Three years. Three years of obsession, chaos, and emotional whiplash. What had Cameron gained from it all?
She sat alone in her dim apartment, the silence pressing in around her like a heavy fog. Jasmine was at her own place tonight, and lately, those nights apart had become more frequent. What used to be an all-consuming connection had grown into awkward, half-hearted attempts at intimacy. They had spent every night tangled up in each other, but now there was distance between them—distance Cameron herself had created, though she was the one who felt the emptiness the most.
Her fingers clenched around the half-empty glass of whiskey. She had promised herself she wouldn't drink tonight, but the pull of it was strong, the familiar burn a small comfort. It wasn't just the alcohol she craved; it was the way it numbed her thoughts, the gnawing doubts that she couldn't shake.
Jasmine was getting better. She was stable now, something Cameron had never imagined would happen. Therapy, medication, self-care—Jasmine was doing everything Cameron had always demanded of her, everything that had kept Cameron in this cycle for so long. Jasmine was becoming the person Cameron had fought to force her into, but now that she was stable, Cameron wasn't sure if she wanted her anymore.
Was this what she had been working toward all this time? Was this the so-called "happy ending" she had dreamed of for years?
Cameron scoffed bitterly and took a long drink, the whiskey burning all the way down. It was strange, almost laughable. These past three years had been a whirlwind of obsession, of never knowing what kind of mood Jasmine would bring, of trying to hold on to something that was always slipping through her fingers. It had been a constant storm, a cycle of love and destruction, of chaos she couldn't escape.
But now, the storm had calmed. And in the stillness, Cameron felt hollow.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her mind flashing back to all the moments that had kept her hooked: the shouting matches in the car, Jasmine breaking down in her arms, the fragile way Jasmine clung to her, as though Cameron were the only thing keeping her afloat. It had been exhausting, yes, but at least it had felt like something.
Now, Jasmine was different. She was composed, rational—everything Cameron had once begged for. She didn't lash out anymore. She didn't need Cameron the way she once did.
And Cameron hated it.
What the hell was wrong with her? She had spent so much time waiting for Jasmine to change, to get better, and now that she had—now that Jasmine was finally becoming the person Cameron had hoped she would be—Cameron found herself questioning everything. Was she really in love with Jasmine? Or was she in love with the wreckage? Was the chaos what had kept her around all this time, the instability that had made her feel alive, needed?
The thought hit her like a gut punch. Was that it? Had she never actually been in love with Jasmine? Had she only been addicted to the drama, to the way Jasmine's chaos had consumed her, had made her feel needed in a way nothing else had? Had she been drawn to the destruction, to the feeling of trying to fix something that was always broken?
Cameron let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. It was absurd, but the thought wouldn't leave her. For so long, she had convinced herself that she was the one who had been fighting for something better, fighting to save Jasmine from herself. But what if it had been the other way around? What if Jasmine had never needed saving at all?
What if Cameron was the one who had been feeding the fire all along, too caught up in her own needs, her own obsession, to ever really help?
The glass in her hand trembled as her grip tightened. What did that make these three years? Was it all just a waste? A drawn-out train wreck she couldn't pull herself out of? A slow, inevitable disaster that had destroyed whatever parts of herself she had left?
Her chest ached, a sharp sting that cut through the fog of alcohol. Maybe she had never been the hero in their story. Maybe she had always been the villain, the one who kept things spinning out of control just so she wouldn't have to face her own emptiness.
Cameron set the glass down on the table, running a hand through her hair, her eyes glued to the blank wall ahead. She had spent so long thinking that Jasmine was the one who needed fixing, that Jasmine was the broken one. But it was Cameron who was fractured from the start. She was the one who had been too lost, too obsessed, to ever give love in the way it was supposed to be given.
A breath shuddered out of her. She didn't know who she was anymore. She didn't know if she had ever known.
And for the first time in three years, she found herself asking the question that had haunted her from the start: Was Jasmine really her soulmate? Or had Cameron just shaped her into that role because she needed someone to fill the emptiness? Had Jasmine ever been the person Cameron thought she was, or had Cameron just been obsessed with the idea of her?
If that was the case… What the hell was she supposed to do now?