Rosalie picked up on the third ring, her voice smooth but laced with something sharp, something knowing.
"Daylight," she mused. "Didn't think you knew how to function when the sun was up."
Cameron exhaled shakily, fingers pressing into her forehead. "Can you come over?" Her voice was thin, nearly lost between them.
There was a pause. Not one of shock—Rosalie had anticipated this—but of something closer to disappointment. Then, a sigh. "Yeah."
Rosalie knew exactly what she would find.
The wrecked apartment. Shattered glass like breadcrumbs leading to the epicenter. And there, in the dim glow of the bathroom, Cameron—curled up on the tile, her legs shaking, her skin marked with the newest additions to a history written in silence.
Rosalie stood in the doorway, silhouetted in the light. She didn't sigh in shock. She sighed like someone stuck in traffic. Like someone who'd already seen this happen—on loop, in endless reruns.
Still, she crouched beside her. Still, she moved.
The towel she used was damp and cold, pressed with care but no tenderness. She cleaned the blood from Cameron's arms with the efficiency of someone who had done it before. Someone who had had to. Her face gave nothing away. No fear. No softness. Just... acceptance.
And maybe a flicker of resentment.
She wiped. Disinfected. Tossed away what was ruined. All while the silence coiled between them, thick and restless.
Only when the last smear was gone, and the last bottle uprighted, did Rosalie speak.
She pulled a cigarette from her purse and placed it between her lips. But she didn't light it.
Just rolled it between her fingers.
"You know," she said, voice calm, "I'm not gonna coddle you forever, Cameron."
Her tone wasn't cruel. Just flat. Like she was reading a line in a script she never wanted to perform.
"You keep doing this. You keep putting yourself in these situations. And I'm not gonna be the doting caretaker type. That's not who I am."
Cameron's face crumpled, but she didn't protest.
There was nothing left to fight with.
So instead, for the first time in a long time, she let herself break open. Her voice cracked when it came—small, hoarse, barely there.
"I'm in love with her," she whispered. "I know it's stupid. I know she's not even… not even someone I should want. But I can't stop. I don't know how to stop."
Rosalie didn't interrupt.
"I thought last night would fix it. Like if I could just have her—just once—it would make everything make sense. But it didn't. It just made everything worse."
The confession poured out slowly, a leak she couldn't patch.
"She said she regretted it. After all of it, after everything… she couldn't even look at me."
Rosalie watched her, cigarette still unlit.
Cameron kept going, her eyes glassy. "I feel disgusting. Like I'm made of wanting things I'll never be good enough for."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't want to feel anything anymore."
A beat of silence.
Then Rosalie chuckled. Not unkindly. Just tired.
"You really caught yourself in a more insane match than even I expected."
Cameron didn't defend Jasmine.
She didn't say she's not insane or that you don't understand her. She just swallowed and stared at the floor.
Because she did understand Jasmine now.
That was the problem.
Rosalie finally lit the cigarette, the spark flaring in the quiet.
She took a long drag, then exhaled toward the ceiling, her voice low.
"What if I told you I loved you the way you love her?" she asked. "Would you choose me instead?"
Cameron's heart stuttered.
She looked up, stunned. Rosalie's face was unreadable—half-shadowed, lips parted slightly, eyes tired but burning with something that wasn't quite hope.
"I—I don't know," Cameron said, too honest to lie. "I would try."
Rosalie let the smoke curl between them.
"Well then," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "consider this me confessing."
She looked at Cameron, fully now. No smirk. No sarcasm. Just something raw and dangerous.
"Stop chasing after a straight girl who's using you to feel less bored. Be with someone who actually wants you."
The air shifted.
Cameron didn't speak.
She couldn't.
Her head was still full of Jasmine—of her touch, her kiss, her regret. But here was Rosalie, steady and real and offering something she hadn't expected.
A choice.
And maybe that was all it took.
Not love. Not healing. Just the promise of not being alone at this moment.
She nodded.
Just once.
Rosalie flicked the cigarette into the ashtray, still half-lit, and the moment it hit, the dynamic between them shifted completely.
Cameron felt Rosalie move toward her, slow but certain.
And suddenly she wasn't comforting her anymore. She was consuming her. Kissing her like she meant it. Pressing her into the floor like she'd been waiting to do it for months. Cameron didn't resist. She let herself fall.
It felt familiar.
Not safe. But easy.
And as Rosalie's lips found her neck, as her hands roamed with a quiet urgency, Cameron let herself forget.
Just for now.
Not because she was over Jasmine.
But because she didn't want to feel the absence of her anymore.