camila cabello • one-shots & imagines ♡

stuck in the crowd - part 1

"I remember that it hurt, looking at her hurt."

Said by Nat Wolff's character, who hopelessly fell in love with a girl that was burdened with an abusive boyfriend and a history of drugs. It depicted exactly how I felt about this girl in the middle of a crowd, minus the abusive boyfriend, minus the drugs. Although, I couldn't be quick with assumptions- I knew nothing about her. There was something about this girl that drew me to her. The lone girl held a glass of champagne, hardly sipping its sweet divine. Her makeup had been smudged by the trickles of sweat on her face, but she had not moved an inch.

A smile was plastered on her lips, but I didn't believe it was real. It was too strung to her cheeks, it took effort for her to smile. Of course, her exteriority wasn't something the people suspected. No, they were either much too inebriated to talk about anything but themselves... Or, too afraid to ask.

Bottom line: Life is hardly ever perfect. In some eyes, maybe. But I find it nearly impossible for life to be considered the term: perfect.

Her smile was one I'd see commonly, and not just on her face- on many others. But for some reason, I didn't have the heart to feel bad for them. Just her. When I saw the swirls of despair in her eyes, I knew not to assume by the lonesome aurora she carried or the frown that, although wasn't present on her lips, was present in her stance.

"(Y/N), it's so glad to see you here! May I get you some champagne? It looks like you need it," spoke a burly voice, interrupting me of my thoughts. I displayed a sly grin to the host, politely shaking my head.

"Aha! Albert, Abe... buddy. I don't plan to stagger out of here! I already promised myself that I wouldn't try any drinks that looked like any other color but... champagne color at your parties... Not after last time," I teased. My eyes were still trained on the brunette who just nodded to a random man's every word, offering her eyes as a way to say she was attentive. However, I saw her disinterest. A blind fool could easily see that.

"Hey!" Albert scoffed, "I was hoping you wouldn't remember that." The tall, muscular man brought his glass of red wine to his lips, his eyes wandering amongst the many heads he saw.

I laughed, shrugging my shoulders before speaking again. "Another one of your successful parties, huh Abe?"

"Please, it wouldn't be a party without me planning it," Albert replied, playfully pushing at my shoulder. It was now that I realized his body slacked in a buttoned shirt, a pair of dress pants, and a pair of brown dress shoes to match. A loose chain hung around his neck, rings decorating his hands. I had known Albert for quite some time– he never liked the name and always preferred to call him Abe, said it was like a repellant for women. Who could blame the guy?

A passing waiter came by, offering a plate of standing champagne glasses. "Perhaps one glass wouldn't hurt me," I thought. I took ahold of one, thanking the waiter as they excused themselves to tend to the sea of guests. "That is true," I say, swirling the liquid in my glass as I take a slow sip, taking in the flavor that danced on my tongue and simmered down as fast as it passed my lips. "But," I began, "it's hard to forget about the worst hangover in history."

"Parties are either all in, or all out... and I'm not just talking about the liquor," Albert exclaimed, wiggling his sculpted brows with a smug smirk. I rolled my eyes, teetering my weight against him for a moment. He grinned at the banter between us, eventually letting out a small sigh. "But, since this is a fundraiser for the biggest names of our generation, I was asked for quaint and formal. Go figure."

"Money is money. You outdid yourself as always, buddy. Don't get all too bummed that it isn't one of your club gatherings, I actually prefer this." Albert laughs at this, shaking his head to which confused me. "What?" I asked.