Cameron didn't know if it was the pulsing headache, the brain fog, or just a fleeting moment of clarity, but she found herself staring at her phone, thumbs hovering over the screen. Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed a brief message to her boss.
Cameron: [I'm putting in my resignation. I'll stay to train my replacement.]
She hit send before she could think twice.
Seconds passed. Then minutes. She barely registered the tight feeling in her chest, the regret already settling in like an old friend. What had she just done?
It didn't matter. It wasn't like she had some deep attachment to the job. The next step was obvious—she opened a job posting site and began sending out applications. It didn't matter where, didn't matter what, as long as the pay was better and the work was mindless. Something to fill the time while she continued sleepwalking through life.
This was normal, right? People left jobs all the time. Moving on was part of growing. Or maybe she was just telling herself that to make sense of the reckless decision she'd just made.
She wandered to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, staring down her reflection again. It hadn't changed. Not really. She still looked haunted, still felt like a body with no compass. A ghost in her own life.
The weight of reality pressed in quickly. She needed a distraction. Something, anything, to pull her away from the consequences of her own choices. And she knew exactly where to find it.
She spent the night drifting from bar to bar, chasing the same high she always did—cheap drinks, flirtatious smiles, the promise of temporary affection. But it was one of those dry nights. The kind she loathed. The kind that made her feel restless, empty, unsatisfied.
She tried texting Georgina. No answer. Maya. Left on read. Even Carey, who usually replied in seconds, sent back a half-hearted excuse.
With each rejection, her frustration curdled into something sharper. She walked home with her fists clenched in her jacket pockets, teeth grinding together. It wasn't about the girls. It never had been. It was about the noise—the distraction. And tonight, she couldn't find it.
By the time she stumbled into her apartment, frustration had turned into something uglier. The internal tantrum became external, objects crashing against the walls, breaking against the floor.
"Why?" she hissed, voice raw. "Why, why, why?"
She didn't know who she was talking to. Herself? The universe? Whoever was in charge of making sure her life remained a monotonous hell?
Her hands trembled as she sank to the floor. She needed to feel something. Needed proof that she was still here. The blade was where she always left it. Cold, familiar.
She lost track of time. Lost track of how many lines she'd added to the map of her body. When exhaustion finally overtook her, she collapsed against the cold tile of her bathroom floor, the taste of copper faint on her tongue.
Morning came too soon. The alarm screamed, demanding she get up, demanding she pretend she was fine.
Pills. Energy drink. Shower. Paint on the mask.
She arrived at work just as Cheyenne was launching into one of her usual monologues.
Cameron barely listened until she heard something that made her stomach turn.
"Oh! You'll never guess what—I got my friend hired as your replacement! It'll be so easy for you to train her, you'll barely have to do anything."
Cheyenne beamed, waiting for some sign of gratitude. Cameron forced a dry laugh. "Guess I owe you one."
She didn't care. Not about the new hire, not about how easy or difficult the transition would be. The bare minimum was all she had left to offer.
She was already halfway out the door. She just didn't know where she was going next.