Camilla

eleven

C A M I L L A

Sly is a good fighter. I mean, she isn't good enough, because I beat her, but she is technically good. Daniel had even surprised me by having two other people lined up for me to fight after her. One was Kingsley, the scrawny kind Tank missed out on. Kingsley is scrawny, but he wasn't bad at what he did. He landed a few punches on me, but in the end he was the first to fall. After that was Finn. Finn was huge. He almost took me out, but I think that he was too full of himself. He must have thought that since I was a girl, he'd be able to take me easily. But I have this thing, called strategy, which only works if your IQ is above 0. 

I leave the arena eight hundred dollars richer, not even counting my earnings from the bets people had placed at the booth Danny ran.

It's past nine, so I don't even bother changing before getting in my car and heading to Gilligan's house. I told him it wouldn't be past nine, and yet, it is. I might be a bitch, but that doesn't mean I'm rude. Well, it does. But I'm capable of nice things. Sometimes. I leave the shorts on, but I do decide to throw a crop top on over my sports bra. I don't want to be immodest. It's short though, because it was Taylor's, and she'd cut it to fit her torso, which was shorter than mine given her height disadvantage. 

Gilligan has a nice house. It's better than Taylor's, which means it was the nicest place I've ever been to. I ring the bell again, and he answers not long after.

"She's asleep on the couch," Gilligan says as soon as he opens the door, moving to the side for me so I can walk in.

I step past him, picking her up off the sofa as carefully as I can. It was hard to go slow, what with having been punched and kicked a few times over the past hour. "Sorry I ran late," I apologize to Gilligan, turning to face him. As soon as I did, he eyes go straight to my stomach. Classic boy.
"Holy shit," he whispers, "You have a six pack." He looks closer. "And bruises? What the fuck?"

I look down at my stomach as much as I can without moving Mae. Sure enough, there are already two bruises peeking through my skin. "Damn," I whisper. Then to him, I say, "It's fine. They'll be gone after a while."

"Why are they there, though?" He looks concerned, and I feel a pang in my heart at that.

I can't think of a rational lie for why I have two quite purple bruises on each side of me. And I feel like it would be rude to tell him it was none of his business after he had just spent two hours watching Mae for me. Besides, the real reason is better than any excuse I could come up with. 

I sigh, avoiding his gaze as I mutter, "I'm a street fighter." 

For a minute, he doesn't say anything. And then, "That is so fucking cool," Gilligan says, stepping closer. Again, classic boy. 

"No," I reply, maybe a little too harshly. "It isn't. It's not, like, a legit thing. It's kind of illegal."

Gilligan's takes a second to process that. "Oh. Shit."

"Yeah. So do me a favor and keep that to yourself."

"But I have questions," he whines.

I sigh, obviously very annoyed. "Ask them some other time. But right now, I have to get Mae home, okay?"

He nods.

I walk over to the door, opening it carefully. I can feel Gilligan's eyes on me as I wince when I readjust Mae.

"I can carry her," he offers.

I shake my head. "I got her."

I step outside and start heading down the sidewalk to my car. "Goodnight, Cam," I hear Gilligan call.

I open the car door and put Mae inside before responding. "Nicknames are for friends."

Gilligan grins at me, and even from here I can tell his eyes are lit with mischief. "I know. Goodnight, Cam."

I roll my eyes and close the back door before opening my own. After a moment, I look up at Gilligan. "Goodnight, Gil."

He doesn't say anything else after that. I get in my car quickly and drove away.

Nicknames are for friends.

Goodnight, Gil.

God dammit.