The Prostitute

Part 15 : The End

In Camila's left hand is her notebook clutched tightly, as if she was afraid to lose it. In her right was Lauren's hand, her grip firm but loose enough for Lauren to be able to release her hold whenever she wished. When she would let go of Camila, it was only to play with her slender fingers.

It was poetry night, and Camila was nervous. Not of the stage—she'd been on it far too many times to count. She was over her stage fright years and years ago. Not of the crowds—half of them were her friends and acquaintances. Dinah and Normani were probably making out in one of the many dark corners of the bar. Camila was nervous because she wrote a poem for a girl, and she was as real as the pounding of her heart against her ribcage. That girl was Lauren, and Camila was performing a poem for her tonight.

"You ready?" Taylor approached her with a tankard filled with the local brew. "They're done setting up out back."

"Ready for what?" Lauren asked, eyes bright and staring at Camila. She kept it a secret from Lauren that this was their date night—the night that would hopefully kick off their relationship into the stars.

Camila shook her head and kissed her nose. "You'll see. Dinah and Normani are around somewhere. Just relax, babe." She grinned and smoothed out her blazer before following Taylor, casting a wink towards Lauren as she disappeared in the crowd.

"That her? The woman you mentioned?" Taylor asked as they entered backstage. Camila greeted a few of her friends and nodded to Taylor. "

"I thought about your offer." Camila said as she rolled her shoulders, tension dissipating in her body with each passing second. "And I want the position, if you haven't given it out already."

Taylor chuckled. "I knew you'd say yes somehow, Camila. Of course it's all yours."

"Oh, good." Camila grinned. "I quit my day job for this even though I can probably do both, you know? But I have money saved up, and not all of my clients are asking for refunds. None of them are suing me either, so that's a relief." She peeked through the curtains and caught a sight of Lauren who was chatting with Dinah. The announcer stepped center stage and began to entertain the patrons of the bar.

"Everyone missed you, Camila." Taylor said, hand clapping against her back. "You'll be great."

Camila smiled. "I hope so. But more than that, I hope I'll be great for Lauren."

The host declared her name and Camila stepped through the curtains, the black fabric flourishing around her. She smiled through the bright lights and the familiar faces of the crowd. Catching Lauren's mesmerizing emerald eyes, Camila winked and gripped the microphone stand. "Hello, everyone. To those who are not familiar with this scene, I've been MIA for the past year or so." Camila chuckled.

"You could say I've been busy. I haven't been writing." The crowd booed playfully and Camila laughed. "I know, I know. But you see, the first time I wrote a poem about a girl whose eyes are comparable to New York City's lights was last night when the moon hung low," Camila held up her hand, cupping it as if she was grasping the moon in her palm. "Like false hope amidst these dying, fading stars burning bright and blinding me. I haven't touched a pen to write a poem in months and I try to think that this would make me see; that maybe this isn't all there is to me."

The pub was silent now, eyes trained on Camila. She relished it. She savoured their awed stares, but most of all, she was drawn to Lauren's eyes. "The last time I wrote a poem was two hundred and fifty seven days ago but it was crap. It was a poem about how my lungs are just lungs, and my stomach is just a stomach." She patted her abdomen. "It's unromantic and I burned the words in my mind until all is left is charcoal and the alphabet crumbling in my fingertips."