Her Light

III

After a week of having Lauren in her home, Camila can say she's gotten somewhat used to it. Maybe 'used to it' isn't the right phrase. She's tolerable.

While she's been spending more and more time outside, she's been spending it with Lauren, instead of her being outside and Lauren being inside. Camila sits up on the cliff top while Lauren climbs down the rocks.

"Be careful. I am not jumping in to save you if you fall in." Camila had said, not joking whatsoever. "Plus it's freezing!"

"Shut the hell up, I'll fall in if I want to." Lauren called back up, nearly loosing her footing.

Camila's heart had plummeted when she saw Lauren stumble. Even if she had fallen in, Camila would not have gotten her. It would've been a lesson learned. She does remember the little obliging glance Lauren sent her after regaining her balance.

Smiling faintly at the memory from a couple days ago, Camila finishes pulling her sweatshirt on. It smells like Lauren. Or maybe Camila smells like Lauren, she's not sure.

She steps out into the stairwell, walking up to the kitchen. Pushing the door open, she's met with an empty room.

Remember when Camila said she was tolerable of Lauren, not used to her? Well, she's tolerable of Lauren being in the kitchen in the mornings. Now that she's met with her missing from her constant, Camila feels uncomfortable as she walks into the kitchen.

Camila stays silent, breathing gently. She grabs two mugs out of the cupboard, setting them down quietly on the counter. Maybe Lauren is still sleeping; she doesn't want to wake her. Steeping tea in both cups, Camila waits alone.

Left alone again, Camila is reminded of how it used to be—how it always was. It's almost tempting to stay alone, not seek out Lauren and her company. It's all about comfortability. She glances back at the mugs of tea. A little shove out of comfortability never hurt anyone, right?

Picking up both warm cups, she heads out of the kitchen and down to the third level of the lighthouse.

"Hey," Camila clears her throat, standing outside of Lauren's door. "Are you up?"

At first Lauren doesn't respond and it reminds Camila of herself. Hesitant, unmoving until—

"Yeah, I am." A weak, raspy voice replies.

"Okay," Camila is hesitant, "well, I made you some tea. I will leave it outside the door." Unmoving.

Setting the mug down on the floor, careful not to spill it, Camila turns to leave when she hears Lauren's voice.

Until.

"Wait, Camila." Familiar silence hangs in the air. "I don't want to be alone."

Now it's Camila's turn to be like herself. It's not that she doesn't want to speak, it's like her brain can't comprehend she has to respond. Almost as if Lauren isn't actually talking to her at all; Camila feels a broad disconnect from Lauren. Maybe that's a consequence of years of self-confinement, because who ever said she couldn't leave or do anything else? Oh, yeah, her father.

"Can you come in?" Lauren is almost used to Camila's odd moments of alienation. She's tolerable of it.

"Yeah," a simple response, yet it catches in her throat.

Camila waits, careful not to knock the tea over, before Lauren opens the door for her. She looks tired; her eyes swollen, her hair is unkempt, and she's wearing Camila's sweatshirt from their first meeting. Reevaluating, Lauren looks sad.

Casting her a weak, welcoming smile, Lauren closes the door and falls back onto her bed. Camila takes a moment to peer around the room. It's empty—of course it is, it's not like Lauren brought anything with her and Camila took all her father's belongings out of it. But it doesn't feel empty. Camila's eyes pull themselves to Lauren.