SAFE | a Camila/You Fanfiction

3 • ATTITUDE

A T T I T U D E

The bell rang throughout the café, signalling that the final customer had left Starbucks. Y/N breathed out in relief when they left; she had been working all day and was finally glad to be able to leave and go home. The smell of coffee and freshly baked goods was actually starting to haunt her in her dreams, but she knew she had to keep working there if she was to get anywhere in life. After taking off her apron (that she honestly just wanted to burn because of how annoying it was to wear), she grabbed her backpack from her locker in the back, and headed to the front of the empty café.

"Can you lock up, Stella?" she shouted loud enough for her co-worker to hear her from the other side of the café.

She heard a faint voice shout 'yes' in return, so yanked open the rusty door and exited the shop. The cool, fresh Chicago air kissed her skin softly and she was grateful that it washed away the pungent smell of coffee that never seemed to leave her.

Pulling her backpack on her back, she began her trek to her house, which only took thirty minutes. It would have taken fifteen, maybe less, if she had a car, but she didn't have enough money to pay for one. She was aware of the large earning her dad made, meaning she could easily borrow the money, but she wanted to have the accomplishment of buying it herself: to be able to say that she earned the money on her own and bought it on her own. Besides, she wanted a motorbike, anyway.

Y/N lived by herself as her father always worked in L.A., and her mother died when she was only small. Her father paid for all the bills and expenses, and Y/N paid for all the necessities. She didn't like the way things worked, but she was used to it now, and learnt over time that there was nothing she could do about it.

When the sight of the lovely building she liked to call 'home' came into view, she pulled out her keys and entered the house. It wasn't too large of a home, nor too small, and that's why she loved it. It was a routine for her to go to work, come back home, have a shower, and watch TV. That was unless she had basketball training to attend to. She was never a socialite and didn't care that people judged her for that. The only things on her mind were eating, sleeping, working, and basketball. Just how she liked it.

After following her usual routine, she ate some leftover takeout from the previous night, then headed to sleep. The following day was not a single thought in her mind, as every day of hers was practically the same. However, the following day was not what she expected.

***

"Camila, we're here."

Camila felt someone tapping her gently on the shoulder, so peeled her eyes open, only to be face to face with an unfamiliar face. Only then did she realise that it was Derek. And that's when the previous day's events had returned to her. The assassins; leaving the girls; moving in with Derek and his daughter – everything. She groaned as she sat up straight and looked around as a yawn escaped her lips. People were in the aisle of the plane, getting their luggage off the overhead bin. She looked out the window and noticed how different Chicago was to L.A.. That's where Derek lived lived, you see: Chicago.

When they made their way out of the airport (thankfully without being noticed by fans), they made their way to the rental car that Derek had hired. On the journey to Derek's house, Camila changed her watch's time to match the correct time: 3:37pm. Chicago was two hours ahead of L.A. which meant that Camila probably would have been on her way to their next concert venue right about now. That immediately made her think about the girls and whether they were okay or not, so she pulled out her phone and sent them a text on their group chat.