Camila's Pov

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Drop.

I've somehow come to associate the rhythmic sound with the passage of seconds, though there could be many minutes between each. Your sense of time is one of the first things to go down here, right between your tears your sanity. To keep my joints from freezing up, I nod my head to the pattern, eyes shut to avoid catching the unnerving stare of the others in the room.

Drip.

My head lulls in anticipation for the next sound, but it doesn't come. Stuck mid-bob, I frown, looking around from behind my eyelids.

The pipe just dried out, the logical part of me reasons, that's all.

Because I'm always so lucky, the realistic half counters

I draw my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms tightly around them, fingers tapping against my thighs. A quiet electrical buzz sparks up, causes my head to shoot back up, eyes widening like saucers. The light is on. It definitely wasn't before. That's made clear by the pounding in my head as my vision strains to adjust. Gulping, I give the room a once-over, poorly-trained eyes searching for any sign of another presence in the room. Then, I see him. Hanging in the corner of the room, hidden partially by the oddly shaped walls, is Papi's latest student, a sanguine trail running down his upper lip, a puddle beneath him. I guess he wasn't smart enough to find the knife in his own pocket.

Lauren's Pov

"Ms Hamilton!" I call, hurrying after the woman as she disappears around the side of the building. "Ms Hamilton, wait!"

I break into a jog to catch up with her, rounding the corner to see her approaching a taupe convertible car.

She quirks a brow but smiles a little. "Dr Jauregui, what can I do for you?"

"I..." I stop once I'm within a respectable distance from her, bending to catch my breath for a moment. "I have something you might be able to use in Camila's case," I explain, already reaching into my bag for her file.

Ms Hamilton only briefly looks over the papers before she returns her gaze to me, search further explanation.

"Mood disorders, likely caused by her abusive childhood and—"

She frowns, which leads me to do the same. "When you say abusive..."

"Physically, emotionally; severely. She hasn't told me much but from what she has, it's no wonder she's turned out the way she has. But... you'll be able to use that, right?"

She looks back at the papers and purses her lips in thought. "I might be able to push for diminished capacity, but it will be a push. This does help, though. Can you have it faxed to me?"

"Of course!"

"Thank you, Dr Jauregui."

She holds the file back out to me and I take it with a smile. "Lauren, please. And thank you, Ms Hamilton."

She grins, reaching into her handbag for a set of keys. "If we're on a first-name basis, call me Normani."

"Okay." I nod, my feet already slowly leading me towards the prison entrance. "Have a nice day, Normani."

"You too." She turns to her car, and I once again jog in order to make my way around to the front doors, eager to get to see Camila again.

As soon as I step through the door into the halls of the prison, I'm hit with the sound of guttural screaming. Although I've not heard it before, I know it's Camila. Before I can think, I take off towards the source of the sound and find her gripping desperately to the doorframe of the interrogation room, body horizontal as she's held in the air by strong guards.

"Camila?" I call, and she immediately falls into silence, eyes searching wildly until they find me. Her hair is even more of a mess than usual, some strands laying across her reddened face, and pale lines running down her cheeks act as a sign that she's been crying. The guards don't let up, which means her knuckles stay bone white as she grips as hard as she can. Only when I command, "let her go," do they lower her feet to the ground, allowing her to hobble over to me, tossing herself against me so that I have to wrap my arms around her to catch her.

"They wouldn't let me see you," she mutters, gripping the front of my jacket with her cuffed hands, eyes closed as she lays her head against my chest.

I look to the guards accusingly, but one sighs and runs a hand over his almost-bald head. "She has to shower."

I nod, looking back down to her, but she shakes her head ferociously. "Don't wanna."

I keep my voice soft. "You have to."

Again, she shakes her head. "You come with me."

Sighing, I push her away from me slightly and send a nod of confirmation to the men. Taking her hand in mine, though she quickly wraps it between both of hers, I follow the officers as they lead us almost all the way to her cell, stopping on the first floor and turning down an unfamiliar hall. They stop outside of a door marked 'Shower Block B' and gesture towards it. Before I can step inside, one stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

"Should I call for female backup?" He offers, his eyes confused and almost disgusted as he looks to the girl once again leaning into me. I shake my head, thank him, and lead her inside. A distant, rhythmic drip of water bounces off the sickly-yellow tile walls of the empty bathroom, and I cringe at the stained walls and floor.

When the door finally shuts and she still clings to me, my brows furrow in concern.

"Are you okay?" I ask, but she only nods and grips me tighter. "What's going on?"

She takes a deep breath, pressing her forehead against my shoulder. "I told the attorney." When I stay silent, she continues, "I told her everything... how I did it. I think she's going to leave."

"Well, that's odd because I just spoke with her outside about how we can save you."

I feel her forehead crease before I see it when she steps back and looks up at me, head tilted slightly.

"But—"

"I'm not going to let you die, Camila. I'm going to do everything I can to help keep you safe and healthy, and right now that means you have to shower."

She shakes her head and steps back once more. "But I- I killed my own parents," she stammers, eyes darting all around the room before landing on my chest—less an intentional focus and more in a simple attempt to avoid my gaze, "and- and with a hammer, of all ways, I-"

"A hammer?" I can't help but ask. She gulps and nods.

"Remember that time you asked me to go back to a memory? I didn't mean to, but I went back to then." Her eyes glaze over and she looks down to the floor, her fingers following the now-familiar wave-like pattern. When she lets out a sob, I rush forward and pull her into my arms, even pressing a kiss against her forehead against my better judgement.

"It's okay," I mumble, running my hands up and down her back as she cries. "It's alright. It's over."

"It's not!" She shrieks, pushing me away and stumbling back on her feet. "It's not okay, it's not. I killed them and now they're gonna kill me."

Cautiously, I question, "When you, uh... did it, did you want to? Did you feel in control?"

She shakes her head wildly, and a small weight leaves my chest. I've no doubt she'll tell the court what she did, no matter what Normani does to try to convince her otherwise, but if she truly sticks to the truth, she'll stick to that too, and that could be her saving grace. Her loss of control could actually put her back in control.