Obsessed | Camila x Reader

thirtythree

I never thought I'd see her again, but here I lay on the sofa of her hotel suite, the smell of coffee floating in the air as she brews a mug for each of us despite my refusal. She seems well, which is strangely odd. There are no whispered escape plans, no wildly darting eyes, no desperately clinging hands on hair and clothing. Long gone is the distraught girl I knew; in her place stands a new Ariana, the kind with her hair straightened as it had been when she first arrived at rehab.

"If I knew I was leaving, I would've said goodbye." She brings the mugs over, placing one in front of me on the table before taking a seat on the terracotta-coloured sofa perpendicular to my own. Her gaze lands on me for a moment before averting to the window above me. She takes a sip of coffee before speaking again, "They didn't give me much of a warning."

I respond to her statement with only a shrug and, watching the steam rise from the hot brown liquid, move on to question, "How did you know I was gone?"

"I wanted to find you." She sighs. Her mug sits on the glass table with a small clink. "When I found out you'd gotten out, I went to every place you said you wanted to live: New York, L.A., Denver—anywhere you'd shown an interest in. I almost gave up when I finally saw you leaving work one day. That was about a week before you went missing. I knew you were going on a trip somewhere and I was too nervous to introduce myself again, so I promised I'd wait until you came back and run into you at work, or something... but you never did."

"So you stalked me and made yourself my emergency contact?"

Her expression changes to one of guilt, but she's quick to retort, "I didn't stalk you. I was looking to catch up with an old friend."

"Right." I scoff, moving my eyes back to the rising steam. I make out various shapes as she continues to talk, barely listening. She says something about knowing I wouldn't leave unannounced, that I 'didn't have enough to do that'. She explains how she reported that I was missing, how she frantically searched everywhere she could think of, even checking various rehabilitation centers around the state, which I took mild offence to. Then, after months, she got a call from the police saying they'd found me.

"I know she took you," She mutters, bringing my attention onto her once more.

"I want to go back."

"Back where?"

"Home."

"I hate to break it to you, Y/n/n, but the landlord already has somebody else-"

"Not there."

Her eyes widen in realisation, and she hisses, "She kidnapped you, Y/n. She took you against your will. The girls say she kept you in the basement. Why the hell do you want to go back?"

"When did you speak to them?"

"At the station." She sighs, shifting in her seat and sipping on her coffee once again, "They got charged with breaking and entering for trying to save you."

"They took me away from her." The more she refuses, the higher my distress rises.

"She took you, too."

"At first, maybe," I sit up too quickly but ignoring the dizziness it causes, "But I want to be with her, Ariana. Y-you wouldn't understand. She's getting better. She hasn't hurt me in so long, and- and she feeds me good stuff now, and she lets me outside, and I'm trying to help her be more confident in herself because she's been through hell and back and I-"

"She's evil!" Ariana snaps, making me flinch away from her as she tosses her hands into the air in disbelief, "She kidnapped you, kept you in a basement for god knows how long, did whatever the hell else she did to you, and you want to go back?"

"You haven't met her," I defend weakly, even as I cower against the back of the sofa, "You don't know what she's like."

"I'm not taking you back. That's final."

...

I know it's wrong. I know I should be listening to Ariana; that I should be listening to Lauren, Normani, Ally, and Dinah; that I should be listening to the police; that I should be listening to my past self, but I simply don't want to.

Ari got me a phone since mine was destroyed. She gave me some clothes, too, since all I had was what I came in.

I've been with Ariana in her hotel room for just a few days per my lawyer requesting that someone simply 'get her out of everyone's hair' after I refused anything unless it was Camila. She got me the phone on the second day. It's nothing too advanced, but it's got a screen and access to the internet and her as my only contact. I don't have anybody else to add since I don't know Camila's phone number. She monitors what I do on it because she doesn't want me getting in touch with Camila, but she says controlling what other people do is wrong, so why does she get to control what I do? With that thought in mind, I make the decision I've been pondering for the past two days.

I open a private internet tab—she can't monitor that, I think—and open up the app that got me into this mess: Instagram. I'm surprised when I remember my information, fingertips running on autopilot as I fill in my username and password, and take in a deep breath when the first thing I'm met with is a photo of her. God, I missed her. Without taking a second look at the post, I swipe to see the messages and open ours, the very top. Brows knitting, I scroll through the unread messages from her, spanning seven months prior. Many hold apologies, some promises that have already been upheld. A few weeks ago, one particularly long message reads:

@camila_cabello: They're looking for you again. I guess the move was suspicious. I'm scared they'll find you, baby. They're not supposed to find you. You're supposed to be my secret. I'm supposed to keep you safe. I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I fail. Today was supposed to be my surgery day but I can't leave you. I should've cancelled months ago, when I first found you, but I never knew how to explain why and at that point it was already too late. I just won't show up. I know I'll be bombarded with phone calls and questions but I can't risk losing you.

My mind returns to the conversation at the grocery store. She'd told me there had been 'something else' and never clarified. Concerns that she isn't okay rush through my mind, and I quickly scroll back to the bottom to make sure she's still alright. The last pair of messages came the day I was taken to the police station, I assumed:

@camila_cabello: i guess i'm not very good at keeping secrets after all

@camila_cabello: i miss you

@y/username: i miss you too

@y/username: i want to come back

@y/username: please come get me camila

@y/username: i need you.

The door clicks, a sign that somebody is using the keycard on the other side, and I close the tab and lock the phone before Ariana even manages to open the door.

"Hey, Y/n," she sighs, exasperated when she spots me laying in the same position on the same sofa.

"Take me back," I return. Saying anything else would be suspicious at this point, considering that's all I've said since our argument.

"You know I can't do that. I got you toast today. They ran out of cocoa pops."

I sigh, take the toast, and stare at my phone as if it will magically transport me back to the house in the clearing in the woods where I can wake up next to Camila, though I know I shouldn't.

—
Ehhhhh idk if I like this but 🤷‍♀️

Guess what? I'm ending this book soon 😬 don't kill me! I have a v cute (and maybe a lil' smutty) idea for an ending so don't murder me before you read it — after, you can.