It's January and the heat is everywhere: the vents on the dashboard angled down so Camila's skin won't burn as Lauren pushes her back against the passenger side window, up against the glove box, Lauren's tongue soothing the stinging bites along her collarbone, her neck, her pulse point, Lauren's hands on every inch of her skin at once, and the heat-packets in her boots that she doesn't kick off even as Lauren slips two fingers inside her at once because her toes will freeze off if she does.
It's basic physics, law of life number one, two, and three: Lauren can't keep her completely warm, can't keep her warm forever. Can't keep her, period.
Camila glances at the clock over Lauren's shoulder. 12:02 AM.
"Happy New Year," Camila mumbles when Lauren finally pulls away, sucking her fingers clean in a way that makes Camila all hot and bothered all over again. Lauren smiles through her smeared lipstick and shrugs her jacket back on, running her hands through her tangled hair and flicking the vents back up.
Camila's still leaning too close to them. Her skin burns.
"Happy New Year," Lauren says, nodding her head like she agrees. "Do you have a resolution?"
"Not really," Camila says, too casual, not shifting. Her sweater's still pushed half off and her pants are unzipped, and the air is too hot. The fresh hickeys on her skin are sore.
And Camila loves her. Despite the fact that this is always how it goes. Because this is always how it goes.
"Me either," Lauren says, but her eyes betray her as she turns the key to the ignition. She always has a resolution. For as long as Camila has known her, she's had one, every year. And for as long as she's known her, Lauren pretends she doesn't have one so that when she fails, she's the only person who knows.
Except Camila. Camila always knows. It's in the slump of Lauren's shoulders, the grey tinge of her eyes, the beds of her nails bleeding and torn from her pretty white teeth. Camila always knows.
She wonders if this is why Lauren hates her. She wonders why Lauren looks like this now, why Lauren is raising her hand off the wheel to gnaw at her fingers.
"I love you," Camila says.
She says it by adjusting her sweater and turning away.
*
It's March and it's raining.
Lauren never has sex when it's raining.
Camila knows this, she remembers the time Lauren spewed some pretentious bullshit about the Earth's tears being meant to cleanse the planet and people and wasn't a time to be dirty, remembers how she laughed then but cried the next night because Lauren ignored all her calls. Camila doesn't care at the moment. She reaches across the table and she takes Lauren's hand.
It's in the downward twist of her mouth, the flash in her eyes like lightning, the clearing of her throat like thunder, the way she pulls her hand back and shoves it into her plate piled high with French fries. Lauren hates her.
"Have you looked outside today?" Lauren says, narrowing her eyes at Camila, motioning towards the window. The outside world is grey. It takes a lot out of Camila to tear her eyes from Lauren just to look at it.
"I don't always want to screw you, Lauren." Camila says. She grips her sweating Coke rigidly.
Lauren swallows and shakes her head, scoffing a little at the way Camila's knuckles are turning white. "You don't get it. That's all you can do."
Camila nods her head. She stares down at the plate in front of her, the pancakes too large and drowned in syrup, bananas mushy. She swallows. Once, twice. The third is most difficult. Rocks crowd her windpipe.
She wills herself not to cry. Not in front of Lauren.
"Oh, come on, Camz." Lauren's voice tells her she's failed. Camila reaches up to touch her cheek, and yup, wetness. Salty, shameful wetness.
"I love you," Camila chokes out. "Please, please stop hurting me."
She says it like this: "I'm fine. I'm on my period. Please just take me home."
*
It's April and it's still raining.
Since the day in the diner it always feels like it's raining. Since she's not always looking at Lauren it always feels like it's raining.
The sound of the storm can still be heard over the booming voices, and Camila can still feel the rumble of the thunder through the pounding bass, and can still see the lightning through the thick crowd of horny, grinding teenagers in one massive clothed-orgy they call a party.
Camila nurses her second rum-and-Coke and thinks about Lauren.
A girl from one of Camila's classes (probably bio, or maybe calc, who knows) is staring at Camila from across the room. She can't really remember her name--Nayelli, maybe? She doesn't look Hispanic. Natasha, probably. Something N--but the girl definitely knows her by the way she's staring.
If Camila were a little drunker, she wouldn't care.
She makes the decision to become just that. Three more full red solo cups blur by and Camila is officially, mercifully drunk. Buzzed is a better word. Her skin feels good, like it does when Lauren nips at it before licking, throughly, gently, taking her time. And the way her hands move, all over her, delicately but with pressure, with purpose. Like Lauren was meant to touch her.
Camila doesn't mean to get a little turned on, but she does anyway. Oh, well. Most of the people in here are wet or hard or both. She can handle being one of them.
Nayelli-Natasha-Somebody girl is suddenly in Camila's face, all blue tipped hair and chunky earrings and cool, stylishly ripped up clothes. Camila smiles at her as best she can.
"You're Camila, right?" Somebody says, offering her hand like an adult. "Normani."
"I thought your name was Nayelli. Or Natasha. Or Somebody," Camila giggles. "Oops. I wasn't supposed to say that."
Normani smiles at her, mouth twitching a little at the corners, eyes narrowed in thought. "You and Lauren, right?" She says, lowly, like it's a secret.
It is. "Shh," Camila says, pressing a finger to Normani's black lipsticked lips. "It's a secret."
Normani pats her shoulder, half patronizing, half friend-like. "I know, babe."
Camila frowns at that. "Lauren calls me babe. Only Lauren calls me babe." She shifts her voice to a whisper. "When we're having sex."
Normani looks like she's choking down a laugh when Camila frowns deeper. "Where is Lauren? I want to see her. I want her to kiss me. I really want her to kiss me."
Suddenly it's very important that Camila see Lauren. Immediately. She moves past Normani, who's saying something but nothing worth listening to, through the gross sweaty sea of hormones and down a hallways she's never been before.
She opens every door she passes. One is an empty bathroom, one is a closet. The second-to-last doorknob feels surprisingly warm, and it hums in Camila's hand before she turns the knob, in such a way that it makes her happy, so she twists the knob while smiling and thinking I hope Lauren is in here, and then she opens the door and steps inside and then her stomach drops straight down from her body.
Because Lauren is here. She's right here, Brad right between her legs, clawing at his back through his leather jacket and mewling right here, even as Camila stumbles back and her lungs reel in nothing but dust and empty space. No oxygen. No oxygen. "Lauren," she says.
Her eyes suddenly open, and Camila can see how afraid she is until she realizes who it is. Then it's worse. Then it's like everything is okay. Brad says, "Oh shit," and pulls out, fumbling, leaving Lauren looking too calm and not red enough. Brad buckles his pants, hands shaking, looking between them with confusion creasing his face. "Sorry?" He asks.
Lauren says nothing at all as she sits up on the bed and smoothes down her skirt.
"I love you," Camila is gasping, reaching into her chest and yanking her heart out, clean off the arteries, blood gushing everywhere. "Why the fuck do you keep doing this to me. I love you. Why do I keep letting you do this."
It comes out: "It's raining."
*
It's June and it's Lauren's birthday.
It's nothing special, just a gathering of friends in the backyard, at least that's what Lauren says in her text. That's her excuse as to why Camila shouldn't come. Not enough people she knows. No one to use as a buffer.
Normally Camila would just concede and agree, mentally go down the list of other reasons--they're excuses, really, and they're not fooling anybody--as to why it would be a bad idea to go. (Too many raised eyebrows, too many questions, etc, etc.) She would respond, okay, hope you have fun. come by l8r? and hope Lauren shows up at her window at midnight so she can eat her out.
Camila asks if Normani is going. Lauren calls her.
"Why?" Is the first thing she says.
"I know her," Camila says. "We have biology together."
"Normani doesn't take biology." Lauren says. Her voice has an edge to it Camila doesn't like.
"I meant calculus." She picks at her nails and begs her skin to stop burning.
Lauren sighs over the phone. "Fine." She says, sounding too defeated. "You're eating me out later."
"Was already planning to." Camila says. Lauren smiles, she feels it.
They sit in silence for a few more seconds (not minutes, they're not that pretentious) and Lauren clears her throat. Before Camila can catch herself, she's saying, "I love you," right into her phone.
On the other end, Lauren hears, "Happy birthday, Lo."
*
It's July. And Lauren has a boyfriend. It's every month and Lauren has a boyfriend.
Camila's trying to busy herself with the slope of Lauren's shoulder and the way her breath fists in her hair like actual palpable hands, like she's more than just a ghost. Like Lauren is ever more than just a ghost.
It's not particularly working.
Lauren feels it and kisses her harder. Camila feels it and pulls back, breath still in Lauren's mouth, heavy on her tongue, wedged between her teeth. She tries to pull Camila back into her, hand slipping up her shirt, but Camila shakes her head.
"Come on, Camz, the light's gonna change."
"Let it change." Camila says.
She is so tired.
The air conditioner is freezing her toes off because Lauren always wants the air on full blast and never thinks about anyone else, ever, except for when she's getting what she wants from them, and Camila is so fucking tired. So fucking fed up. It takes everything out of her not to smack Lauren's hand away when it pushes back up her shirt, insistent, careless, oblivious, inconsiderate.
"I'm so sick of you." Camila says, scooting closer to the window. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
The light changes and Lauren hesitantly presses on the gas pedal. "Are you okay?" She says, voice quiet.
"No," Camila says. "Why can't you see that? I'm not happy, Lauren. You're the only one who's happy. Why don't you ever think of anyone else?"
Lauren drums her fingers against the steering wheel, switches on her turn signal. She's driving in circles. She only ever drives in circles with Camila in the car. She slows down when the green lights come and stops completely at the yellows, always waiting for a red so she can lean over the console and kiss her.
It's a too perfect metaphor and Camila's tired.
"You know that's not true, Camila."
"You used to call me Camz," Camila says. It comes out, "I think it is."
Lauren huffs, checks behind her in the street, and pulls over jerkily. "Spill it," she says, turning to face Camila. "What's your problem today?"
"It doesn't matter." Camila says. Her skin itches where Lauren's sucked the bruises of her teeth into her, where she's touched her, where she's pretended to never touch when she's around someone else. She feels sick.
"Are we going to talk or are you going to get out of the car?" Lauren says, grip tight on the wheel.
"Do you love him?" Camila finally says. Her voice cracks at the question mark, embarrassingly so, and she wants to just shove open and door and walk home. They're not even three blocks away.
Lauren sighs and leans her head against the wheel. "Really, Camz?" She says. "God."
"Just answer the question." Camila says.
"He's my boyfriend. You're my friend."
"Ha!" Camila shouts, sitting up in her seat and tossing her head back. "Ha! That's so funny! You're such a comedian."
"Get out of the car." Lauren says. Her voice is so low she doesn't sound like herself.
"What?" Camila says. Her face pales.
"You heard me. Get out."
"Lauren."
Lauren shakes her head. "I gave you an option, Camila. You chose this."
"I choose you," Camila seethes, suddenly furious. "I always, always choose you."
Lauren closes her eyes. She's always too defeated. "Please, Camz."
Camila leans her head back on the seat. "I can't believe you," she says. "I really can't."
Lauren stays too quiet. Too long. She turns the car off.
Camila covers her face with her hands. "I love you," she says.
She says it like this: she unlocks the car door, throws it open, gets out, slams it shut. She cries the whole walk home.
*
It's still July and Lauren still has a boyfriend.
She calls Camila three nights later and says, as soon as she picks up the phone, "I'm in your driveway."
Of course she throws her hair up in a bun, slips her sandals on and goes outside to meet her.
Camila shuts the backdoor behind her and when she looks up, there's Lauren, leaning against the hood of her car, wearing a white crop top, (most likely vintage) bellbottoms and a pair of sandals she stole from Camila a long time ago.
"Hey, pretty girl." Lauren says. She's smiling a soft little smile, a tiny bit unsure, and the shine in her eyes tells Camila she's being sincere.
And she loves her. Despite the fact that this is always how it goes. Because this is always how it goes.
"Hi," Camila says. Her feet shuffle forward on their own accord, down the steps of the wraparound porch and so close to Lauren that she easily curls her fingers through Camila's belt loops and pulls them flush against each other.
And then she's kissing her, harder than ever before, saying more than words could ever articulate, igniting so much fire inside her that Camila is positive they'll burn the entire neighborhood down. She loves her. God, does she love her.
Camila pulls back first, leans her forehead against Lauren's and breathes long and labored until her blood turns back to blood. "Anyone can see us," she says, less of a threat and more of a reminder than intended.
"I don't care," Lauren says back, voice hoarse like it always is when she's overcome with desire, and she kisses Camila again in such a way that it makes her believe.
And when Lauren starts pulling at the hem of Camila's shirt and lifting it up, Camila slides her mouth over to Lauren's cheek and breathes "I love you," into her skin.
She pronounces it, "Come inside."
*
It's September. It's dark out.
Lauren is over, which is strange for a Saturday night, which is usually her and Brad's date night. Of course Camila doesn't question it, just takes it as a happy little surprise, and asks Lauren if she wants to watch a movie before she asks her if she wants to go to her bedroom.
Another surprise: Lauren takes up the first offer and doesn't imply the second.
Halfway through Forrest Gump, Lauren falls asleep with her head lolled back and her hand still buried in the popcorn bowl. They're not touching, not any part of them, because Lauren always delicately arranges their bodies so that non-sexual contact doesn't exist between them.
It only hurts a little.
Truthfully.
And Camila stays awake, watching as Forrest grows a beard that could rival any caveman's and then watches the way Lauren's chest rises and falls as she sleeps, eyes moving behind her eyelids, hair falling in a wild maze of tangles all around her.
She wants to reach out and touch her, to lay her head on Lauren's shoulder, or take her hand, and, really, logically speaking, it should be perfectly acceptable if you take into account that Lauren has had her face between Camila's legs and Camila has returned the favor, and that they've been in the same shower and all twenty of their fingers know what the inside of each other's vaginas feel like, but it doesn't work that way.
Camila knows it. She does.
But Lauren is asleep next to her and the only hickey she has on her body is one Camila didn't make, so.
She just watches the rest of the movie and when it ends, she doesn't move. She doesn't jeopardize the repetition of whatever happened tonight by scrambling Lauren's so very delicately arranged life.
Camila falls asleep with the words, "I love you," on her lips.
In the morning, they look more like, "Run, Forrest, run."
*
It's October, and Lauren is over.
She's over a lot.
Camila tries not to make a big deal out of it. (They still don't touch without a purpose behind it.)
They're doing their homework on Camila's bed, facing each other but ignoring each other at the same time. Lauren's large cursive writing covers Camila's notes and homework sheets, and there's constant shuffling of papers and books falling on the floor, but Camila is so happy.
Because Lauren is here.
Last month, or the month before that, or all the months before that, Lauren would be absolutely anywhere else with Brad, or in the backseat of a car with Camila for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes in between.
But she's here. For hours. Every other day. And they don't always have sex. Sometimes they cook dinner. Sometimes they watch movies. Most of the time they do homework, or listen to music sitting on the floor, or just talk. Camila and Lauren talk. About more than just if they should add another finger.
Camila isn't focusing in the slightest on the calculus homework on her lap when her phone buzzes from under a pile of papers and she jumps from her thoughts. Lauren looks up at her, eyebrow quirked, and smirks.
After a minute or two of searching, Camila finally recovers her phone, and her lock-screen is lit up with a number she doesn't recognize and a text saying, hey Mila, its Austin from bio. i jst wanted 2 ask u if u wanted to go 2 fall junior prom w me?
She doesn't know wether to laugh or cry or gag. Her natural reaction is to laugh, which naturally makes Lauren smile (because that's a new instinct, one that becomes stronger everyday) and ask, "What's so funny?"
Camila doesn't even think about it before she answers. "Austin Mahone just asked me to fall junior prom." She giggles.
Lauren's face twists. Camila's blood runs cold but God, she's still so beautiful.
"He asked what?"
Shit. "We have bio together. We were partners for the last few weeks, and I haven't even texted him before today--"
"What did he ask you?" Lauren says, her grip on her ballpoint pen suddenly gone rigid. She bites down on her bottom lip so hard Camila is afraid she might draw blood.
"He asked if I would go to the fall junior prom with him." Camila says. She feels small. Like Lauren could swallow her whole, in a single breath.
Lauren takes a shaky inhale. "Are you going to?" She says, not meeting Camila's eyes. Suddenly Lauren's toenail polish is very interesting to her.
Camila bluffs. "I'm not sure," she says, desperately hoping she's coming off casual. "Maybe?"
Lauren's eyes snap up and narrow at her. "You don't even know him." She accuses, voice sharp. "You just said you hadn't texted him before."
"But he's a good bio partner," Camila says slowly. Blood rushes to her cheeks.
"I'm sure he is," Lauren laughs bitterly through gritted teeth. "Do you want to find out if he's good at anything else, Camz? Is that what this is about?"
The hurt doesn't even register. Camila finally feels like she's getting somewhere. Wherever it is, though, it's scary. "What?" She asks. "Lauren, come on."
Lauren drops her pen and pushes her hair off her forehead, rubbing her temples. "I don't get you, Camila. I really don't."
Camila is silent for a minute, trying to think of something to say that won't make Lauren kiss her or bolt. "You're going with Brad, though, aren't you?"
Lauren opens her mouth to speak, lips screwed up and snarled in anger, and then lets them fall slack, defeated. "That's beside the point," she barely says, lips hardly moving, "but yeah, I am."
She doesn't say anything more, and Camila finds herself getting impatient.
"So should I go?" She asks, trying to look Lauren in the eye. "With Austin?"
Lauren sighs, blinks her eyes hard and fast. "Yeah," she says weakly, "if that's what you want to do."
Camila almost shakes her head, but stops herself. Her heart clenches in her chest as she watches Lauren pull herself back together, pick her pen back up and keep writing like the conversation never happened.
She responds to Austin half an hour before Lauren leaves, locked in the bathroom and trying not to cry, simply typing, okay.
And when Lauren leaves, nodding at Camila as she gets in her car and braces herself at the wheel before turning the key in the ignition, Camila's heart flies up into her throat and she screams from the front door, "I love you!"
Lauren lifts her head, eyes flashing, her mouth titling up at the corners as the words, "Drive safe!" ring in her ears.
*
It's November. It's fall junior prom.
It's horrible.
Austin hasn't gone a single minute without trying to squeeze Camila's ass or shove his tongue down her throat, and even though his friends brought a bottle of rum (Camila's favorite kind of liquor) and she gets to keep spiking her drink with it, she realizes saying a simple okay was the worst decision she's made thus far.
And she agreed to have a long term affair with Lauren Jauregui.
But whatever, who cares, the music's good and Austin isn't the worst dancer in the world, so she lets him guide her to the dance floor (where she thinks she sees Lauren and Brad, but tries not to see, tries not to let her heart get its hopes up) and press himself up against her.
It's not horrible.
She drinks four more cups of punch and rum cocktail anyway.
Just for fun, you know?
Also, honestly, because Lauren and Brad were on the dance-floor and still are on the dance-floor, and they have been even before Camila and Austin showed up at this place. And, okay, Austin did arrive half an hour late to pick her up just to find Camila still scrambling to get ready, and Camila knows that Lauren would rather be three hours early than a second late and also knows that Brad would do anything to keep Lauren happy, so it adds up.
What doesn't add up is the way Lauren keeps dodging Brad's mouth when he tries to kiss her, and the way her eyes keep finding Camila's when he tries to look at her.
But, again; whatever, who cares, Camila hates this stupid fucking dance and Austin Mahone and herself for agreeing to come with him. Two more cups of cocktail.
Things get softer around the edges. Austin is easier to look at. His hands are more difficult to push away. Lauren is more evasive, her eyes lost in the swarming ocean of the crowd.
"I have to use the bathroom," Camila shouts over the blaring Justin Bieber song, slipping out of Austin's hands and tripping to the girls' room. She pushes the door open with one hand and holds her hair back with the other, watching her feet in an attempt to walk straight (it's not her fault she's a lightweight, really) when the door hits something, someone, and the sound of a human groan echoes off the tiles.
"Oh, shit, 'm so sorry," Camila slurs, peering around the door and then sharply taking in a breath when she sees Lauren in a deep purple dress, a high ponytail, and large hoop earrings, holding her hands to her forehead and looking flushed.
Camila thinks she could shit her pants. Or dress. Whatever. "Are you okay?" Camila asks, extending her hands for Lauren to grab, forgetting momentarily about the arrangement.
It's a mutual thing, though, when Lauren looks up at Camila and slips her fingers through Camila's and squeezes. "Don't worry about it," she says. But when Camila pulls her up, the light drowns her face, and Camila can see unmistakable tracks of mascara marring her beautiful face.
"Lo," Camila says, chest stinging. "What happened?"
Lauren bits her lip, her shoulders slumping, eyes red where they're supposed to be white, grey where they're supposed to be green. She pulls one hand out of Camila's to chew on her nails, but Camila catches her before she can. "Lauren." She says, surprisingly stern.
"We broke up." Lauren says. She sounds too defeated. She sounds like she feels as if she failed. "He said that I've been acting strange. Like he doesn't know me anymore."
Camila doesn't think before she pulls Lauren into a hug. "Fuck him," she says into Lauren's shoulder, bare and sweet with perfume. "Fuck him."
"I did and it wasn't enough." Lauren says, her words like acid down Camila's back.
"I know the feeling," Camila says.
It sounds like, "He's an asshole."
Lauren pulls away from the hug and bites her bottom lip. Her hands shake where they're covering her face. "I feel so stupid." She whispers. "God, I feel so stupid."
She starts crying.
Camila starts dying.
Camila says, "I would drive in squares, circles, infinity symbols on the streets with you all night if you wanted me to. I would kiss you at the green lights. I would tell you to floor it at the yellows. You could make all the right turns in the world and I would never tell you you were wrong."
It comes out like, "Please, babe, don't cry."
That just makes Lauren cry harder. She squats down on the floor, burying her face in her hands, and sobs in earnest. Camila sits down beside her and wraps her arms awkwardly around her.
She doesn't have time to think about the fact that the word babe is so intimate with them. That they only use it when one of them has a tongue or a number of fingers inside the other.
Well, Camila reasons, she has my heart beating inside of hers right now, so I guess the word still applies.
"I can't do this, Camz. I can't sit here like this. Please take me home." Lauren finally gasps, makeup ruined, neck flushed, nails bloody with bite marks from her pretty white teeth.
Camila runs a thumb over Lauren's cheekbone and frowns a frown that's not really a frown, more of a smile that when downhill along the way. She doesn't like the way it feels so she stops doing it.
"I love you," Camila says.
To everyone else in the world, most importantly to Lauren, it sounds like, "Okay."
*
It's December, it's dark out, and Camila is in Lauren's car.
Lauren doesn't have a boyfriend.
There's warmth in just the right places, in Lauren's hand tentative on her waist, in Lauren's mouth asking gently on Camila's, in the lukewarm air blowing from the vents, turned to just the right force.
It's basic physics, laws of life numbers one, two, and three: Lauren can't keep her completely warm, can't keep her warm forever. Can't keep her, period.
And then there's the exceptions, basic physics, laws of life numbers one, two, and three: Lauren tries, Lauren tries, Lauren tries.
She doesn't have sex with her. She just kisses her. It's New Years Eve. It's what people do.
Camila pulls back a little bit, half for breath and half for time check. The frizz of Lauren's hair partly blurs the numbers, but they're there: 12:03 AM.
"Happy New Year," Camila whispers.
Lauren smiles her lipsticked, kissed-mouth smile and presses it to Camila's cheek, her bottom lip, her nose. "Happy New Year." She slowly untangles herself from Camila, taking her time, like she has all of it.
She has a lot of things. Just not a boyfriend. Camila thinks about this a lot.
"Do you have a resolution?" Camila asks, tugging her hat down again. It always slips up past her ears whenever they kiss.
Lauren leans her cheek against the steering wheel, face turning to Camila. She looks like she's deep in thought as she drums her fingers on the dashboard with one hand and grips the key in the ignition with the other.
"Yeah," she finally decides, a lopsided smile on her mouth. "I do."
Camila's heart bloats to the size of a whale. "You do?" She asks, her smile garbling the words. But they sound the same as she means. They're simple words.
Lauren nods her head against the wheel. "Mhm," she says. "It's more of a wish, though, so I can't tell." She whispers. "But shh, it's a secret."
"I can keep secrets." Camila says. She and Lauren share a lot of them. She, by herself, has a lot of them.
"I think you can," Lauren agrees, lifting her cheek to face the road. "Hey, look," she murmurs, face in awe. Camila doesn't want to look. The outside world is always grey. The outside world isn't Lauren.
"It's raining." Lauren says. "Not even snowing. Raining."
Camila's heart moves to twist itself into a bitter, memory-based being, but she stops it and reaches out for Lauren's hand.
Lauren looks up, off-guard for a moment, then squeezes, with purpose.
"I can keep a secret," Camila whispers, "I've been keeping one for a really long time."
"Sounds interesting," Lauren says, smiling. She awkwardly moves her left hand to twist the key in the ignition, as to not pull her right one away from Camila. It works. The car revs to life.
Camila bites her lip, bites down a grin. Fond. It's leaking out of her. "It is."
Lauren raised an eyebrow. "Hmm."
"Do you want to know?" Camila says. Her heart pounds, the rain falls, Lauren squeezes her hand again.
"Hit me." She says. She kisses Camila on the mouth, chaste and happy, for good measure.
And Camila loves her. Despite, because, and.
"I love you." Camila says.
It's simple. It's there.
It doesn't sound like anything else.