C A M I L L E
(Ca-mill)

It was raining that day.

The church procession had left, leaving only the teenagers and two youth group ministers in the narthex of St. Mary's Catholic Church. As usual, the boys were fooling around with one another, and the girls were chatting in the plush armchairs lining the walls.

I was the one, however, that was absentmindedly texting in the corner of the room. In my case, it was Gavin Stroop, whom I had been texting for weeks, and I was certain that he would ask me to the spring formal in a few months.

Mrs. Humphries, one of the few youth group people that actually talked to me, walked over to me. I didn't look at her, my eyes still focused on the keyboard in front of me, but I saw her walk up to me. I clicked my phone off and set it down in my lap, then looked up. Her gaze was fragile, like she felt bad that I was just sitting there, and I was the only one not socializing.

I had never been one to socialize, and the youth group, my mother hoped, would give me some social status.

You see, that didn't work too well.

Humphries would say, "Okay. You may talk quietly among yourselves." That, to me, meant get back to texting Gavin. She didn't like that, though I had explained to her — many, many times — that I was an antisocial pessimist and that it was best to just leave me alone.

My phone vibrated in my lap, and I had to fight the urge to pick it up and answer Gavin, because if I didn't, he would a) think something was wrong or b) just stop texting me. I wasn't willing to take the chance, so I folded my hands in my lap and silently prayed that she would go away.

"Hello, Camille," she said, her voice a sorry attempt at mellifluous and kind. "How are you?"

I clenched my teeth hard, and they ground together so hard I was certain they would crack under pressure. "I'm fine," I replied. I fought the urge to continue, "Now you can leave."

She smiled even wider, to the point where it was getting sort of creepy. "Having fun?" Her piercing blue eyes traled down to the phone in my lap and her grin got bigger — if that was possible.

"Sure," I said nonchalantly. "Well, I was before my youth group minister rudely interrupted my conversation with one of my friends."

Humphries looked extremely taken aback by this, and I stifled the triumphant smile that tugged at my lips, but then she began to laugh.

No, it wasn't one of those laughs that you had when you found something funny. Or maybe it was, but it sounded in no way humourous. My comment wasn't either, and she laughed regardless. I didn't understand it in any way, but she was gone before another snarky response escaped my lips.

I returned to my phone, where two notifications were displayed on the screen. Both were texts from Gavin, each one exactly what I expected.

So what's up? - 12:34

Cam? - 12:42

I texted back that everything was fine, and explained what happened with Mrs Humphries. Clicking off my phone, I looked around.

I was alone.

Well, except for the stray Humphries boy here or there. Joey, the oldest one of the lot, snatched my phone from my fingers, a sinister smirk playing on his lips.

"Why hello, Camille," he said, that always annoying smirk on his face. "You're looking pretty."

Now Joey was a senior, and I a freshman, so the age difference was uncomfortable to me. Also, Zach, the youngest Humphries boy, liked to call him, a "seven-foot god," which was actually true.

And to me, being stuck at a mere 5'4, that was scary.

Terrifying.

He had dark brown hair, and his eyes were a colour that matched. He was thin — very thin — and when I had hugged him once, his chest shook with the force of his heartbeat. Joey was handsome, I would give him that, but his cockiness drowned it out.

He twirled the phone between his fingers as it vibrated once more, and I prayed that he didn't notice.

I rolled my eyes, snatching my iPhone from his grip with ease. "What do you want?" I groaned, stuffing the device in the back pocket of my jeans.

"C'mere," he murmured, taking my arm in his hand and pulling me through the door that led to the main hallway.

There were two staircases; one led to the basement, and the other to Luherman Hall. He led me down the one that led to the basement, his grip steel-tight on my arm. I struggled against him, thrashing and squealing, kicking and wrestling, but he wouldn't let go. His grip even tightened on my wrist.

"Calm down," he murmured, pulling me closer to him. He was so warm, so comfortable, that half of me didn't want to let go. The other half, however, was screaming for me to just kick him.

Joey's hand fell to my waist, surprisingly warm against my bare skin. His hand tried to sneak up my t-shirt, but I put my hand to his wrist.

"What're you doing?" I hissed.

His voice was low, husky in my ear. "Relax, Camille."

"No!" I retorted quietly. I didn't want anyone to know I was down there. "Get off of me."

"Why?" He began to nip at my ear, and though it felt better than I'd wanted it to, I pushed him off.

I stepped back. "I'm not having sex with you."

He shook his head. "Who said anything about sex? I wanted to experiment something."

"What?" I cocked a brow.

Joey grabbed my wrist, pulling me back toward him. "Kiss me," he muttered roughly.

"Why?"

"You ask too many questions," he said. "I've never kissed anyone, and I want to know what it feels like."

Him? He was too handsome to have never kissed a girl, but maybe it was true. I shrugged. One little kiss wouldn't hurt.

"Fine," I grumbled, crossing my arms.

Joey looped a strong arm around my waist, pulling me close. I felt his warm breath against my cheek as he whispered, "Okay?"

"Okay," I whispered back, shaking, because I'd never kissed anyone either.

He leaned in slowly, but I was too eager and crashed my lips onto his. His kiss was urgent, his tongue delving into mine with expert touch, and I knew he was lying about the whole kiss-virgin thing.

He set his hands on my hips, moving them slowly down until they were poised on my butt. I gasped, then pulled away, my lips throbbing and heart pumping too fast for my body.

"C'mon, Valentino," he said, stepping closer. "Don't be a prude."

I slipped away from him, backing up into the wall. "I'm not a prude. But unlike you, I'm not a whore either."

With that, I left him in the basement, texting my mom that our Youth Group meeting was done, and that she needed to pick me up.

+ + +

Since then, I've seen Joey at multiple church events, but never paid attention enough to actually care what he's doing. I'm dating Gavin now, a month later, and he hasn't tried to go all the way yet, though many have deemed him as a fuckboy, and me a whore for dating him. I don't care.

I'd rather be a so-called prude than a girl that sleeps with a guy before the second date. Because that's the kind of girl that guys go for. I'm happy to be with someone who likes me for me, and not for my sexual abilities.

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» awfully written, but a true story. don't think i'm slut-shaming either. i only said that to insult joey, not to cast shame on those people.
all the best,
camille

Hey all! What you just read was by the lovely diabolics
She's be waiting a long while for me to post this, and sorry to her, and all of you for the wait! How was the chapter? Did you like it! I did!
And hey! You aren't a slut if you sleep with someone on the second date. It's your body and do what you will with it! Like Cam said, she didn't mean any harm to it, and if you are offended by it, I apologize that you felt that way, but if you have anything nasty to say in the comments, it won't be taken lightly.
Sorry to sound harsh!
ALSO IT'S JOSH DUNS BIRTHDAY SO THANK JOSH FOR THE UPDATE BECAUSE I'MUP AT 3 am CELEBRATING!!!! (Meaning reblogs get Josh stuff on Tumblr, but same thing.)
Love you a Lottie!!