After a while, the alarm stops blaring, though its light continues to flash in the small interrogation room. My ears physically ache as the sound leaves behind a horrible ringing, but my focus is far from being placed on myself.

"Camila?"

Ever so slowly, she releases her head from her own tight hold and lifts it, looking around herself and only slightly wincing at the flashing light. I'm saddened to find her just as straight-faced as before when she meets my gaze.

Her mouth seems to form a word, but not even a ghost of a whisper makes it out before she turns away and slams her hands on the metal table, shocking me so much I fall back into my palms. Teeth gritted, she hissed, "Tell me how to go back."

"It's not that simple, Cam—"

"It has to be!" She yells, almost guttural in tone. Just as sudden as her outburst is, however, she composed herself. "Turn the camera off, please." My jaw tenses but I slowly make my way to the tablet, ending the video and laying it down on the table. I'm shocked by her next request. "Kiss me." My eyes widen and I look to the one-way glass, but she shakes her head. "Nobody's there. The alarms mean there's been a fight or something. They'll have all officers on hand to help with that. That's why they locked us in here; so they don't have to worry about us. We're alone, doc, just kiss me."

I cast one more wary glance at the glass, and sigh when I realize my gaze didn't land on the mirror as a whole, but on her reflection. She's staring blankly ahead, her posture almost too perfect to be comfortable, one leg bouncing under the table. Gulping, I plant my hands on the cool metal table for support and lean down, tentatively pressing my lips on hers. She kisses back feverishly and I sink closer with every passing second. Unfortunately, I only get a few before she pulls back.

"How do you feel?" I question, surprising even myself with the raspy tone that now adorns my voice.

She resumes her blank staring, though one eye twitches ever so slightly, as though she's wincing. I don't realize why until she looks down when I follow my gaze to watch as she tugs harshly at her cuffs. I circle my hands around her wrists, holding tight and pressing them to the table to avoid her causing any damage to herself. She huffs but relaxes.

"Do it again."

And I do, this time for a little longer, and then again, and again, until my hands are tangled in her hair, our lips caught in a strange sort of kiss, desperate but never reaching passionate. After a while, she pulls back once more, eyes still closed.

"It's not working."

My hand circles around to her cheek when my thumb runs in small circles, the other landing on her shoulder. She leans into my touch and a sympathetic smile passes over my face.

"Talk to me, we can find a way through it."

She shakes her head, looking up at me through hooded eyes. In any other situation, it may have caused my body temperature to rise dramatically, but I'm already too full of concern to feel anything else. "No, I don't think we can."

"We can try medication," I suggest, and she nods softly.

She seems to ponder something for a moment as I continue to soothe her with soft touches, brushing my hand through her hair and down the side of her neck as the other continues its circles. It works, or she doesn't complain, at least.

"When I used to get like this," she mumbles, staring right through my body as if I'm not here at all, "they'd praise me. This was Camila. This was the one who'd pull the trigger. Is. If I could, I'd do it again right now. There's nothing like it."

I allow my eyes to slide shut, preparing myself for more of the story. I've heard this before, but it never gets easier. They get some sort of rush, some sort of adrenaline shot when they end someone's life. It makes them feel strong. Powerful. On top of the world. For some of them, this feeling is entirely alien. For many, it's addictive. Soon, they get hooked.

Instead of some story about how she feels like a god, however, she says, "But it feels like you."

"Like me?" I gulp.

She nods slowly, eyes widening slightly as if she's in a trance. "You call me Camila, make me feel safe, but you're... strong. Confusing. All-consuming. I can't get enough of you, and yet I don't want you, but I do with all of my being. I want you so bad but I can't— I'm not supposed to want you at all. I wanna... I just... When I picture you down in the basement like, um, like the other ones, it feels wrong and I know— I always know it's wrong but you just make my skin all itchy and like it's on fire and I want to get you out of there and- and I want to touch you, but I don't want to hurt you." Confused as I am by her seemingly contradictory words, she manages to bring heat to my cheeks. I think I might get away with my blush, but then her eyes refocus and she meets mine again. Her voice is barely above a whisper. "I just wanna make you feel good. I've never had that before; not like this."

A moment passes where we simply look into one another. She shatters it by scoffing before tossing her head back in laughter, sighing loudly once she's done. I frown, but she doesn't seem to notice, simply wiggling around until my hands fall from her. She looks over my shoulder at the flashing alarm and rolls her eyes.

"You ought to get comfy, Jauregui. If they're not done by now, they're gonna take a while. Someone's going to the hole." She drops her voice once more as she leans back in her seat. "Maybe they got to wring their hands around someone's neck and just... watch."

I silently move to sit back in my seat, watching as she tugs at her own fingers. After a while, I find my tongue. "Lauren."

"Who?" She tips her head to the side.

"Lauren. My name is Lauren."