Camila

Y.N.H (pt. 2)

"She's unstable, are you sure you want her here with you? How do you know she won't just make a mess and leave?" Ox's voice shook with worry.

"Relax, Ox." A sweet but raspy voice hushed him. "I've done this a million times, she's no challenge."

"Okay but call me if you need me. If she does. 24/7. Seriously." Ox kept trailing on.

"I will Ox, go get your stuff done. I'll worry about Y/N." There was a brief pause where I assume a hug filled before I heard a door open, close, and lock.

The room I'm in seems expensive, in the simplest way to describe it. All white walls, but detailed trims, beautiful pantings, and the kind of floor that's crisp, cold, and could break your teeth in seconds if you're a drunk mess. A pain I know all too well from before I even had my first drink.

"You're alive." Camila appeared in the door frame with a grin on her lips.

"Yeah, anyways, I should go." I flashed a fake smile trying to stand up, but finding that my head pain made it difficult.

"No, lie back down. Let me get you some more water." She pulled a blanket over me and hurried off to get water.

This isn't that bad, a soft blanket and this comfy, looks too good to be a guest room, guest room. Well i mean i assume. For all I know she could be rich and this room is the fucking garage. I chuckled to myself and turned my head just to see if any cars could actually be stored in the room.

"I'm back." Camila let out a little tune looking like she just auditioned for a damn water commercial that supposedly saves your life. Her smile was as radiant as it was contagious.

"Thank you." I took the glass from her and sipped. I have to give the girl credit, she did take me into her home to try and help me.

"How're you feeling?" She grabbed my shoulder gaining my attention again.

"Like a bus hit me." I laughed, but it's bad, I feel rough to say the least. I've gotta get a drink.

"Well, I've got plenty of blankets and snacks for you, along with your own room and tv." Camila grinned while gently running her fingers through my hair, but it hurt.

"What're you doing?"

"There's dried blood in your hair from when you fell." She looked down at me with soft eyes "You're lucky you didn't need stitches."

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(15 years later)
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"And that, kids, is how I met your mother."

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Eyyyy this has been in my drafts for a while so imma just let it out