Crimson Painting (Camren)

II

a/n: 11k words guys, I'm sorry oof

-

Lauren thinks there's nothing more painful than having to watch the love of your life struggle to grasp what it means to love someone in the purest was possible.

Lauren knows there's nothing more painful than watching Camila pull away because she's fucking confused, of all things she can be. And maybe this will always be the most indiscriminately odd time of her life, the time where Camila seemed to not only want Austin, but to want everyone, she wanted everyone's attention, and she especially wanted Lauren's attention.

It's odd because even though Camila wants Lauren, she can't seem to let herself have Lauren, so she throws her around, and man handles her, like a rag doll; and Lauren's always despised the concept of those.

//

14 years of age- Lauren Jauregui

//

Eighth grade year goes by like a breeze. Their friendship only hits the occasional bump when Lauren accidentally stumbles upon Camila and Austin making out and then clams up for the rest of the day, only speaking when Camila gently kisses her forehead and asks her what's wrong.

(She always answers "Nothing I'm just on my period", she doesn't understand how Camila hasn't caught on that she physically just can't be on her period that many times in one fucking month.)

Then freshman year comes. Freshman year comes, and Lauren is irrevocably in love with Camila, and Camila is absolutely in love with the idea of throwing Lauren around. Of keeping her as a secret while she shows Austin off to the world and shoves her tongue down his throat, unbeknownst to him that her tongue was also in Lauren's mouth minutes ago.

But there's a build up to that. Of course Camila doesn't kiss Lauren and promise to cherish her forever at first, she fights like hell, and fuck if it isn't one hell of a fight.

/

Lauren wonders what keeps her coming back to Camila even when her best friend has made it more than clear that she has no greater intentions with Lauren other than friendship.

She wonders why she lets her hand linger a little bit too long on Camila's back when she clips her best friend's bra into place the morning after a sleepover, she wonders why she hasn't stopped herself from continually fucking herself over like this.

"Lauren, are you even paying attention?" Camila calls out to her, and Lauren guiltily smiles because no, how could she ever pay attention when Camila is right next to her, leg propped up on the ballet barre and thigh exposed, dripping caramel tan goodness.

"Yeah, I totally am," Lauren scoffs, even though she knows it useless. Camila sees right through it.

(Lauren thinks it might be because she died a little on the inside when she was thirteen, ghosts were supposed to be transparent after all, right?)

"No you're not, and frankly," Camila puts a hand on her hip which is raised and wedged between her thigh and stomach. "I think it's quite rude. I brought you to my dance class so you could learn etiquette so we can apply for the cheerleading team together next year, and you haven't even so much as put your feet in fifth position."

"'M sorry, Camz," Lauren apologizes with a guilty pout. "I don't think I even remember what fifth position is."

"That's because you haven't been paying attention," Camila rolls her eyes, but it's playful this time. Lauren's heart soars a little in her chest. (Or at least tries to, those vines have still got her goddamn shackled). "Do you want me to show you?"