Obsessed | Camila x Reader

twentyone

"It's not safe here." She whispers sharply, trying yet again to tug me in my weary state up the dusty staircase.

"But you said-"

"I know what I said, Y/n." She snaps. When I tense in her hands, she sighs and takes a deep, steadying breath. Her tone drops into a softer tone as she continues, "Something changed. Things change all the time. It's nothing to worry about. We just have to change too."

As she rambles, I think back to the voices I'd heard earlier today, I presume. There was definitely somebody else in the house, even a few people, it seemed. In all my time with Camila, she has had a total of zero visitors, beside those muffled voices and heavy steps today. Amidst them, I'd heard her panicked, shrill tone as she attempted to remain calm.

"What kind of change?" I question, taking an unsteady step up.

"You're going to live upstairs now, baby. That way I can keep you safer." She promises, smiling weakly.

Upstairs. I'm going to live upstairs. Will she chain me again, or will I be free? I doubt I'll be permitted to come and go as I please, but maybe, with time...

I don't put up a fight as she leads me upstairs and into the kitchen. I don't argue when she hands me a steaming, yet rapidly cooling, mug of hot chocolate. I don't complain when she lays me down on the sofa and sits beside my head, kicking her feet up on the coffee table and idly playing with my hair as she watches TV. Why would I?

...

I must've fallen asleep shortly after she settles on a show because I have no idea how I got here. I'm still laying, though this time on my back and not my side, and now I'm in a bed I don't recognise. Perhaps it's a guest room, I figure, as it isn't Camila's. Stretching my aching muscles, I look out of a window to the left of the bed and see that while it was evening when she brought me upstairs, it is now the middle of the night. On the same side of the bed as the window, Camila shifts against the silky sheets, bringing my attention to her. When she tosses an arm over my stomach, I take in my surroundings.

A familiar lamp sits on a tall dresser set against the opposite wall from the bed, beside a glossy wooden door. At both sides of the simple iron bed are two small tables of the same deep wood as the dresser, each with a small drawer and an empty top. The carpet is patchy yet dense overall, soft looking, and the colour of sand. The walls themselves are a dark cyan shade with remnants of wallpaper clinging to them in places. The ceiling is a bare, smooth white.

Camila grumbles something under her breath and shuffles closer to me. She lets out a content hum when I meet her halfway, allowing her chin to tuck into my shoulder, nose barely nudging my neck. She smiles, and I settle back down to sleep.

...

In the morning, she's gone. I awake slowly and to an empty bed, the sheets kicked into a heap at the foot of the mattress and a cool air wrapping around my body. A distant mechanical hum announces that the cause is the air conditioning, and a distant natural hum announces that she's still in the house. The door is locked, and with the only evidence of a like being a small keyhole in the handle, I assume she has the key on the other side. Understandable. She doesn't trust me yet, which makes sense. I'm grateful she's at least given me a window this time. When I go to peer outside, however, I am not greeted with a yard I recognise, nor a street as I expect was on the other side of her house. Instead, I see an expanse of flat land, covered in a carpet of grass. It must be at least an acre, and beyond that, a ring of trees surrounds us. There is not another house in sight. She must've moved us.

In a burst of confusion, I tug up the window only to find that it too locks with a key. After a quick search, I realise she must have that one too.

The humming picks up again, though I hadn't noticed it's absence, and seems closer this time. When I peer down, I notice why. Below me, barely peeking out from what I assume is a porch, Camila is visible, or at least her legs are. She's sat in a deck chair, soaking up the sun with a cup of coffee at her feet. The former me, before I met her, or at least before I met the real her, might've killed to be able to witness her in such indulge a simple act.

With a sigh, I tug a pillow from the bed and toss it into a patch of heated sunlight on the floor, begrudgingly settling on it and letting the warmth spread it's calming effect throughout my body.

—
Soo.... I'm back 😬

And this is shorter than usual but I had to get something out there omg

Where do you think Camila has taken us? And why? Who did the voices belong to?