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"Please, Camcam, you're my friend. Don't leave me."
"I told you, don't call me Camcam."
Fingers gripped her wrist. "Camille. I'm begging you."
Camille stared ahead into the decrescendo of darkness. Blurry, stinging tears of frustration swirled in her eyes before she blinked once, and they fell. Whatever she wanted to say, she wasn't going to say it. The street light flickered, hiccuping strange shadows on the house. The door was ajar, waiting to call Emma back home.
Emma. Stupid, selfish, destructive Emma. Camille loved her. But lately she'd been impossible to like. Her breath smelled like booze and her voice was sticky with betrayal. Camille wished there was a way to smack her friend over the head with an iron rod of common sense. But all she could do was protect herself. And protecting herself meant getting away. The key in the engine turned. Emma's fingers tightened on her wrist.
"Let me go." Stay with me.
"I won't." Give me a reason to.
"Emma. Get out of my car." Camille plunged her captive arm into Emma's abdomen, shoving her against the passenger window. She tore her wrist free, but kept her arm forced against Emma's body, pressuring her to abscond and leave her in peace.
What was that like? Was Caro now at peace? It was on the tip of her tongue, this thought that now bubbled to the surface of her brain. She'd hardly dared acknowledge it but still it persisted: Was peace, like energy, indestructible and fixed? When Caroline found her peace, she took it from somewhere. A simple life with hope and comfort was wrenched from Camille's hands the moment the rope fell taut. And now she no longer felt peace in imagining a future with Emma.
You're fucking it all up.
"Why do I keep fucking things up?" Emma fell limp as she murmured, seemingly to herself. Her inebriated head lolled on her shoulders. "Camille." A hand now lay on hers, still readily perched on the gear shift. Camille could not feel herself breathe. "I'm... sorry. I'm sorry."
She composed herself the best she could in this moment where all she wanted was to—
"It's too late for sorry," she blurted before she could allow for thinking.
"I know that, I know. I'll leave. I'll stop." She squeezed Camille's hand. "I will hurt whatever is unlucky enough to be near me. That's just who I am. So... I want you to go. I need you to leave."
It's not for the reason you're thinking.
"I think I should." Camille nudged her hand away so she could shift into neutral.
"But before you go, I want to say something."
"Emma, I don't think—"
"I love you, Camille."
You're not special like that.
She heard ringing in her ears. Her body was still, but if her hands had been free, they would most surely be shaking. All this time, Camille had been unable to look her friend in the eyes. Everything hurt too much. She turned slowly, and looked at Emma's face. Hot wet trails grew cool on Camille's cheeks, the tears pooling on her jaw and plopping in her lap.
Emma leaned close and her lips were on Camille's, hot and trembling and desperate—but so, so, perfect. Camille closed her eyes, pushing whatever fears were left past her eyelashes. She never much cared for red wine, but here it was delicious. And bitter. Emma's lips parted only to gasp, and then her hand was on Camille's thigh, anchoring her, keeping her close.
It was the first time in a week she felt wholly, completely safe. Camille cupped the sides of Emma's face and kissed back with such ferocity and love that she nearly frightened herself. But it was all made beautifully clear, like the heartbeat in her fingertips, how much she ached for this. All of it. The times she wished she was more than an excuse to stay out longer, the nights she felt absence in her bed beside her, the mornings she pushed thoughts of Emma making breakfast for the two of them out of her head as she made herself tea.
It was here on her lips that Camille sighed a welcome to such thoughts now declassified. And then, with a breath, it was gone.
She opened her eyes slowly, feeling half of a whole. Emma was staring at her, and Camille felt self-conscious of the heaviness of her breathing and the skewness of her glasses. She readjusted them on her nose and took a gulp of air.
"You love me, too. I know it."
Her stomach fell like she was trapped in a broken elevator, plummeting to her death. She tucked a strand of coiffed hair behind Emma's ear, but it felt perfunctory.
"Don't you see that?" Don't.
"Emma—" Don't.
"You love me. You love me, so you can't leave me." Don't.
"Don't do this to me, Emma."
"No! You've loved me for so long, I know it! You can't abandon me, Camille! You need me! I need you!"
"I SAID DON'T!" Camille burst forward, hooking her fingers on the door handle and shoving the pleading mass out onto the pavement. Noises wormed their way into her brain but she didn't make sense of any words. They were muffled by the glass. She slammed the pedal and peeled off down the street, tuning out cotton shouting and suffocated screams.
She couldn't see. The pitch road. The streaks of headlight. Her own white knuckles on the wheel. This place was so unfamiliar and uninviting. Camille and the town agreed she'd overstayed her welcome. She drove for some time, noted only by the passage of her sobs, strangled throat, and dry mouth. Everything was wrong. Her body felt like it ought to shrivel in on itself. Her forehead ached from conforming to her devastated brow. The radio sounded like it was channeling her own confusion. Static.
What the hell did peace ever feel like? She figured rolling to a stop on the shoulder of nowhere was a start. She punched the steering wheel and felt it resist and bounce her fist off with more force than she'd invested. Her back heaved as she held herself, doubled over with something like disgust and grief and rage. Before long the night caught up to her and she gathered her coat around her. There was no bed to feel empty in.
Maybe peace was never hers to have.