Or Is It Real?

Chapter 44: Abrupt Clarity

Trigger Warning: mention of suicide
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Three years later

Lauren's PoV

If there's was one thing that I regret in my life, going to that after-party three years ago would be on top of my list.

If I didn't go, if I chose to run after Camila like what my heart has been screaming for me to do, then my life would not be like this. Miserable, pathetic, pointless.

Maybe we would still be together as a group, or at least, we would still have a career. But after Camila killed herself (she locked herself in the hotel bathroom after she left the AMAs and swallowed all the pills she had for her anxiety and sleep problems), all four of us were plagued with grief and depression.

Only Normani and Ally managed to get back on track eventually, because they had Jesus and their leather-bound bibles, while Dinah and I, who were closest to Camila, lost our ability to adjust and thrive in the cold world that is the music industry. I resorted to hard drugs and constant partying, while Dinah survived hoe-ing it up, jumping from one guy to another but never having a relationship that lasted for more than three months. There even were rumors that she had a threesome with Simon and L.A. in exchange for a three-album contract, but Dinah never addressed that topic, and I never cared enough to ask her. Both of us have become emotional zombies, we have lost the ability to feel and the desire to even try. We settled on quick relief, rather than digging deep and fixing ourselves.

It's how the two of us coped. Any temporary solace we could get from our chosen distractions would do, and the downward spiraling hasn't stopped, because I fear (and I assume Dinah felt the same) that the minute I let my guard down and stop taking drugs or hooking up with strangers or partying in some underground club, the ghost of Camila's memories will haunt me, like a crashing wave of tsunami in my mind, that would probably be the blade that would cut the last thinning thread of my sanity.

It's just a matter of time until they find me lifeless in a dirty bathroom in one of the clubs I frequent. Death by an apparent and long overdue drug overdose, but what they don't know is that I have long died because of a broken heart.

How I long for that time to come, for death to come snuff my pitiful existence.

Maybe I don't have to wait? Maybe I should take matters in my own hands, and just end my misery, once and for all? Why would I even bother hanging on to this awful world, when the only person that I loved with my entire heart left it... left me, to escape?

I didn't even realize that tears were streaming down my cheeks as I flipped through my old journals until I saw the yellowing pages getting soaked with my tears. But I continued reading my old poems and entries, looking at the old Polaroids of our glory days, reliving the memories I had with Camila, as I always do every night. And I knew, the other side looked brighter. Any place other than this dark life.

I didn't even bother writing any letters to anyone, they have already considered me dead anyway. But I did send Dinah a goodbye text. And another one asking her to tell Mani and Ally that I love them and I wish for them to really live, like how we used to years ago. I also left Lucy a voicemail, how could I not say goodbye to her?

I wasn't nervous, even when I took out the gun from my bedside drawer, I didn't feel my hands shaking or my heart beating faster. My soul, if there's still a part of it left in me, probably is looking forward to my death. Blow my brains out, that's how I choose to die? My chickens would probably cry. They used to praise me for my mind and my face (those thirsty Jauregays), and it's ironic that I'll ruin those parts of me they admired me for. Slitting my wrists is too slow for me. And pills won't probably be effective, considering the amount of toxic substance flowing in my bloodstream, it'll be like munching on candies for fun.