I get her up against me and she makes a sound into my mouth that goes straight down through me.
I let go of the distance I've kept since the courtyard, and she feels it the second it's gone.
She gasps and pulls me harder, because this is what she asked for.
This is her steering by telling me not to hold the wheel so carefully.
It's still hers. All of it. She handed me more of it.
We get each other's clothes off between the door and the bed.
I get to see her in the low light. All of her. The scars, the sharp bones, the freckle low by her mouth I've had memorized since I was a boy.
She watches me look.
Tonight she doesn't turn her back to test me, because there's no test left.
She lets me look, and she looks back, both of us seeing the other one whole the night before we might not get another.
"I love you." She says it again and pulls me down onto the bed with her. Over her.
When I catch my weight on my forearms she doesn't drag me down.
She wraps herself around me and takes me down with her, both of us going together, her heel hooked hard against the back of my thigh.
It isn't slow. It isn't gentle.
It's two people who found each other across a whole ocean of hurt, saying one thing with everything they've got.
Stay alive. Come back to me. Don't you dare not come back to me.
She says my name into my neck, over and over. Finn. Finn.
I give her hers back, all of it. Camila. The way her mother said it.
She comes apart with her nails in my back and her legs locked around me and my name in her mouth.
I go over right behind her, with her arms holding on so tight I can feel her heart slamming against my chest like it's trying to get out of her and into me, where it'd be safe.
After, she doesn't let go.
She keeps me right where I am, wrapped up in her, breathing hard against my throat.
There's wetness on her face and it's not the sad kind.
I hold my weight off her and stay inside the circle of her arms and let her keep me as long as she wants.
"This is how I want to remember it." She says it into the dark. "If it goes bad tomorrow. Not the hole. This. You."
"You won’t have to remember it. Everything will be fine, Mila."
"I hope so." She tips her head back and looks at me. "But if it is—this is the one I'm taking with me. Not any of the rest of it.This."
We don't sleep.
We lie tangled up in the dark with the club gone silent around us and four o'clock coming for us like a train, and we don't waste any of it sleeping.
She talks. More than I've ever heard out of her.
