Cameron's hands tightened around the steering wheel, her knuckles bone white. She stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on nothing, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. The silence in the car was suffocating, dense with everything that hadn't been said—and everything that had.
Jasmine's outburst still echoed in her ears.
Every insult. Every accusation. Every cruel twist of words that turned Cameron's care into some grotesque version of control. The heat of it sat in her chest like a burn that wouldn't cool, her breath catching behind the lump rising in her throat.
She didn't cry.
She didn't speak.
She just drove—miles passing beneath them in silence, broken only by the shallow, uneven rhythm of Jasmine's breathing.
When they finally pulled into the parking lot of Cameron's apartment, she shifted into park but made no move to leave the car. The air inside felt too small, like even the space between them couldn't hold the weight of what had just happened.
Cameron exhaled slowly, her voice emerging quiet, steady, and unbearably final.
"I can't do this anymore, Jas."
Jasmine flinched at the words. Not at their volume—they hadn't been shouted. But at the stillness. The certainty. The way they landed like a door closing.
"Cameron—" she started, her voice already frayed.
"No." Cameron cut her off, shaking her head. Her eyes stayed forward, focused on the windshield. "Listen to me. I love you. I do. But I can't keep being the only one trying."
Jasmine sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her shoulders hunched, her arms wrapped tightly around herself like she could somehow hold herself together.
"I've done everything I can to help you," Cameron continued. "But if you won't help yourself… I don't know what else to do."
There was a beat of silence—then another.
Jasmine's hands curled into fists in her lap. The anger from earlier was gone now, drained from her like air from a balloon. Her expression was hollow, like she hadn't yet caught up to the reality of Cameron's words.
"So what?" she whispered, barely audible. "You're giving up on me?"
Cameron turned to look at her, and her expression softened—not with forgiveness, but with pain. "I don't want to. God, Jasmine, I don't want to. But I can't keep pretending like everything is okay when it's not. If you won't get help, if you won't even try, then… yeah. I think we need to go our separate ways."
Jasmine's breath caught. "You're breaking up with me?"
"I don't want to," Cameron repeated, her voice cracking now. "But I need to know that we're working toward something. That this isn't just a cycle we're stuck in. I need to know you want to get better—not for me. For you."
Jasmine's body tensed all over again. She looked away, out the passenger window, blinking rapidly. Her breath started to stutter, her hands trembling.
"I can't—I don't—" she shook her head, her voice breaking. "Cameron, please. Please don't do this."
Cameron's chest ached at the desperation in her voice. But it wasn't enough—not anymore.
"Then get help," Cameron said softly. "Please. I'll be with you through everything, I swear. But you have to want this. You have to try."
Jasmine didn't answer. Her eyes were locked on their hands now—Cameron's reaching out again, waiting.
Her fingers hovered for a moment, then slowly, hesitantly, Jasmine let their palms meet. Their fingers laced together, her grip weak but present.
"I don't want you to leave me," she whispered, the words so fragile they nearly broke.
Cameron squeezed her hand. "Then don't make me."
Jasmine's shoulders shook. Her jaw trembled. She squeezed her eyes shut, like if she didn't see the pain, it might not exist. But when she opened them again, they were glassy, her lashes wet with the tears she still wouldn't let fall.
"If I do this—if I go to therapy, if I try—promise me you won't leave," she said, her voice trembling, eyes searching Cameron's face for something solid to hold onto.
Cameron didn't answer right away.
Not because she didn't want to promise. But because she knew what a promise like that meant. Jasmine needed certainty in a world that had never given her any. And Cameron—Cameron could offer love, patience, support—but she couldn't offer guarantees.
But she also knew Jasmine needed something to believe in.
So she reached up, brushing a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. "I'm here, Jas. As long as you're trying, I'm not going anywhere."
Jasmine nodded, but it was a shaky, uncertain nod—like she didn't fully believe herself yet. But she wanted to.
And that, for now, was enough.
"Okay," she whispered. "I'll do it. I'll go."
Cameron exhaled slowly, letting the tension slip from her shoulders as she pulled Jasmine into a tight embrace. Jasmine came willingly, but her body was still tense, her breath still uneven. Cameron pressed her face into Jasmine's hair and held her like she was trying to shield her from the world, from her past, from her own mind.
She knew this wasn't over. That tomorrow might bring another storm. That Jasmine might spiral again. But tonight, she said yes.
Tonight, she had chosen hope.
And Cameron would hold onto that, even if her hands were shaking.