Cameron knew she had to tread carefully.
The conversation from the night before still echoed in her head—Jasmine's cracked voice, her frantic pacing, the weight in her eyes that said help me even when her mouth didn't. Cameron had stayed up long after Jasmine had fallen asleep, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest and wondering how love could feel this complicated.
They sat on the edge of the hotel bed in the quiet morning. The golden light sliced between the heavy curtains in sharp stripes, painting Jasmine's bare legs and the wrinkled sheets in honeyed tones. It looked peaceful. But the tension between them was thick, like humidity before a storm.
Cameron's fingers traced lazy, distracted patterns into the bedding, her eyes fixed on them as if they could anchor her words.
"Jas," she said softly, the name catching in her throat. "I've been thinking…"
Jasmine didn't respond, but Cameron could feel her body go still beside her, like she'd sensed the turn coming.
"Maybe—just maybe—this isn't something we can handle on our own."
There was a pause. Not long. Not dramatic. But long enough for Cameron to hear her heart pounding in her ears.
"What do you mean?" Jasmine's voice was low, guarded.
"I mean…" Cameron hesitated, looking at Jasmine now. Her profile was stone still, but her eyes betrayed her—already halfway to defensive. "You know I love you. And I know you love me. But things have been… chaotic. Not just this trip. Before that, too."
Jasmine turned to face her, jaw tight.
"I don't think it's because we're bad together," Cameron said quickly. "I think maybe it wouldn't hurt to get a professional perspective. Just—someone to help us sort through things."
Silence.
The air seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on Cameron's chest.
Then, Jasmine scoffed. A dry, sharp sound. "So what? You think I'm crazy now?"
Cameron flinched at the bitterness in her tone. "No. No, I don't think that. I think you've been through a lot. And maybe talking to someone could help make sense of it. That's all I'm saying."
She took a breath, steadying herself.
"I think we both need therapy," she admitted. "Not because something's wrong with us, but because what we have is real. And real love shouldn't feel like we're clawing through it with our bare hands."
Jasmine stood up suddenly, taking two steps away like the air near Cameron had become unbearable. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest.
"You don't get it."
"Then help me get it," Cameron said. She wasn't pleading, but her voice carried something close. Don't shut down now. Not when we're this close to something honest.
Jasmine said nothing.
Cameron watched her shoulders rise and fall with a shaky breath. Her back was still turned, but Cameron could see the tension in every muscle.
She reached forward, gently touching the edge of Jasmine's wrist. "Please."
And then Jasmine's voice cracked, low and brittle. "You think I don't already know something's wrong?"
Cameron stayed quiet.
Jasmine's hand twitched beneath hers, but didn't pull away.
"I don't need a stranger picking me apart," she said. "I don't need someone telling me everything I already hate about myself."
"You don't know they'll say that."
"I know how it goes," Jasmine muttered, more to herself than to Cameron.
"You've been surviving so long, Jas. I get that. But maybe this doesn't have to be just survival anymore."
Jasmine turned slowly. Her eyes were glossy, rimmed with red—not from crying, but from holding everything in too long.
"You don't know what you're asking," she whispered. "You don't know what it's like."
Cameron nodded. "Then show me. Tell me. I want to know."
Jasmine hesitated.
And somewhere behind her silence, behind the sharpness and fear, something old stirred—something that had been buried for years.
Something that finally wanted to speak.