Chapter Text
She's dreaded this for weeks.
Okay, well, maybe 'dreaded' is the wrong expression. She's just been– been really anxious. For the past weeks. Months, even. The point is: she hasn't looked forward to it. When everyone else probably has. Since, you know, they're– she's– probably, definitely– going to meet the man of her life and– marry him. Maybe. That's what her mom had kept telling her, at least.
Part of her likes the unexpected, yes, like fighting for a man's affections you haven't ever met– but it's the tiniest part of her. And she's only five feet tall.
Her mom is the main reason why she's doing this. This. Sitting in a car. Looking out of the window. Seeing beautiful landscapes.
Being nervous to a point where she cannot tell if she's going to throw up in the car or only once they've got off it.
The only thing that sort of calms her nerves is the sweet woman sitting next to her. Ally, she'd introduced herself. Being the awkward mess she is, she would have never taken matters into her own hands and told her – Ally – her name. But the other woman had.
And Camila's glad about that because it means talking to someone. Calming her nerves. Maybe. Making a friend, too. Or– something of the sort. There's not really any possibility for them to be actual friends, though because, if anything, they'll be competitors, fighting for a man, both of them, and Camila doesn't think that that could be fun. Doesn't think the situation could gain her friends.
So they're more likely going to end up being enemies. Frenemies.
(They do always tell you that you're supposed to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.)
God, in case you couldn't tell, Camila's a complete mess. She can't think straight. Can't finish one single thought. And her nervousness doesn't decrease. Not even when Ally puts a hand on her thigh reassuringly. Not even when she looks into the woman's eyes and sees that there's nothing but happiness in them. Not even when she's told, "It's going to be okay. Just breathe. We're all going to be fine."
Yeah, no, it doesn't help.
If she's honest, Camila already kind of hates the girl for being so nice. She won't ever be able to see her as a competitor she has to eliminate, out-flirt, now. Something like that, anyway.
She literally jumps when the car comes to a halt. She's been stuck between trying to tell herself Ally can't be a friend and watching the fields and hills of France.
"You alright?" Ally asks.
Camila tries telling her cells, her brain, her heart to calm down again, one last time before it gets real, but she realizes that she really, really cannot do that. Nothing works.
She's fairly certain she's going to faint soon.
"You look pale," Ally observes from next to her. She tries taking Camila's hand but– Camila can't. She yanks it away. It's not meant to be rude. Just–
Not being able to say a word, Camila just blinks a few times, swallows, trying to get rid of her dry throat, and then nods. Hoping she can somehow get across that she's, indeed, alright. Okay, she's not really, but nobody can do anything about it, so–
"Ladies, come on! Let's get you all together!" a voice says from somewhere. Camila can't identify who's said the words. Neither does she know what direction it's come from.
A second later, they're both dragged away. Camila knows it has to be towards the ocean. She can't process anything, though.
Not until they arrive at a large beach, and she feels the sandy breeze in her face.
It smells like salt water here. And only upon sensing where exactly she is – the Atlantic coast – she snaps back into reality and takes in her surroundings.
There's a lot of sand. Obviously. Water, too. Somewhere in the distance. It's a nice shade of turquoise, she guesses, although right now, it has some orange and yellow to it. It must be the setting sun.
In the middle of the beach is some sort of– what is it, a lounge? There's a small staircase that leads down into the relatively small rectangular shaped space. Everything is white. It's blinding. Even this late.
And there's– a bar? Right at the edge. The waiters, bartenders, must be able to see the ocean from where they pour drinks.
There are couches, chairs, tables–
And there's alcohol, too. Thank God–
Camila is dragged towards one of the bigger tables in the middle.
There's– oh, yeah, there are about twenty girls occupying the space around it. Camila thinks she might actually throw up on the spot. She wishes it was because she's car sick. But it's not. She's just– God, she's so nervous because– she stops and takes a closer look at the women in front of her, around her, as she stands there– they're all incredibly gorgeous and– how the heck is she supposed to compete with any of them?
She blinks a few times. Stares at–
There's one woman in particular to catch her attention. Camila doesn't know why. It's just that– she somehow stands out from the rest. With her long, black hair, her beautiful white dress and– wow. Camila swallows. Almost gasps involuntarily. (Who does that?) Her eyes are so incredibly green, so clear, so–
"Honey, don't you want champagne?"
Camila jumps again. Which– yay her, what a way to make everyone notice you. First, it was just Ally, but now– yeah. Very Camila of her to embarrass herself, make a fool of herself within the first five minutes.
Her mishap has most probably been caught on camera, too. And she knows the audience loves stuff like this. Contestants being weird and awkward. Almost as entertaining as the eternally ongoing fights between them that are likely to fill most of the screentime later on.
When she looks up – her face still red and her brain still telling her it'd be better if the ground swallowed her up instantly – she's met with the questioning gaze of one of the– servers? Waiters? The one who asked her if she wanted wine, anyway. Probably.
Trying to play it cool – which she knows isn't working but, hey, she can always try – she confidently says, "Sure, yeah!" She internally groans. She surely sounded like a– God, she needs that alcohol.
Before anyone brings her her glass, she looks at the ocean for a while. She can hear the waves from where she's standing, which is– wow. It's strange, and it's lovely, and she never wants to leave this place ever again.
(Except if she embarrasses herself one more time. Then she could potentially be talked into leaving. Or maybe she'd–)
The woman she noticed earlier is still sitting at a table all alone. Her legs are crossed, her posture is straight, and the wind makes her hair appear messy, somehow, but Camila swears it makes her even more attractive. Her slim fingers are wrapped around a cocktail glass. Her nails are painted black, Camila notices. Her back rests against the back of the comfy looking sofa.
The candles and lights around them illuminate the woman's features. Her dress. Her hair. It's getting darker by the second, it seems, and the woman is becoming more beautiful by the second. She reminds Camila of–
"Your champagne," someone whispers behind her. It's a little gross, and Camila almost knocks the glass the waiter is holding over as she quickly turns around to face him. She apologizes, but he smiles and leaves. Thank God. She doesn't really want to see his face right now. Instead, she wants to watch– look at– what's her name? What's the gorgeous stranger's name?
And, more importantly, where has she gone? Camila looks around, but can't find her again. She's probably meddling with the rest. As should Camila be. But she isn't. She's not really one to do that – go out and drink with others, that is – as she's not an extrovert at all. But still, she should probably really go and see what the others are up to. What– what she's up to.
Why is Camila so interested in her, anyway? It's a weird kind of fascination.
She freezes for a minute. She can't exactly come up with an explanation as to why she's looked at the other woman like– like–
"Checking out the competition?" someone laughs. Camila is wrapped in a sort of side-hug immediately after the words have left the person's mouth. She squeals.
But the word competition makes her think for a second. Could that be it? That the woman is so attractive that Camila is scared she will be unbeatable competition? Surely, that must be it. It can't be anything else.
Camila looks up at– what the– "Sorry to scare you," a blonde woman is looking at her through a pair of brown eyes. She's a lot taller than her, and she's grinning, which makes her incredibly intimidating, and she– "You there?"
"Yeah, no–" Camila shakes her head to clear her thoughts, "yeah. I'm okay, sorry." What's going on? Why is she still so goddamn nervous? Now that she's here, one would think–
"Could've fooled me, with the way you– never mind."
The way she what? Camila frowns.
The woman takes Camila's hand, then, and leads them to a close-by table. Once they're sitting, and not awkwardly hugging anymore, Camila feels a lot more comfortable. She even manages to put on a small smile.
It makes her counterpart's grin even bigger. Dinah slaps Camila's upper arm jokingly and exclaims, "There she is!"
"Yeah, here I am," Camila confirms awkwardly. She rubs the spot that the woman has just touched, but eventually, her smile grows wider, too.
"I'm Dinah! But you can call me anything you like." A wink follows. Is it supposed to be teasing? A joke? Probably.
Even though she finds the line ridiculous, Camila can't help the laugh that escapes her mouth at the words. She's starting to like the woman in front of her already.
Dinah.
Wow, first Ally, now Dinah. Way to go. Making friends in a competition in which you're supposed to fight each other until only one is left. But, well, she guesses they could just fight for the Bachelor, not each other, right?
What's making a friend or two? There are enough enemies left.
"I'm Camila."
For the rest of the night, she talks to Dinah. And to Ally, occasionally. And as the time passes, as they're starting to drink more, Camila finds herself turning her head to catch glimpses of black hair and a white dress over and over again. She wonders, every now and then, why she so desperately wants to see the mysterious woman again, and why she isn't this curious about Dinah or Ally.
But, yeah, again, maybe it's just that the woman is exceptionally pretty. And Camila could never compete with her.
That must be it. That's it.