PR? (Camila/You)

chapter twenty-one

"Honestly, this is exhausting." I sighed once Camila and I were back in my house. "Being followed and watched all the time is so tiring."

"I know. When I said you get used to the cameras, you do. What you never get used to is how much this takes out of you." Camila agreed, peeling off her coat. "I'm gonna head up to bed. You coming?"

"Yeah, I'll be up in a minute." I smiled, kissing Camila before watching her disappear up the stairs. I walked over to my bag, taking out a small orange pill bottle. Twisting open the cap, I pulled out a tightly rolled joint. Grabbing my lighter, I walked out onto my back porch, over looking the city. I lit the twisted end and watched as it burned down. I inhaled deeply, holding it before blowing the grey smoke out into the night.

When I signed that contract I thought I knew what to expect. I was wrong. Maybe it's easier when you're not actually in a relationship behind the scenes. All I know, is that I've never been watched as closely as I am now.

I pride myself in being active on social media and interacting with my fans as much as I can. But, being in twitter so much has it's downfalls. It's not even the people trying to prove we're faking it, because in public, we are putting on a show.

No, it's the people who like to insert themselves where they don't belong. I've received hate before, it's part of the job, and I've come to terms with it. But the hate I get from doing this is something entirely different. For example, a few weeks ago, Camila had a panic attack while we were enjoying lunch. Since we had to sit in front of giant floor-to-ceiling windows, everything was on display to the many cameras. I tried to comfort Camila the best I could.

When I went online later that day, people were wondering if the PR was getting to her, which it was. But then there were some who theorized that it was my fault. That I had said or done something to upset her. They took it too far.

An abuser, they called me. That word brings back old memories that will never leave me. That's not a word I take lightly. Especially not when it is far from the truth. I do everything in my power to treat Camila with respect like any human should. Unfortunately, all they see is me as some monster. No body shaming or criticism will ever affect me as much as being called an abuser does.

I finished up my joint, tossing the remaining end off my porch. Walking inside, I felt my sadness disappear as my high took over. It's not unusual for me to get high. Since Camila entered my life, I've been doing it less. But sometimes when it gets too much I find myself lighting up. Usually, I wait until Camila has fallen asleep before quietly moving downstairs.

Tonight, however, I needed something and fast. So, I changed out of my clothes and climbed into bed, pulling Camila's sleeping form into my body. I felt her shift as I closed my eyes.

Suddenly, she sat up, pressing the button to turn on the lights surrounding my bedroom walls. "Ugh, what?" I asked, shielding my eyes.

"Are you high?" She asked. "Why am I even asking you that, you smell like a weed plant." I looked at her, my eyes puffy. "Are you gonna answer me?"

"Uh...yeah, I smoked. Why?" I asked slowly.

"I didn't know you smoked." Camila looked at me with so much judgement. Thankfully, my high blurred over the hurt that I knew I'd feel sober.

"Why does it matter? It's not like I'm shooting heroin." I argued.

"I know that, I—"

"Then why is it an issue, huh?" I interrupted her, sitting up straighter. "I thought you'd be used to the smell after Lauren. I'm shocked it doesn't turn you on by now."