abby addams (ayuda) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2017-10-10 20:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, r * laura, r: camila trujillo |
WHO: Camila Trujillo
WHEN: 10/10
WHERE: On the bus back from D.C.
SUMMARY: Another memory! This time of Luke.
WARNINGS: Nope!
To her mother’s dismay, fall break hadn’t meant a trip back to Miami. Instead, Camila had hopped on a bus to Washington D.C. When her mother had tried to suggest that she take time off from the restaurant to keep her daughter company (“to make sure you’re not alone” had been Soledad’s exact words) in the nation’s capital, Camila had brushed the idea off. Soledad was needed at home, and besides, Camila wasn’t alone. A handful of other law students had decided to make a long weekend of it. Not that the company of strangers really put her mother’s mind at ease, no matter how much Camila told her about them. This was the nice thing about living far away: her mother couldn’t actually hop on a plane and come see her immediately. If she’d stayed in Miami, she never would have been rid of her. Camila had filled the weekend with trips to museums and to the monuments on the National Mall, taking time to stop by the White House (from outside the fence, anyway) for a selfie of herself giving it the middle finger. Wearing her politically-charged t-shirts got her more high fives and fist bumps than she could count (in retrospect, she should have tallied up the high fives vs dirty looks), and it reminded her why she’d wanted to go into law in the first place. She hadn’t needed much of a reminder -- the current political climate provided more than enough fuel on a daily basis, as did crises in communities near and dear to her heart -- but being in the nation’s capital drew it all in focus again. She’d considered leaving, more than once in the last month and a half. She could have been out there on the streets more if she hadn’t been in school. As the bus took her back out of town, Camila wondered if it wasn’t perspective that she’d been looking for. It wasn’t about doing good right now; it was about being able to do the most good. She was not good at being patient. The bus rolled onto Interstate 395 South, headed towards Virginia and the suburbs. Camila had claimed a window seat, figuring she deserved that much for her first trip to D.C. She kept her eyes glued to the scenery as the bus crossed the Potomac and drove by the Pentagon, the last remaining markers that this was a specific city. She watched as the buildings gave way to more and more trees, her eyelids drooping the farther into Virginia they got. These roads were unfamiliar territory, but Claire had her mind set on one thing: getting Luke to Dr. Burstein. She knew she’d find her way; she had to, in order to save Luke. They’d made it to Georgia, at least. Finally. The trees were bare, and the rocky outcrops had bits of snow clinging to them. Claire hardly noticed. What drew her attention more was the groan coming from Luke’s lips as he struggled to fight the pain. She reached for his hand, clutching it tightly to her side, trying to give him something else to focus on. “These wounds are kicking my ass.” “You know it passed before,” she told him, taking her eyes off the road for a second, “it’s gonna pass again, okay? I promise.” “Can I get that with a moneyback guarantee?” He laughed, even though it hurt. Claire didn’t know how he could keep his sense of humor in a time like this, but she appreciated it all the same. She certainly didn’t have it in her. “Breathe.” She demonstrated for him and watched his face relax for a second before looking back at the road ahead of them. “See, you got this.” He was quiet for a moment, looking out the window. “What if this is a one-way trip?” That was not an option, as far as Claire was concerned. She’d gone to great lengths to save him already; she was not about to give up now, or even consider that they’d run out of options. No, Luke needed to believe that it was possible -- that they could find the answer, that his time wasn’t running out. She wasn’t giving up that easily. Harlem needed him too much. “Hey, hey, you are gonna make it, you hear me? You’re gonna make it just fine. We’re gonna fix this. You’re not dying in my mom’s car, okay.” The bus rocked, jolting Camila out of her snooze. Blearily, she blinked. She’d driven this road before, with -- Camila frowned. No, she’d never driven this way before, not with anyone. Not unless she counted the bus ride up to D.C., but that wasn’t where her mind first went. Rattled, she pulled out her iPhone and her headphones, slipping them on before she turned on her music. It wouldn’t be much longer before they got back to Woodbridge, thankfully, and then she could get back to studying and forget all about that dream. What was it with her subconscious and bleeding men? |