The weeks blurred into one another, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Jasmine was steady. She attended every therapy session Cameron scheduled for her, took the prescribed medication without protest, and even started journaling like her therapist suggested. The changes were subtle at first—small things like responding to frustration with measured breaths instead of sharp words, keeping herself occupied with healthier distractions rather than spiraling into self-destruction. She laughed more, too, but it wasn't that wild, unhinged kind of laughter that used to make Cameron's heart race. It was softer, more restrained. Almost... controlled.
Cameron had spent so long believing this was what she wanted—to see Jasmine heal, to know that she wouldn't wake up one day and find her gone, swallowed whole by the darkness that always seemed to chase her. And yet, as Jasmine became whole, Cameron felt herself splintering apart.
She tried to ignore it at first, forcing smiles as Jasmine excitedly recounted conversations with her therapist, her voice steady and certain in ways Cameron wasn't used to. There was no frantic passion behind her words, no unpredictability. The fire that once raged within her, the one that had drawn Cameron in like a moth to a flame, had dulled into something manageable. Something safe.
And wasn't that a good thing?
Cameron told herself it was. She told herself she was happy, but every time she looked at Jasmine—this new, stable version of her—she felt a quiet unease curl in the pit of her stomach.
Because she knew, deep down, she had fallen in love with the storm.
She had loved the reckless, impulsive Jasmine who kissed her like she wanted to consume her, who needed her in a way that felt desperate and all-consuming. The Jasmine who could go from laughing hysterically to crying in the span of minutes, who could destroy Cameron with a single word and then build her back up with a look. She had loved the chaos, the unpredictability, the sheer intensity of it all.
But that Jasmine was fading, slipping through her fingers like sand, and in her place was someone new. Someone better. Healthier. Someone Cameron should have loved more.
So why did it feel like she was losing something instead of gaining it?
The realization gnawed at her, whispering insidious thoughts in the back of her mind, urging her to pull at loose threads just to see if the old Jasmine was still in there somewhere. She started picking small fights, testing boundaries. Subtle at first—a teasing jab that dug too deep, a sigh when Jasmine went to bed early instead of staying up with her like she used to. But when Jasmine didn't react the way she once would have, when she responded with patience instead of fire, Cameron felt something crack inside her.
She needed Jasmine to prove she still felt things intensely. Needed to see if that dangerous, volatile love still existed beneath the surface of all this newfound stability. So she pushed harder.
One night, when Jasmine was brushing her hair at the bathroom sink, Cameron leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "You're different," she said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.
Jasmine paused mid-stroke, eyes meeting Cameron's in the mirror. "I thought that was the goal."
Cameron swallowed the lump in her throat, shrugging. "Yeah. It was."
A beat of silence passed before Jasmine set the brush down and turned to face her. "Cameron... what's going on?"
And God, wasn't that the question? What was going on? Why did she suddenly feel like the floor beneath her was tilting? Why did she feel like she was the one spiraling now, sabotaging something that was finally, finally good?
She didn't have an answer, so instead, she rolled her eyes, pushing off the doorframe. "Nothing. Forget it."
But Jasmine didn't forget it. She was patient now, careful in ways she never used to be. And that patience was like salt in an open wound, because Cameron didn't want careful. She wanted reckless. She wanted to be pulled into an argument so they could make up like they always did—fast and rough, tangled up in need. But Jasmine didn't take the bait. She just watched her with those careful, knowing eyes, and that should have been reassuring. Instead, it made Cameron feel exposed.
Over the next few weeks, she spiraled further, skipping work, drinking more than she should, letting her own self-destructive habits claw to the surface. She came home late, looking for a reaction, looking for proof that Jasmine still burned for her the way she used to.
But Jasmine didn't yell. She didn't cry. She just pulled Cameron close one night, tucking her face into her neck and whispering, "Please don't do this to yourself."
And that? That broke her more than any fight ever could.
Because Jasmine had always been the one who needed saving. But now? Now she was the one trying to save Cameron.
And Cameron didn't know if she wanted to be saved.