,” she responded, bafflement visible in her face. She bit her lower lip, and for a moment she looked nervous. She gulped, “Fuck, my head.” She said it like she was relieved she didn’t forget to say it.

Here come the hangover complaints. All there’s left is the answer to whether she remembers or not. “Do you want me to get you anything?” I asked.

“Nah, it’s okay.” She answered.

If she didn’t remember, that would mean her last memory of us was me yelling at her. Fuck. As if on cue, she said, “So, I’m guessing we talked it out, or…?” And my suspicions were answered; she doesn’t remember.

“You don’t remember anything?” I had to be reassured.

“I rem- uh, no, I don’t really remember anything.” She stammered.

I respectfully nodded, and sat silently. I was sitting cross-legged, and she stared at me, like she thought I was going to continue.

“Well?”

“What?” I responded.

“Like, what happened?”

“Not a lot,” I lied, “You threw up here and there, but other than that it was just usual drunkenness.” I mentally pat myself on the back for my ace acting skills.

A small smile grew on her face, but it was instantly fought away. “Oh.” She coughed, “Um, Camila, like… if I said anything to you yesterday, just like… remember that I say things I don’t mean when I’m drunk.”

Yeah, like how she said she loved me or when she asked me to stay or even when she said she was willing to find out what her feelings held. It was meaningless, just like she said. But of course, I wouldn’t tell her that.

—

The afternoon had come along, and we were in the car on our way to an interview. “Hey Camz,” Lauren called out, inserting the AUX wire into her iPod. I turned to look at her, and she had this smug smirk on her lips.

“Yeah?”

“It’s our song.” She said, about to press play. My heart jumped out of my throat, and I was afraid she’d play the song I sang last night; Ashes and Wine by A Fine Frenzy.