For a while, Camila simply cries. I hold her in my arms as she sobs, occasionally pushing me away just to throw herself against me once more. Then, she falls silent. We remain in an embrace until she sniffles, wipes her eyes and nose with her sleeve, and steps back to take my hands. She swings them back and forth and seems to be thinking something over before she looks up with a shy smile and begins walking backwards, away from the door. I've no idea what she's trying to do, but no willpower to stop her either. She turns to watch where she's going, still gripping one of my hands, and finally stops in front of the shower.

"What are you--" She interrupts me by turning to face me, holding a finger to my lips as a silent 'hush'. She steps back, removing her hand to begin unbuttoning her jumpsuit. I really shouldn't be watching, but her sultry eyes combined with the small smirk she wears are enough to keep me captivated.

She frowns, stopping at the third button and reaching out to cup my cheek, head tilted as she regards me with concern. I find myself leaning into her touch. "Don't think too hard, Jauregui," She whispers, but her voice still echoes around us. Then, ever so slowly, her fingertips run down the backs of my palms before she encases my hands in hers. She leads them to her button and gently guides me in undoing it, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time. After a moment, I take a deep breath and heed her advice. We're just two people; two people who happen to be attracted to one another and acting on that attraction. Looking down, I undo the rest of her buttons all the way to her waist. With a slight tremble to my hands, I gently push the blue fabric over her shoulders. She moves her arms slightly to aid in the sleeves' decent, and smiles when they hang to the floor, her waistband the only thing maintaining the mystery of her lower half. I admire the new skin revealed.

Beneath her jumpsuit, she wears a simple white tank-top, but it's tight enough to leave little to the imagination. I'm surprised to find a tattoo on her shoulder, a thick bluish-black spiral that'd seem tribal without its old-school shading. I trace its edges with my fingers and she turns to the side, watching my face as she shows more of the ink. From this angle, I can see that it is three curved blades originating from a skull—one protruding from its open mouth—in the centre. LF is emblazoned across the skull's forehead in a white-ish colour, and when I run my fingertip over the letters, their raised, rough texture reveals that they're not part of the tattoo. Rather, they're scars; an even more permanent reminder of the gang's ownership of her.

"I was 13," she comments and I look back at her face to find her looking down and away. "It was a reward for, uh... becoming a woman."

"Did it hurt?"

She chuckles humourlessly. "Like being repeatedly stabbed with a hot fire poker."

She flinches when I press my lips to the skin, and I almost apologise before she looks at me with wonder in her eyes. She looks so goddamn innocent. I want to promise nobody will hurt her again, but I can't.

She smiles softly. "You missed."

Before I know it, her lips are on mine. While she's clumsy and reckless, I'm restrained and hesitant. My resistance crumbles when she grabs me by the waist and pulls me closer. My hands fly to her cheeks, one slipping around to the back of her neck, and I fully give in, kissing her with abandon. Our lips slip against one another, and it's much sloppier than it could and perhaps should be, but neither of us cares. My fingers tangle in her hair and the quietest of hums escapes her. It's music to my ears and only serves to surge me on. I tilt my head slightly with the intention of deepening the kiss, but she pushes me back with such a force that I almost tumble.

"Wha—"

"Shh!" She hisses, holding a hand out to keep me away and looking to the door. "Get behind the wall."

I frown but do as she says, ducking around the corner just as I hear the door to the bathroom swing open. Camila turns on her heels, quickly tugging her jumpsuit the rest of the way down. I bite my lip as she bends, giving me quite the view, but remain silent as deafening footsteps fill the room.

"What do you think you're doing, Inmate?" A feminine voice booms. I recognize it as none other than Officer Hartley. Camila flinches slightly and looks over as if surprised at the woman's appearance.

"Showering, ma'am." She mutters, tossing her jumpsuit up to hang over the half-wall beside her and letting her tank-top join it. My gaze falls to the ground. This is no longer for me; Looking at her body now doesn't feel right.

"Hurry the fuck up, 776." The officer snaps. I hear the water turn on and my heart begins to pulse in my ears. She's right there, naked, exposed to this officer's eyes. It's not the first time she's had to strip in front of them, I remind myself, and it's not my place to be upset over it, but I still feel a sort of anger growing that she must be placed in this position.

"Yes, ma'am." Camila's words are rushed. From the edge of my vision, I watch her feet as she steps under the weak stream of water. A tense moment passes, then another, before the footsteps begin to head back to the door. I stay where I am until the water turns off, and lean against the wall until she steps in front of me once more, fully dressed. Her hair is damp and falls in ropes over her shoulders, clinging to her skin where it can. She holds the back of my neck and leans up to plant a quick kiss on my lips, the way a true lover might. I look into her eyes to find them cold, as though she's masking her true emotions.

"Have to go back to my cell," she states, fingers drawing circles on my neck. My attention moves to her lips before flicking back up to her eyes. "Wait a few minutes, then leave, 'kay? Hartley will follow me."

I nod at her words but grab her free hand before she can leave.

"Thank you for trusting me."

She only nods curtly, her stare moving to the tiles over my shoulder. She seems to hesitate but swiftly leaves, taking my breath with her.