Camila lays back on the mattress, eyes tracing patterns in the plastered ceiling. In her arms, she clasps the beige blanket the prison—no, Lauren—provided. Tears sting her eyes, but it's nothing compared to the ache in her hand. She wonders just how long it'll be until somebody finds her. She's already had her morning wake-up/is-she-still-alive check, and has been visited again to inform her she has been assigned an attorney who will be visiting her in order to build a defence case, but she doesn't know when or how often they'll meet. Now, it could be around lunchtime, but she's no way of knowing, and she doesn't want to admit it as that means Lauren probably won't be visiting. She's never been late before, and Camila doesn't take her for the kind who might.

In the short time that they've known one another, Camila has grown increasingly confused by Lauren. At first, she'd wanted her to leave. She hadn't wanted anything to do with her because doctors—especially those who worked with the law—were bad news. They pried and probed and called you crazy and got you in trouble. She'd tried to scare Lauren off, but the woman hadn't left. When Camila realised she wasn't going to call her crazy, and that she actually seemed to understand her despite how she couldn't even understand herself, she found herself looking forward to seeing her, actually actively waiting for their time together. This confuses her, because apart from the few people she considered friends, she's never looked forward to seeing anybody, never so quickly. She isn't sure how to feel about this, so she decides she doesn't like it. She doesn't like divulging secrets she's told nobody else; or talking about how she really feels; or feeling safe and warm and like maybe, just maybe, she doesn't have to be a bad person.

She knows her parents were bad. That's why she stopped them. She's been bad too, and that's why she wanted to stop herself. Then Lauren came along.

Before she can begin considering it again, the door opens, causing her to flinch and hide her aching hand in the blanket, wide eyes locked on the door. Three officers enter the room. A particularly strong man plucks her from the mattress as she squirms and tugs her hands behind her back for another to cuff her. She hears a sigh and tut and knows she's been caught. She takes a breath and focuses on the heat running down her cold fingers, forcing herself to remember her parents' words, to be a Cabello. With heavy hands still gripping her shoulders to prevent her from moving, she hears the man speak into his radio.

"Send the psych away, 776 is bleeding again."

...

I leap from my seat as soon as I hear the crackly voice over the radio. Dinah sighs and moves to the door, but I don't make a move to leave, even as she holds it open. I know she'll just take me to the exit.

"You know I've got to see her," I argue, planting my hands on the table as if that'll help root me to my spot.

Dinah nods and chews her cheek in thought for a moment. I don't move, and I won't until she lets me see Camila. My mind runs rampant with images of Camila in various states of injury. A small part of me wonders if my being late was the cause, though I know it's irrational.

I snap back to the present when Dinah speaks. "I can take you to her cell. You can wait for her to get back, but I don't know how long that'll take."

I nod and slip around the table, thanking her as she leads, or rather follows, me to the cell. I hope if I can get there fast enough, I might be able to catch sight of her, assess her condition and likely calm myself down before she leaves, but I'm not so lucky. We arrive at her cell, empty and left with the door open, and it takes just a second for me to notice the dark red stain on her blanket. The fact that it's so small eases my nerves a little, but when Dinah leaves, I still pace around the room until I hear a commotion from down the hall. Peering my head around the corner, I'm simultaneously relieved and unnerved to see Camila squirming in the arms of officers, her feet barely dragging along the floor as she's carried back to her cell. Her eyes meet mine and she thrashes more, looking over her shoulder as if to avoid me by all costs. The officers briefly acknowledge me with a grunt before tossing Camila into the room and closing the door behind them, leaving me inside with her. I guess word has got around about my reluctance to leave her.

Camila stands in the centre of the room, chest heaving, and doesn't turn to face me. I have to circle around her to see the crisp white bandage wrapped around her hand, and she still doesn't look up at me. I can't help but wonder what I've done wrong.

"What did you do?" I whisper. She holds her breath for a moment but quickly returns to the quickened pace. "Camila, don't—"

"Stop!" She yells, raising her head and her hands out in front of her, palms out as if to defend herself. I stumble back and she whines. "Just... stop. Please. Stop being... you."

My brows furrow deeply. "I don't know what you mean."

She groans and rolls her eyes, pushing past me to throw herself down on her mattress, curling up against the wall. "Just stay away from me."

"Camila." My voice is a warning she doesn't heed.

"Fuck off. I'm already fucked up enough, I don't need you adding to it."

"And how do I do that?" I question, though it sounds more like I'm snapping. She looks up at me with an indecipherable expression. "Go on, enlighten me. What is it about me that you hate so much?"

"I don't hate you," she mumbles.

"I'm serious, Camila. Tell me why you want me to leave and I'll go."

She hits her head against the wall and, with all the ferocity I speak with, returns, "Because you mean too much."

Now it's my turn to sound meek. "What?"

"You're a liability. You make me feel like I've never felt before and I... I don't like it. Just leave." She bundles up the blanket and throws it to my feet, but I can tell by the tenting of her brows that she regrets it.

"What do you mean?" I bend down and take the blanket, noticing how her eyes follow it, and fold it before laying it at the end of her mattress, looking down at her. She glances at my eyes but quickly looks away.

"You're confusing. I don't get it." She slams her hands against her head and winces. Before I can properly think, I dive in and peel her bandaged hand away, holding it gently. She frowns, but holds mine back. "Stop it."

"Stop what?'

"Warming me up." Slowly, and ever so subtly, she begins to blush. My heart sinks. The cause is clear but so impossible. I let go of her hand and push mine into my jacket pockets, looking down to my feet. She looks down too, and sniffs quietly.

"Okay." I whisper, my movements jerky as I hesitate to turn away. "Okay, I'll leave."

—

I really didn't know quite what to do next so I decided to just write without really thinking and see where I ended up, and this is what came of it. I'm still not sure how I feel but it's been too long and I haven't thought of anything else I could write. How do you guys feel about this chapter?