WHO: Julián Rojas and Camila Marple. WHEN: After this conversation. WHERE: Camila’s room at the Inn. SUMMARY: All aboard the Bad Life Decisions Train! WARNINGS: Drinking. Certain implied activities at the end.
“-- and that’s how I got this.” Camila clumsily set down the bottle she’d been trying to pour a shot out of and pointed to a section of pajama top just near her shoulder. “Oh -- it’s under,” she rolled up the sleeve to show off a faint scar. “You see.”
“Ouch.” Julián made a face, and peered over with interest. That was new. To him. Camila hadn’t had that when they were married, he was pretty sure. “I got a scar on my foot when I was at the beach this one time.” He lifted his left leg to show off the groove along the heel. “Hurt like a motherfucker.”
Camila leaned forward to inspect the faded injury. “Very rugged.” She nodded approvingly before pouring out the shot and downing it. A second later she coughed out a question. “How did it happen?”
He took another shot to match her, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before glancing absently at the old wound in question. “I was cliff diving and a sharp rock at the bottom tore through my shoe.”
“Shit,” she leaned forward to peer at the scar once again before leaning back with an exaggerated slowness. Camila had reached the point where every shot was starting to catch up with her. “At least you got a good story out of it? Or if it’s not a good one you can always embellish.”
“Of course I have a good story,” Julián scoffed, leaning back carefully until his back hit the headboard. “I did a front flip on a dare off a cliff with the battle scar to prove it.”
Camila responded with a drunken pfffttt. “Everyone has a dare story. It would be better if you were running from someone -- or chasing after someone.”
He frowned, narrowing his eyebrows before elbowing Camila in the ribs. “All right, fine. How would you make it better?”
Her mouth stretched into an O but the ouch that followed wasn’t quite audible. She leaned back into the headboard and stretched one hand out as she started to speak. “I would say you were recreating that part in that movie -- you know.” What was it called…? She wasn’t sure, but she did pinch his arm as she thought. “Butch. And the kid. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Film Festival. When they jump off the cliff… you know?”
“Huh.” Julián considered this. “I like it.” He took another drink to celebrate. “Good thinking, Marple.”
“Thanks, Rojas.” Camila raised a brow and reached for the bottle.
“Any other good stories?” He handed it to her helpfully.
She took the bottle with a nod of thanks and poured another shot as slowly as she could manage. “Scar stories…?” Camila’s gaze swept up and down her own arms before she shrugged. “No. You’ve heard all of the others.”
“In general,” he clarified.
“They’re all,” she shrugged again. “I could tell you about the time I met Tom Cruise or Julia Roberts.” She didn’t sound thrilled at the prospect. “Famous people are mostly just weird. You tell me something.”
“This is my life, Camila. I have no new stories.” Julián slumped back in his seat, feeling tempted to slip into his pity party, party of one.
If she’d been sober Camila would have thought out a careful reply, but, she wasn’t and before she threw back the shot she was holding she scoffed. “Who’s fault is that?”
“Mine.” He said dolefully.
For some reason she’d expected outrage. Maybe she’d just been away too long. Camila wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and turned her head to look at him. “So, fix it.”
If he’d been sober, he probably would have been angry at the question, but drunk!Julián was a sad sack and much more likely to be honest with himself and everyone around him. “When? How? It’s not like I can just leave.”
“That’s your problem,” Camila pointed as he said the last word. “That. Is. Your. Problem.” Her index finger tapped his arm lightly. “You’re giving up without trying.” She hugged the bottle. “What’s something that would make you happy right now?”
“You.” He said without thinking. “Talking to you makes me happy.”
A flutter and a frown. She could almost feel her face droop. Her fingers tapped against his arm again before she looked up. “I missed you.”
Julián gazed down at Camila with a wan smile, his skin icy hot where her fingers rested. “I missed you too.”
Camila leaned closer and offered a confidential, fuzzy whisper. “It would be a bad idea, right?”
“Probably.” But there he was, gently prying the bottle of vodka out of her arms and setting it on the nightstand anyway. Like an idiot.
A probably wasn’t enough to stop her, a solid argument might have worked, a list of who might get hurt and why it should be avoided. But probably wasn’t even a promise, it was just a possibility.
A roll of the dice didn’t sound half bad.
Camila sat up straight as he deposited the bottle on the nightstand. “I’ll risk it.”