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smallblanketfort · 7 years

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How did you get diagnosed with bpd? Did you suspect it before? How did you deal with it? Did you feel like anything changed after a diagnosis? Do you feel like people treat you differently when they know you have it? How do you deal with all the negativity around the diagnosis? ps: sorry for so many questions

it’s okay. i feel like a smart person would say, come off anon and let’s chat, but u know what, i’ll totally embarrass myself for the common good. oh man.

short answers. click keep reading for the in depth, tmi answers.

How did you get diagnosed with bpd? Did you suspect it before? short answer: self dx followed by psych. yes. kind of.

Do you feel like people treat you differently when they know you have it?short answer: depends on the person and how much they care about you as a person.

How do you deal with all the negativity around the diagnosis?short answer: i dont lol

babe i hope this helps a bit and idk. im being honest here, so idk how much comfort is here, but if you find any, good. be safe. lmk if you have other questions! happy to answer.

How did you get diagnosed with bpd? Did you suspect it before? short answer: self dx followed by psych. yes.long answer: i had a slight mental breakdown in uhhhh fall 2015-january 2016, and i work at the library which slows down in the winter. i was going a little nuts with nothing to do one day in late december/early january, so i planted myself in the mental health section and read all the requirements in dsm-iv book for mental disorders. i think i was half curious and half knew something was wrong. i had dealt with depression and anxiety in the past, but i felt mentally dizzy all the time, if that makes sense. just generally unstable and lost and worried. Not Okay. self harming and finding comfort in it. i was totally bleary going through my daily life and i felt extremely unstable in my relationships. i also was trying to work through this whole hallucination/voice in my head thing that sparked it in september(?). so i remember taking these books to the break room and taking these convoluted notes on tiny scraps of paper, trying to make sense of what was happening. i found the notes a couple weeks ago, and it was really weird, but i was so careful about it. i really didn’t want to feel like i had anything, but i was getting desperate. i would copy out the requirements and tally up what i had. i remember contemplating a couple things i knew i could diagnoses with by a doctor who didn’t care, like avoidant pd, but i realized it was definitely not the one, at all. when i read bpd, it took my breath away. i was shocked, bc it was like reading a book about myself. i remember getting goosebumps, and shaking. i spent months researching and researching it, trying to convince myself i didn’t fit the criteria. at the time i was in several psych classes, and one of my professors had us write a 15+ page paper about our own life and psych development. it was hella weird, but i ended up pouring myself into it and my psych prof, who runs his own practice was like “Lol yeah omg” and we chatted a bit and sure enough, i am most likely a bpd bug. i’m not “formally” diagnosed but i have talked to several psychologists at my universities about it and they’re all like “lmao yeeeah” so

How did you deal with it?short answer: i feel like i’m still “dealing” with the diagnosis, and my stance on it changes constantly lol, but probably better in the beginning. it didn’t really change a ton for me, bc i felt like it was just a word for what i had already been experiencing. i decided not to tell anyone, so i didn’t feel like things had changed. at the same time i refused to believe it. i have tables and tables of notes in my journals, trying to convince myself in and out of it. i did know that to be healthy, i needed to acknowledge it. i tried.long answer: idk!? like on one hand i was relieved like “okay so this is a thing with a name, now i can start attacking it. i was really good at mood tracking for about 6 months. no more lol. anyway, i still go through acceptance/denial cycles constantly. just today, i decided to watch youtube videos about it to prove to myself that i didn’t have bpd. my reaction? o shit i guess i have bpd. every couple weeks ill come across an article or video or something about it and they’ll talk about other quirks of bpd and it’s so accurate it’s scary. but kinda cool (like perceptions of time and such that dont really hurt anything, but i thought everyone had. whoops. just my bpd showing again lol) it’s like when i climbed over a wooden fence in colorado and realized i had a sliver in my leg and then when i got it out, i realized i had another sliver in my leg and then when i got it out i realized i had another sliver in m-and so on. it never stops really. maybe it’d help if i told more ppl. idk.

Did you feel like anything changed after a diagnosis?short answer: it brought some clarity, some understanding and validation, that i think really helped me. sometimes it brought hopelessness, sometimes motivation. i mean, i was still the same person, just with a label. it started me on a road i referred to as resurfacing.long answer: i mean, i was still the same person, just with a label. it definitely brought gravity to it. sometimes it made me hopeless (can you even recover from a personality disorder?), but sometimes it brought me hope bc i wasn’t alone and there are coping methods made esp for me. it helped me understand myself and why i did what i did. it helped me be more proactive, and im getting better at it. it helped me accept some of my quirks, and helped me communicate. it’s a constant learning process like battle.

Do you feel like people treat you differently when they know you have it?short answer: depends on the person and how much they care about you as a person.long answer: lmao so like i haven’t told my parents yet, didnt have to since i was over 18. lately my mom is becoming more aware tho i think, and she’s being really supportive. my friends (irl and online, they all know) are really supportive and patient and encouraging and kind. they’re so great. the two ppl i dated since were lovely. about a month after diagnosis, however, i told my boyfriend of the time whose only response was “why didn’t you tell me this before i got emotionally attached to you?” :-) THAT fucked me up, but i still think it’s fair. lately im super worried about it though.

How do you deal with all the negativity around the diagnosis?short answer: i dont lollong answer: so i had never heard of it before 2016 sooo i actually don’t really know about the stigmas even now? i try really hard not to hear about any of it, bc if i do, im going to shrivel and not have the confidence to be open about it, which really helps me and my relationships. being open about it is what destroys the stigma. at the same time, im totally terrified of telling my family for some reason. my mom used to say anxiety was a hat i put on, bc she was a nurse in the mental ward, so her view of mental illness is basically of non to low functioning people. she;s a lot more supportive and validating of it now but idk i cant.OKAY ALSO negativity with recovery high key sucks. for a solid year i was convinced that there’s no recovery and i’ll probably kill myself before im 27, im so screwed blah blah blah, but then i FINALLY starting finding resources that consistently said 50% of adults find themselves recovered after ten years. im also really working hard on self care and coping rn. making good choices for myself to hopefully stay as healthy and happy as possible.

lmk if you have other questions!

#bpd #anon #borderline personality disorder #actuallyborderline #actually borderline

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5hfanfiction · 7 years

Text

Everything is A Metaphor

Chapter 2

* * *

Listen to: Vienna by The Fray

“Is there really no way to reach me?”

————————————————————————————————————

She feels- as much as she hates to admit it -the same way she did when her dad died. At first there’s a shock, a sudden dizziness and the vivid feeling of all your blood draining into your heart, so that it can beat faster; the nausea, the inability to breathe or form words other than ‘No, you’re lying!’ But then comes the realization that no one, not even the devil himself, would lie about such a thing. This is real. This is happening.

Lauren is in her dorm room, on her bed, barely held together by Lucy’s arms. She keeps trying to speak, wants to speak; but all that comes out is “No, no, no,” over and over again, her head shaking side to side. If she could just focus on the present- on her being in her loving girlfriend’s arms -she’d be able to at least mumble something relatively coherent. Instead, the past keeps replaying in her head.

“Hey, that would be great, actually! I’m Camila.”

“I’m-“ And she freezes right there, her hand half-extended as her face goes white. Her lips tremble for words-any word-but really, what the hell can you say in a situation like this? Instead, Lauren simply stares at the girl until her vision blurs-from panic or tears or both, she can’t really tell.

“Whoa, Lo! You look like you’re gonna be sick.” Dinah feigns concern, throwing an arm over the shorter girl. “Here, why doesn’t Lucy take you back to your dorm?” She cocks her head out so that Lucy can see the panic in her eyes. “Right, Luce?”

That’s really all Lauren can remember, anyway. There’s Camila, then Dinah, then Lucy, then one more look back at Camila and Dinah. The worst part is, Lauren can see Camila’s face so clearly in her head: her brown eyes, wide with concern; Lips not so chapped anymore, but still bright pink; Hair a little all over the place, but somehow perfect the way it is. She is almost exactly the same, almost exactly how Lauren remembers her. Camila wasn’t freaked out by Lauren’s episode. Instead, she was incredibly worried. And if there’s anything about this girl that Lauren holds close to her heart, it’s her automatic concern for complete strangers. Camila was and, thank god, still is, the type of girl to take a homeless person out to dinner. Talk to them. Learn about their life story, all for the price of a single meal. And in Camila’s eyes, what could be better than that; that feeling of helping another?

But Dinah-…She just stood there. Impatient. Annoyed. Not one fucking look of regret. And that, almost more than anything else, is what really killed Lauren. She knew this was happening. She knew Camila was the new student, all along. And she didn’t do a damn thing.

Lauren launches into a fresh bout of sobs. Camila. Back, as if from the fucking dead.

After what seems like hours, a knock at the door forces Lauren and Lucy to finally depart. The latter runs over to the door, wanting the intruder to go away as fast as possible. The sight of her girlfriend’s concern almost makes Lauren forget how fucked up her life is. Almost, until she recognizes Dinah’s face peeking from behind the doorway.

As if sensing the anger rising behind Lauren’s tears, Dinah instantly raises her hands in defense. “Just hear me out, okay?” She steps inside the room without invitation, brushing past Lucy harshly. “I was going to tell you-“

She freezes. The girl before her is not one she recognizes. They’ve known each other for years, and yet Dinah has never, never seen Lauren in such a distraught state. It doesn’t compare to how she looked when Camila first left. No, this is worse. The girl lay in the same clothes from earlier, though the collar of her black t-shirt is almost entirely soaked-through from tears. Her face is red as a third-degree burn. Her entire body shakes, even when she isn’t coughing out a sob. She looks so small, fragile; like a little kid who’s just been told their dad isn’t coming home.

Something sinks in Dinah’s chest. “Lauren-…” She tries again, but the words keep getting stuck in her throat. Shit. She didn’t mean to fuck up this badly.

To make things worse, Lauren simply stares at the girl, her red eyes seething with tears. There is so much inside her, so much anger, so much sadness, so much of everything. She can’t hold it in any longer. The emotions inside her erupt into two words.

“Fuck you.”

Lauren’s voice is so ragged that for a moment, Dinah isn’t sure she heard her right. She furrows her brow, prompting Lauren to repeat herself.

“Fuck you,” She trembles, shaking her head. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” She screams so loud she can feel her vocal chords tearing apart; so loud that her gag reflex is triggered, and she has to cough frenziedly to avoid throwing up right then and there. Terrified, Lucy runs over to the girl. But Lauren pushes her away.

Dinah tries to speak. “Lauren-“

“You kept this from me,” Lauren continues, barely coherent. “You knew she was enrolling here and you kept it from me! You fucking-!” She breaks down again then, losing her battle to string words together. The worst part is, Dinah’s still trying to defend herself. Lauren knows it from the annoyed look on her face, her crossed arms. It makes her feel like a fucking madman, like she’s speaking to a damn wall. Does Dinah really not realize how much wrong she’s done?

“Jesus, Lauren,” Dinah throws her head back, her eyes rolling. “Do you blame me? Really?” She gestures toward the girl. “You’re a fucking mess! Damn straight I kept it from you. You really think finding out on the anniversary of-“ She stutters then, not wanting to worsen the blow. “Today. You really think me telling you today of all days would’ve helped anything? I didn’t think you’d be in school, Lo! I was going to tell you, I just…I wanted to avoid all of this.” She gestures again.

But Lauren isn’t buying it. “No,” She says through gritted teeth. “You knew for days, you had to of. They wouldn’t just throw something like this on you in a day’s notice. I’m not fucking stupid-“

“Okay.” Dinah uncrosses her arms, as quickly as one would reload their gun with ammo. She takes a deep breath through her nose, focusing a hard stare at Lauren. Make no mistake, Dinah loves Lauren like a sister- hell, like more than a sister. But she’s tired. Tired from Camila, tired from the debacle between her and Lauren, and tired from-

Well, tired from Lauren as a whole.

“Listen,” She continues, her voice low. “Yeah, you’re right, I did find out a few days ago. I didn’t tell you because I know how bad you can get during the week of the anniversary. I didn’t want that to be the only thing in your head the night of. I didn’t want you to suffer like this. Sorry if that was my mistake.”

Her voice begins to tremble with anger.

“But don’t you dare,” She shakes her head. “Don’t you dare turn this on me. You think you have it bad? What if you were the one who had to show her around because you’re the dedicated student advisor? What if you were the one who had to pretend like everything’s okay for her sake? Don’t forget you aren’t the only one who lost someone! You aren’t the only one she forgot.”

The speech is enough to make Lauren feel a pang of guilt, but only briefly before she finds her will to fight again. The thing about Lauren is that she’s stubborn, especially when it comes to Camila. The girl is too sensitive a subject for her to simply submit. “I-“ She begins, but Dinah shoots her a fiery glare to let her know she isn’t finished.

“Take today,” She nods condescendingly, like an uptight parent might. “Take tomorrow morning. Take the entire fucking week, I don’t care. But don’t come near me, and especially don’t come near Camila, until you’re over it. I’m sorry this is so fucking hard on you; it’s hard on me too. But I had to get over it for her sake, and so do you because she isn’t going anywhere and I know damn well neither are you.”

Her words are quiet enough to not shake the walls of the dorm, yet the edge in her voice shakes Lauren to her core. She opens her mouth one last time as a weak attempt to justify herself, but Dinah swiftly turns around and steps through the doorway. Before slamming the door, she adds: “You have a second chance to redeem yourself. Don’t fuck it up.”

The moment she leaves, Lauren crumbles into tearless hysteria. And even as Lucy holds her, coos to her, tries to keep her together, Lauren doesn’t mumble one word. She simply shakes, quiet and open-mouthed.

Maybe brokenness isn’t red-faced and damp with tears. Maybe brokenness comes after all the gunshots of cracked throats and irritated eyes.

Maybe brokenness is the afterthought. Maybe that’s the metaphor here.

————————————————————————————————————

Lauren doesn’t know how long she’d been asleep for. She can’t recall the exact time she fell asleep, and how much she actually rested in that timeframe rather than drowning in her thoughts. All she knows is her bones are heavy, her eyes still burn from crying, and her throat feels like she ate the blanket that’s currently covering Lucy. She must’ve kicked the blanket off in her sleep. In fact, she must’ve kicked Lucy off in her sleep, too, because the girl lay silent a few inches away, curled up with her pillow.

“Shit,” Lauren mumbles, running her hands over her face. Lucy doesn’t move, fast asleep, and Lauren curses herself for expecting something different.

When she checks her phone, her stomach lurches. It’s not because it’s already ten at night, or that Normani’s five text messages are pushy and suspicious. It’s not even Dinah’s apology message. No, it’s the last message Dinah had the nerve to send.

“I’m sorry about earlier. IDK what 2 say, except that im sorry and i love u. And on the bright side, Mila seems already really into u. Idk…i guess I’m sorry if thats hard to even comprehend rn. I just wanted to let you know, I guess, for the future. Maybe to give u some hope. Again, I’m sorry bout earlier. U kno I love u.”

Lauren chuckles dryly. It would make sense for Camila to be instantaneously attracted to her, whether it’s a romantic interest or not. That’s just Lauren’s luck. She looks up to the ceiling with tired eyes, smiling sadly as she silently asks god, ‘Are you even up there?’

She gets no response, and she laughs again. Typical.

So between the nameless god, the deceptive best friend, and the ex girlfriend who is, essentially, brainwashed, it’s no wonder that Lauren chooses to venture into the night just before the clock turns twelve. It’s also no wonder that of all places to be in, she chooses the student bar.

And with the dreadful Jauregui luck she’s inherited, it’s of course no wonder that after a few drinks, she begins seeing things. Things that aren’t really there. People. People like Camila. Camila herself.

But before Lauren can do anything, she’s pulled out of her stool and dragged to a low-lit corner of the bar.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? A-Are you out of your mind? Have you finally reached that point, Lauren?”

It takes a moment for her vision to focus, but when she sees the short, light-haired girl she hasn’t seen in months, she chuckles.

“Hi, Ally.”

The two girls go as far back as Lauren and Dinah do. In fact, the three of them-no, the four of them, including Camila-all used to be best friends. But after the accident, Ally simply couldn’t look at Lauren the same. Every time she tried, all she saw was a broken shell of the girl she once knew. They still forged a relationship, though. Things only got bad about a year ago, when Lauren got into a fight with Lucy because of the whole Camila-Anniversary-Thing. She’d gotten drunk as a result, and when Dinah stopped answering her calls, she slogged over to Ally’s room in the next building over. Let’s just say that things didn’t go over well with, you know, the whole drunk-over-Camila thing. It just stirred up too many buried memories in Ally.

“So this is your go-to now?“ Ally continues, moving her shoulders so much that the martini in her hand shakes. “Camila’s back, so you have to get drunk? Are you really that weak?”

The insults roll off of Lauren’s chest, her body shielded with armor made from whiskey. She smirks. “Dinah told you.”

“She didn’t have to, asshole! She’s my new roommate.”

That sobers Lauren up a bit. She blinks for a moment, processing Ally’s words. “I-“

“She’s here, dumb-ass. I thought we’d celebrate her first day here but clearly that was a bad idea on my end.” Ally shakes her head in shame. “I really thought you were going to change, Lauren. Do you even remember what you said to me the last time we spoke? ‘I want to change, Ally! I want to do right by her.’ God, was I wrong for believing in you for once.”

The insults batter Lauren’s shield of alcohol, hitting it again and again until it is finally punctured. Lauren wasn’t just drunk off her ass. Camila really is here- here! In this ratty ass bar. What was Lauren thinking? She opens her mouth to defend herself or apologize or just say something. But Ally cuts her off again.

“You need to leave, Lauren.”

After a moment of searching her mind, Lauren finally says, “You can’t kick me out.” Jesus, she’s so drunk she can’t even find it in herself to apologize.

Ally sighs, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Just stay away from Camila, okay? I’m serious; this isn’t a warning anymore.”

“And what are you soooo afraid of? That I’ll buy her drinks? Make out with her?” Lauren smiles sadly. “Offer to drive her home?”

It’s a disgusting comment, even for a drunk Lauren. Ally finishes off her martini before speaking.

“I get that this is hard for you,” She says in a low voice, sounding just like Dinah from hours earlier. “I get that you must feel guilty, and confused, and just…heartbroken. I understand the want to get drunk, to just forget that any of this is happening. But you can’t run from this, Lauren. You can’t run from her. Not again.”

Ally pushes past Lauren before she can even formulate a response.

Lauren focuses her eyes on her hands, noticing the harsh scars circled around her palms. They’ve been there since the accident, she realizes. They haven’t faded- won’t fade unless she gets treatment. The scars are a part of her, and she has to live with that. Folding her hands palm-side down doesn’t make the scars go away, either. Just minimizes the time she has to face them. She has to stop running away.

From the scars, from Camila, from all of this. Lauren can’t continue ruining her life just to compensate for the injuries done to Camila. She-the old Camila, the one she once knew-wouldn’t want that. In fact, if the old Camila was aware of Lauren’s downward spiral, she’d be heartbroken.

And Lauren’s tired of breaking people’s hearts.

She hurries past the crowd of people dancing to get to the bar and pay her bill. She pushes past a couple twerking, another who can’t keep their hands off each other’s pants zippers. At some point, a hand grabs on to her shoulder so fiercely she has to elbow someone near by to get loose. The end result is her loss of balance as she escapes the crowd, stumbling into the person nearest to her.

“Whoa there-“ The voice says, but Lauren cuts them off.

“Shit,” She heaves, catching her breath. “I s-swear I’m not as drunk as that m-makes me seem-“

But as she blinks and fixes her hair, desperately trying to compose herself, her vision clears once again. The girl before her is a figure not drawn by alcohol or depression, but reality.

Lauren trembles as the name stumbles out of her mouth.

“Camila.” Her mouth fills with a vile taste, like burnt food.

The girl smiles warmly, brown eyes widening with surprise. “You remember my name?”

And as much as Lauren wants to make a snarky remark, she can’t bring herself to say anything more.

No, instead she bends over, holding her stomach.

Instead of word vomit, she, well-

She actually vomits.

————————————————————————————————————

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s not the first time I’ve been puked on. You’re fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, really.”

“I’m sorry.”

It’s then that she breaks down. She hugs her knees to her chest, buries her face in-between them, and cries; huge, ugly sobs that tire her shoulders out. Lauren can feel her face growing red, her throat raw. This episode is even worse than the one from earlier, which-frankly-was previously thought impossible. And yet, the pain feels lighter tonight. As she’s crying next to Camila, sitting on the sidewalk in the chilly New York night air, there is something different. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the argument with Ally. But the crying feels more like venting, how it should feel to a normal person. It feels like the pain is escaping through every tear. And it is awkward and weird and fucking insane to be sobbing in Camila’s presence, but the moment reminds Lauren that this isn’t the first time she’s cried in front of her. For Lauren to not let it out would be running away. Fuck that.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Camila finally musters, eyes darting every which way as if to confirm that this is really happening. Then she latches on to Lauren’s arm, tugging at it gently as a means to get the girl to look up. But she doesn’t. Instead, Lauren sobs harder, louder, as if to block out Camila entirely.

“Those shoes were like $20 anyway!” Camila shouts, feigning a smile. “I can buy a new pair at Target for probably less! It’s all good!” But Lauren keeps on sobbing, drunk off-amongst other things-the release it gives. Camila pleads, “Don’t cry, blue skies? Please?”

And Lauren lifts her head up, as if feeling a new wave of nausea come on; a new wave of memories; flashbacks; nostalgia. She stares at Camila, eyes glassy with tears but-

But there’s something more. Her lips quiver as she starts, “You still-?” She knows she can’t finish the sentence. You still say that? Instead, she shakes her head, letting it fall back between her knees. Fresh tears roll down her cheeks, but her eyes are closed for the most part. She tangles her hands together over her forehead, trying to grasp the reality at hand. Then she-

Well, she laughs. It’s a tired, broken sound, but the two girls make a mental note that it’s much better than the sobs.

One of the best memories Lauren can recall is, surprisingly, when Camila first told her she was moving away. They were sat at the edge of Lauren’s roof, like always, passing around what little alcohol they had managed to steal off their parents. This mixture in particular combined brandy, whiskey, and rum all in one flask. (Gross indeed, but Camila had insisted that it’d be better for them to learn to hate alcohol early.) There was really no proper way to announce the news, so Camila simply interrupted Lauren once she was tipsy and rambling.

“I still really want to go to NYU. I know you think I’m just applying for your sake, but-“

“I’mmoving.”

Lauren eyes her with a look of suspicion, raising a brow.

Camila refuses to meet her gaze. She keeps her face angled forward, her eyes hidden behind locks of stray hair. “Friday.” She manages. “I’m moving. To Texas.”

A silence moves in between them, separating them to such a degree that not even Camila’s dad could achieve it. Lauren fumbles mindlessly with the cap of the flask, her eyes staring at Camila. Looking, but not seeing. Hearing, but not listening.

“Please tell me you’re drunk.” She says, throat suddenly dry.

Camila shakes her head.

“Camz, please-“

Camila shakes her head more violently, turning her gaze towards Lauren for the first time. Then, seeing the truth in Camila’s eyes, Lauren shakes her head, too. “No, there’s no way-“ She begins, but the sight of Camila’s eyes becoming glassy with tears pushes Lauren over the edge. She propels herself off and away from the edge of the roof, dropping the flask of alcohol as she does so.

“No, no way in hell. If he really thinks he can just up and ship you off to fucking Texas of all places, he’s got another thing coming.” She paces carefully up and down the slope of the roof. “You can stay with me, or, or-!”

Camila mumbles softly,“Laur.” She meets Lauren’s eyes, then drags her gaze away again. “It’s over.”

Lauren shakes her head. “No. We can figure something out-“

“I’m moving in three days.”

“No, no, don’t tell me that! We can’t just give up-“

“We aren’t giving up, Lauren. We never had a chance, not with my dad. You know that.”

Lauren slips down the roof with each statement. “Are you forgetting that he’s a bitter, tired-ass! You can’t-“

“I have to.”

“Camila!”

“Lauren.”

“Please,” Lauren finally skids next to Camila’s side, taking a seat on the edge. “This is my fault! He shouldnt be punishing you. I-I’ll promise to keep my distance from you in public. I’ll sign a restraining order if that’ll make him happy! Just please-“ Her voice cracks as her eyes fill with tears. “Don’t let him take away the only good thing I have in my life.”

That’s when the both of them broke down, sobbing into each other’s shoulders. Lauren had never been so intimate with Camila, not in this way. The honesty, the aching in her voice-

The fact that she really did believe Camila was the only good thing in her life brought Camila to tears. Then, of course, came the revelation that they were losing each other, probably for good. This was a split no one could control.

After a while, Camila whispered, “Don’t cry, blue skies.” Lauren only remembers it now because it was such a stupid, yet adorable thing to say in the midst of a disaster.

“I think I’m just drunk,” Lauren says now, wiping her face with one hand. She musters up enough courage to look into Camila’s eyes, and she notices the same jolt of concern darkening the brown in them. A few fresh tears roll down her cheeks, but not out of sadness; a drunken anger or disdain. No, these are tears of hope. Hell, maybe even joy.

Maybe memories can be forgotten, erased. But there are some parts of you that you just can’t change; certain aspects that are hardwired into your chemical make-up. Maybe Camila forgot about Lauren, but maybe there are parts of her that haven’t changed. Maybe the parts of her Lauren loved most haven’t changed.

Seizing the moment, Lauren speaks before Camila can say a word.

“Walk me back to my dorm, please? I promise I won’t cry anymore.”

Camila looks at her with shock, her mouth dropping open before curving into a ridiculous smile. She shrugs, shaking her head. “You’re crazy.”

“Is that a no, Cabello?”

Camila raises a brow. “You know my last name?”

Panic. “We-“ Lauren begins, but stops herself in all her drunkeness. We knew each other, once. We were actually lovers at one point, haha. She shakes her head, mouth suddenly dry.

“Dinah told me.”

“And did Dinah tell you anything else about me?”

Lauren raises a brow. “Should she have?”

“Mm, not from her, no. But from me? You have a lot to learn-…” She pauses, at a loss for words.

“Jauregui,” Lauren answers. Then, smirking, she puts out a hand. “Lauren Michelle Jauregui, at your service.”

Camila takes Lauren’s hand, pulling the girl up with her as she rises from the curb. “Karla Camila Cabello,” She says, stepping closer to Lauren. “But don’t tell anyone.”

And the two of them are so, so close, faces inches away. And Camila is smirking, like she’s discovered the most clever saying in the world. And Lauren is smiling anxiously, trying to convince herself that if she drunkenly stumbled and crashed her lips into Camila’s, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

But then she hears Dinah and Ally’s voices mixing in her head. Don’t blow it. Don’t fuck it up.

Instead, Lauren grabs Camila’s hand. “Lead the way, Brown Eyed Girl.”

Camila freezes at the nickname, her head tilting as she observes the lightness to Lauren’s eyes. She doesn’t say it, but the way her brow is furrowing tells Lauren she’s confused.

She mumbles, “Why does that sound so familiar?”

And there’s that shred of hope again.

Lauren tries to hide her smile, shrugging like the most oblivious girl in the world. But as they start towards the Arts and Sciences dorm, Lauren thinks to herself:

It should sound familiar. It should, it should, it should.

———————————————————————————————-

AHHHHH thank u all so much for the positive feedback pls keep it coming Im terribly self-conscious with my writing lmao

have a nice day!! hopefully this didnt make u too emo (:

#UPDATE #series #AU #trigger warning #camren #angst drama #humour #submission #Everything is A Metaphor

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