It started innocently enough.
Everything with Jasmine always did.
They had slipped into an effortless rhythm of contact—texts first thing in the morning, random calls during lunch, after-work drinks, late-night memes. What once felt like a special, rare escape from the everyday noise had morphed into something more constant. More consuming.
Cameron found herself addicted.
Jasmine's warmth was like a drug. Her voice, her laugh, the way she said Cameron's name—it hit the bloodstream fast and sweet, and Cameron chased it harder every day. She had never experienced anyone like her. So calm, so radiant, so naturally good at being wanted. And beneath it all, just the faintest hum of something else—something darker, unsettled, unfinished.
Cameron didn't understand it yet.
Didn't want to.
Not when it felt this good to be near her.
They started seeing each other almost daily. It didn't matter what the plan was—brunch, bookstore wanderings, impromptu thrifting, Jasmine showing up with takeout and a breezy "Let's do something stupid". Cameron said yes every time.
And when Jasmine came over, when she slipped off her shoes and made herself comfortable in Cameron's space, something shifted.
It wasn't the chaos of her presence—it was the comfort.
Jasmine didn't ask for permission. She opened cabinets, flipped through Cameron's records, ran her fingers along the spines of her books like they held secrets she already knew.
It was intimate. Too intimate.
Cameron wasn't used to letting people see her like this. Her apartment had always been her controlled environment—her curated world. Jasmine, with her messy charm and thoughtless ease, cracked through that without even noticing.
And Cameron let her.
Even when it made her feel exposed.
Then came the night Jasmine found the remnants of Rosalie.
Cameron hadn't even thought to hide anything—she'd been too distracted, too high on Jasmine's presence. They'd just come back from dinner, tipsy on overpriced cocktails and fizzy laughter, and Jasmine had wandered into the bathroom while Cameron kicked off her boots.
She didn't hear anything at first.
Just the soft click of the door. The faint sound of water running. And then—too much silence.
When Jasmine stepped back into the hallway, she was holding something.
Rosalie's lipstick.
It was a deep plum shade—nearly black—and unmistakably not Jasmine's.
Cameron's stomach dropped.
Jasmine looked at it, then at Cameron, her brow furrowed just slightly before her expression smoothed back into something unreadable.
"You had company?" she asked lightly, her voice teasing, almost sing-song. But there was a tiny shift in her tone. Something cool beneath the warmth.
Cameron's throat tightened. "Yeah. Just… a friend."
It sounded like a lie.
Because it was.
Jasmine gave a small nod and placed the lipstick on the entry table like it had no weight at all. But the energy in the room shifted. Not enough to break anything—just enough to tighten the air.
Cameron smiled too hard. Changed the subject too quickly. Pretended nothing had happened.
But something had.
That was the first crack.
The second came only a few days later.
Jasmine showed up at Cameron's door without warning, eyes tired, sweater sleeves pulled over her hands. She looked smaller than usual—folded in on herself. The light in her eyes was dimmer.
"I just… needed to get out of there," she said, already stepping inside. "I hope that's okay."
Cameron nodded, heart thudding, unsure whether to feel excited or worried.
Jasmine collapsed onto the couch, curling into herself, her voice flat. "I don't know why I even bother."
"What happened?"
Jasmine didn't answer right away. Just hugged her knees, staring blankly ahead.
"Andrew. It doesn't matter."
But it did.
Cameron sat beside her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. "You deserve better than him," she said, softer than she meant to.
Jasmine let out a brittle laugh. "Maybe I don't know what 'better' even looks like anymore."
The sentence sliced something open in Cameron.
She wanted to fix it. To fix her.
But Jasmine was coming undone, and Cameron could only sit in the storm.
She hesitated, then reached out, her fingers brushing Jasmine's back—barely a touch, just enough to say I'm here without saying too much.
Jasmine flinched, not violently, but enough to make Cameron's hand retreat slightly.
"I'm here," Cameron said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to go through this alone."
Jasmine turned to look at her, and Cameron stilled.
Her eyes were wet. Glassy. Red-rimmed.
But behind that—rawness. Realness. The mask was gone.
"I don't know why I'm telling you all this," Jasmine said, a shaky smile tugging at her lips. "I barely even know you."
But Cameron didn't care. Because in that moment, she did feel known. Important. Chosen.
That small slip meant more than any kiss could've.
In the days that followed, everything grew messier.
Not chaotic—not loud.
But dense. Heavy with implication.
Jasmine kept coming around. Sometimes she brought wine. Sometimes she brought nothing but herself, barefoot and soft-spoken and emotionally frayed.
She started staying longer.
Resting her head on Cameron's shoulder when they watched TV. Laughing a little too hard. Touching her hand just a little too often. Sitting close enough that Cameron could feel the electricity between them crackle like static.
And Cameron?
She didn't pull away.
She craved it. All of it.
The affection. The attention. The flickers of vulnerability.
But along with the sweetness, something darker crept in.
Cameron started noticing the signs—anxiety behind Jasmine's eyes when her phone buzzed. The way she clammed up at the mention of Andrew. The way she could switch from glowing to silent in the span of a minute.
And Cameron felt it like a mirror.
That familiar spiral. That fracture beneath the surface.
She didn't just see Jasmine's cracks—she recognized them.
And it terrified her.
She couldn't stop thinking about Jasmine when she wasn't there. Couldn't stop refreshing her messages, dissecting her tone, rereading conversations to find hidden meaning.
The obsession had returned in full force. But now it wore a different face.
It wasn't just wanting Jasmine.
It was wanting to be the one who saved her. The one she turned to. The one who could make it all better.
That kind of closeness was addictive.
And toxic.
But Cameron didn't care.
Not when Jasmine was holding her hand on the couch, eyes closed, breathing steady. Not when she leaned her head on Cameron's shoulder and whispered, "I feel safe with you."
Those four words were all it took.
Cameron let the line between friendship and something else vanish completely.
And if Jasmine noticed?
She didn't say a word.