The morning light crept in through the cracks in the blinds, casting muted shadows across the room. The warmth of the night before had long since dissipated, replaced by the heavy silence of the present. Jasmine sat on the edge of the bed, her back turned to Cameron, dressing quickly. The movement was sharp, almost too quick. It didn't take long for Cameron's mind to fully register the emptiness that had settled into the air.
Her heart still thudded, the aftereffects of their shared night thick in her veins, but something was wrong. There was a hollowness in Jasmine's posture, an unease that Cameron couldn't quite place. As Jasmine pulled on her shirt, she glanced at Cameron's naked body sprawled on the bed, but the reaction was not the one Cameron expected. There was no warmth, no playful smile, no lingering spark. There was only a strange, quiet dread.
Cameron stretched her arms and yawned, the haze of sleep still clinging to her thoughts. She could feel the weight of the morning pushing down on her, the awkwardness that was now hanging between them like a heavy curtain. But all Cameron could feel was triumph. The dream, the fantasy, the thing she had wanted for so long—it was real. She was here. She was hers.
"Good morning," Cameron said, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep and the satisfaction she felt in her body.
But Jasmine didn't respond with her usual easy banter. Instead, she pulled at the collar of her shirt, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned her back on Cameron. She looked almost distant now, as though she were somewhere else entirely. Cameron blinked, trying to clear the fog from her mind.
Jasmine's shoulders tensed. She took a deep breath before she spoke, the words faltering, clumsy.
"I… I'm sorry," Jasmine began, her voice barely above a whisper. "This—what happened last night… it shouldn't have happened. I regret it. I really do."
Cameron's chest tightened at the words. Regret. That word. The one that could crush her entire existence in a heartbeat. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jasmine kept talking, her voice shaking as she continued.
"You're my best friend, Cameron. I don't want that to change. I don't want things to be weird between us. I—" She paused, her voice cracking. "I just… I just need to forget about it. Forget that it ever happened."
Cameron stared at her, frozen. The heat from their encounter still burned in her veins, but the words that followed turned that heat into something cold and suffocating. Jasmine regretted it. Jasmine didn't want her. Cameron's mind spiraled, the pieces of reality she'd so carefully constructed falling apart in an instant.
"Please, Cameron," Jasmine pleaded, her voice desperate now. "Can we just forget this? Go back to how we were before? Please."
The sentence made no sense.
How things were didn't exist anymore.
But Cameron couldn't say that. Couldn't bear the thought of Jasmine looking at her with disgust.
The tears in Jasmine's eyes glistened, and for a second, Cameron could've sworn she saw something flicker in her—guilt, shame, fear. But it was gone so quickly, and Jasmine's face shifted into something calmer, more controlled. Her tears had already begun to dry, but the damage was done.
Cameron's heart hammered. She couldn't breathe. It felt like the floor had opened up beneath her, and she was falling, falling into nothing. She stared at Jasmine's face, trying to find some clue, some answer that would make this better. She wanted to shout, to demand an explanation, to force Jasmine to admit that she didn't really regret it, that she wanted her, that last night had meant something. But Cameron couldn't do that. She couldn't show how badly she was cracking inside.
So, she did what she had always done. She put on the mask.
She bit her cheek hard to stop the tears that were threatening to spill, and when she spoke, her voice was calm, too calm.
"It's no big deal, Jasmine. I'm not the type to linger on things like this. I'll forget. It's fine," she said, each word slipping out like a lie she told herself over and over again. "I'm fine."
Jasmine let out a soft, shaky breath of relief, her posture relaxing. Like she'd just gotten away with something. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice small. "Thank you so much for understanding."
But Cameron didn't understand. Cameron wasn't fine. She wasn't anything. She was just a shell, hollowed out by the cruel, sharp edge of rejection. Jasmine moved around the room like she hadn't just detonated something between them. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and smoothed out her jeans. Her body language was casual. Her eyes said nothing.
Cameron watched her from the bed, still naked, still reeling. She felt like an exhibit—on display and unacknowledged.
The awkward silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating. Cameron could feel the weight of her own inadequacy pressing down on her, each breath feeling like an anchor dragging her deeper into despair. She tried to make the goodbye less painful, to pretend like it didn't matter, but it was inevitable. It felt like a goodbye—like the last time she'd ever be able to stand in the same room with Jasmine without this gaping wound between them.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Cameron turned and grabbed her things, leaving Jasmine's apartment that smelled like sex and heartbreak, with the same numb expression she had worn for weeks now. She didn't say goodbye. She couldn't.
Back at her apartment, the void in Cameron's chest was still there, growing wider and deeper with every passing second. She couldn't think straight. Her body was alive with the echoes of last night, but her mind was a blur of confusion and self-loathing. She couldn't process what had happened, couldn't process the betrayal of her own feelings.
She popped a handful of pills, swallowing them without even thinking about it. It didn't help. Nothing helped. Her heart still hurts. Her chest was still tight with the crushing weight of Jasmine's rejection, the way she'd tossed Cameron aside like it meant nothing, like Cameron didn't matter.
Cameron couldn't breathe. Her fingers trembled as she grabbed a bottle of whiskey from her counter, pouring herself a drink and swallowing it in one swift motion. She felt the burn as it slid down her throat, and it was just a little bit easier to breathe. Just a little.
But it wasn't enough.
She threw things around her apartment. She didn't care. The noise, the chaos, it made her feel something other than this numbness, this painful emptiness. She wanted to scream. She wanted to break something. She wanted to hurt herself, to punish herself for needing someone who didn't even want her.
Her hands shook as she found the razor blade, and before she could even think about it, she pressed it into her skin, creating another scar, another mark to add to the pile. It was a temporary release, a fleeting moment of control.
When the anger and the pain began to subside, when the world felt like it was just a little bit quieter, she pulled herself together, wiping the tears away. Her phone buzzed on the counter, but she didn't need to look at it.
Except, somehow, her fingers moved without her consent. She grabbed it, opened her contacts, and dialed a number. She didn't even check who it was.
Rosalie's name flashed on the screen.
Cameron pressed the phone to her ear, her face blank, her expression empty. She couldn't feel anything anymore. Not really. Not since Jasmine had torn everything apart.
The phone rang. And Cameron waited.