Jasmine hadn't meant to stop walking.
One second, she was moving—her feet tracing the familiar rhythm of her evening stroll, the air crisp against her skin, her mind elsewhere. The next, she was rooted to the pavement, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes landed on a scene she hadn't been prepared for.
Cameron was inside the coffee shop, sitting across from someone Jasmine didn't recognize at first. Their heads were tilted toward each other in a way that suggested intimacy, familiarity. Cameron had that look on her face—the one Jasmine had always been drawn to, the one that made it seem like there was no one else in the world worth paying attention to. She was listening intently, brows drawn together, lips parted just slightly, the way she always did when she was fully engaged in someone's words.
And then the woman laughed. And Jasmine knew.
Lena.
It was a name Jasmine only half-remembered, something Cameron had mentioned offhandedly years ago. A childhood best friend. A 'first everything' in ways Cameron had never explicitly defined, though the way she had said it—so carefully, so deliberately—had left Jasmine feeling unsettled even then. Jasmine had never asked for details, never pressed. She hadn't needed to.
Now, seeing them together, the discomfort she'd felt back then bloomed into something sharper, something that curled low in her stomach and tightened around her chest.
She should have walked away.
She should have let it go.
But she stayed.
Jasmine could feel the old habits clawing their way back to the surface, the need to control, to interfere, to remind Cameron of where she belonged. Because that's what it was, wasn't it? Cameron belonged to her. She had always belonged to her. Even now, even after everything, even after Jasmine had tried so hard to be better, to be healthy—
Her fingers twitched at her sides.
She could walk in. It would be so easy. Just a casual approach, an innocent run-in, as if she had simply happened to be here at the same time. She could weave herself back into Cameron's space, remind her what they had, what they were. She could make Lena irrelevant before she even became a threat. Cameron was impressionable like that—always had been. All it took was the right words, the right touch, and she would melt back into Jasmine's hands like she was never meant to leave them.
The thought was intoxicating.
Her foot shifted forward—just a fraction of an inch—but it was enough to snap her back into herself.
What was she doing?
Jasmine clenched her jaw, inhaling sharply as she forced herself to think. Really think.
She had come so far. She had spent so long unlearning the instincts that had once dictated her every move, so long fighting against the compulsion to manipulate, to possess. She had sworn to herself that she would not be that person anymore, that she would let Cameron go, that she would let Cameron be whoever she needed to be without Jasmine's influence tainting her path.
And yet, here she was.
Somewhere deep inside her, something ugly whispered, She still loves you. You know she does.
Jasmine swallowed hard, willing the thought away. It didn't matter. It wasn't about that anymore.
Cameron looked like she was trying. She was trying to get better. To be better. And Jasmine knew—knew—what it felt like to claw her way out of something that had swallowed her whole. Cameron deserved to do this without Jasmine dragging her back down.
So Jasmine did the only thing she could do.
She turned around and walked away.
Every step felt like breaking apart.
Her body screamed at her to turn back, to fix this before it was too late, to reclaim what had always been hers. But Jasmine wasn't stupid. She knew, deep down, that Cameron had never been hers to begin with. Not really. She had held her, caged her, convinced her that they were two halves of the same ruin, but Cameron had never belonged to her.
She didn't know where she was going, only that she had to keep moving, had to put as much distance between herself and that coffee shop as possible before she made a mistake she couldn't take back. The city blurred around her, neon lights bleeding into the night, the sound of passing cars drowning out the war inside her head.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to run back and rewrite the evening, make it so she had never seen Cameron at all. She wanted to go home and pretend she wasn't shaking.
Instead, she took out her phone.
Her fingers hovered over Cameron's name. The temptation was suffocating, but she didn't give in. Instead, she scrolled past it, past all the unsent messages, past the remnants of a life she had once built on Cameron's foundation, until she landed on another name.
Cheyenne.
Jasmine didn't think. She just called.
The phone rang twice before Cheyenne picked up. "Jasmine?" she said, voice groggy, like she had been half-asleep. "It's late. What's up?"
Jasmine opened her mouth, but the words didn't come right away. She had no idea what she was doing, only that if she didn't reach for something—anything—to keep her grounded, she was going to spiral.
"I—" She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "Can we just talk? About anything? I just—I just need a distraction."
A pause. Then, a sigh. "Yeah, okay," Cheyenne said, her voice softening. "Tell me what's going on."
Jasmine didn't tell her everything. She didn't say Cameron's name, didn't mention the coffee shop, didn't let herself dwell on the fact that she had spent the last twenty minutes exposing herself. But she talked. About work, about therapy, about her new cat who had decided to wage war against her plants again.
And somehow, it was enough.
By the time the call ended, Jasmine felt a little steadier. Not healed, not whole, but like she had made it through another night without undoing everything she had worked for.
She glanced at her phone one last time before tucking it away. Then, without looking back, she disappeared into the night.