MasukCamille: My heart beat faster, but this time, for a different reason. How??? “What are you…how on earth did you…?” I stammered, touching his skin as if to convince myself he was real and not some hallucination I was having after passing out. I wouldn’t be surprised if I woke up in a hospital bed and be told none of it had happened. “Did you really think I was going to let you go through this alone?” Daniel asked with a chuckle. I hugged him tight, inhaling his scent, trying to mark him so I could cherish this tangible experience before it was taken from me. He was real. He was really here. “I was so scared,” I whispered. “I know baby,” he said regretfully. “I’m sorry. I planned to come, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it. I didn’t want to disappoint you until I was a hundred percent sure I’d be here.” I nodded, breaking the hug to look at him again. I hadn’t seen him in over a year and god he had changed. He looked more…manly. I couldn’t explain it. Look
Camille: My classmates, or do I say former classmates ran wild outside, looking, shouting and celebrating like they’d just been proclaimed winners of a war. I didn’t scream, but the smile on my face was wider than everyone else’s. We were all excited that we were basically done with school at this point, our last exam just taken, but my happiness was deeper than that. My flight to London was already booked for the next day. It was a struggle to walk home without looking like an escapee lunatic. My legs itched to skip and run, and my throat yearned to scream, but I struggled to hold everything in until I got to my apartment. Away from the infectious celebration of my other classmates, I couldn’t bear to smile too hard because no one would understand. A few of my neighbors I’d never spoken to gave me weird questioning looks when I stepped into the apartment building and I automatically tried to hide my smile. But in second thought, fuck it. Why did I care what they thought of
Camille: “I don’t know.” Her words were barely audible as they came out muffled. “You don’t know what?” I asked, my patience running thin. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Grace’s eyes met mine, the same baffled look behind them. “Lucia,” Grace called, her voice weak. She was the only one of us still standing by now. “What does that mean?” Lucia finally looked up at her. Her pupils were wide, like a puppy that had just been caught doing something wrong. “I’m sorry, Grace. She’s right. Most of what I told you were lies.” Grace’s lips trembled, but her eyes were fiery. She was broken, but furious. “Which part?” “Cam and I never dated.” “Then why did you say you did?” Lucia swallowed and looked away. “Because I wasn’t sure of us.” A lone tear fell down Grace’s cheek but she quickly wiped it. That was a very heartbreaking confession. “Two years,” she murmured, wiping more tears with more fury. It didn’t seem to stop them from coming though.
Camille: Lucia looked between Grace and I, the expression on her face unreadable. “What’s going on?” She asked. “You tell me,” Grace muttered. “Are you guys fighting again? You know you don’t have to,” she said, taking a step forward towards her girlfriend, but Grace took a step back, surprising her. For the first time, I actually realized how dumb I’d been in the past. I’d assumed that like me, Lucia didn’t want any trouble and that was why she never stepped in to set her girlfriend straight when she said things I’d assumed she’d made up in her jealous hysterical mind, but now I could see it clear as day that Lucia actually enjoyed it when Grace squabbled with me. It probably made her proud in some sick way. “Okay, now for real, tell me what the hell is going on,” Lucia said. She could tell that the tables had turned. “Have you been lying to me?” Grace asked, her eyes getting glaze with tears. Lucia narrowed her eyes. “Of course not, baby,” she said with a
Camille: I banged on my apartment door like a maniac, totally ignoring the doorbell. I could barely control myself. My chest felt like it was going to explode. I didn’t know what to do with myself. My fists were almost bloody from punching the walls and then the door, something I’d never done in my life before. Grace, Lucia’s girlfriend used the door as a shield when she opened it. There was a mousy look on her face which soon turned into indignation as she realized it was just me and not some dangerous madman. “What on earth is wrong with you! Why did you knock like that?” I pushed past her into the house and began to yell Lucia’s name. “She’s not in the house,” Carla said. “Where the hell is she then?” I snapped at her and her mousy look returned. My hands were trembling. It was probably for the best that Lucia wasn’t around. I would have done something I’d have regretted. “She…she went to get groceries,” Grace responded. “Since when does Lucia get grocerie
Camille: Clearing my throat., I regained my composure and stood up with a smile. “I’m sorry professor. Could you rephrase the question? I didn’t quite understand it,” I said, sounding as genuine as possible. I wasn’t scared because even though I no longer answered questions in class or even listened during some of the lectures, I still managed to ace all my electives. “Since we just discussed the literary device of the ‘unreliable narrator’, specifically within the context of modernist fiction,” he began, peering up at me from the top of his glasses in a way that managed to make me believe he was looking down at me. “How does Woolf, in Mrs. Dalloway, use the stream of consciousness technique to present Clarissa Dalloway's perspective as simultaneously subjective and yet a collectively resonant truth of the post-war London society?” I swore I could see a smirk on his ‘gotcha’ face. My brain began to work, but must have taken my momentary silence as ignorance. The rest







