Burn or Break? {Camgeria}
Camden has two choices: to burn or break.
But how will she make it through if Angeria gets caught in the crossfire?
CW: Burning
Word Count ● 5813
AO3 Link
Angeria likes candles.
They’re littered about her apartment, multicoloured containers giving the space the same energetic life and warmth that Camden had come to associate her girlfriend with.
A soft smile rested on Camden’s face as she gazed down at the flickering flames. The rich, fruity scent it emitted helped her to relax.
Of course, Angeria’s presence was what made her the most comfortable.
“Black Cherry Merlot,” Angeria commented, taking a break from stirring the simmering saucepan to lean across the counter. “You like it?”
“It smells really nice,” Camden admitted. She let her eyes trail up to Angie, the small flame casting a pretty glow on her pretty girlfriend’s face.
Angeria raised an eyebrow. “Better than the meal I’m cooking you right now?”
“N-no!” Camden immediately countered, her eyes widening. “Of course not! I adore your cooking-”
“Easy, baby.”
The dancer’s protests completely faded out when Angeria reached over to take both of Camden’s wrists in her hands.
“I’m just kidding. I think they’re peaceful… that’s why I like to have them.”
Under Angeria’s touch, Camden let herself untense. She took in the sight of her ever-confident, ever-reassuring, ever-beautiful girlfriend.
She pressed herself the rest of the way up to the counter, leaning in to give Angeria a soft kiss on the lips.
They both melted into the gesture.
It was the feeling of getting a comfy embrace after watching a sad movie, of getting wrapped in a warm towel after stepping out of the shower.
After a few seconds, Camden pulled away, heat emanating from her blushing cheeks.
“The candle’s putting you in a romantic mood?” Angeria hummed lowly, “I could get used to this.”
●
●
●
A while later, Camden found herself seated in the same spot, once again peering down at a candle. This one had blood-red packaging, the side of its tin spelling out Wisteria Garden in thick silver letters. It was floral with an earthy grit that kept her grounded.
“Do you ever get scared?”
This got Angie to shift from her position lounging on the sofa, giving her full attention to her girlfriend.
“Of the fire,” Camden elaborated, her eyes glued to the dancing flashes of heat. “That it might get out of control, or that you might forget to put it out?”
“I try not to be that irresponsible,” Angeria chuckled lightly. She stood, making her way over to the dancer.
“You haven’t spent much time around candles, have you?”
Camden’s concentration remained unbroken. Her chin rested on her hand as she looked down at the innocuous candle like it would give her the answer to the meaning of life.
It was endearing to see her so focused. It made Angie want to lean down and pepper her face with kisses.
Instead, she set her sights on the candle as well, dragging her finger through the flames.
“ANGIE!”
Angeria jumped, not expecting her girlfriend to have such a vocal reaction.
“Don’t hurt yourself! Are - are you okay?”
Camden scrambled to get a better look at the taller girl’s finger and check it for any burns.
“I’m fine, baby. I’m fine.”
She presented her hand, and once her girlfriend was sufficiently convinced that it hadn’t been charred, she laced it between Camden’s.
“As long as you’re careful, it’s not that dangerous.”
Biting her lip, Camden only replied by giving Angeria’s hand a squeeze.
“Do you want to try?”
Alarm flashed across the dancer’s features. She let out what sounded like a confused yelp.
“Only if you want to,” Angeria quickly added, “I won’t let you get hurt.”
Camden’s blue eyes finally met Angie’s stable brown ones. Slowly, she unclenched her hand, allowing Angeria to guide her pointer finger closer to the lit wick.
Angeria murmured a countdown. “Three… Two… One.”
She pulled her girlfriend’s hand through the open flame in a short burst. It lasted less than a second, Camden letting out a gasp as it happened.
“See? No burns.”
After a quick inspection, Camden saw that her skin hadn’t even so much as gained a red tinge from the warmth.
Embarrassed, she gave a sad laugh. “This is all probably an overreaction, I’m sorry.”
Wanting to assuage her girlfriend’s worries, Angeria looped around to pull Camden into a back-hug, leaning into the crook of her neck.
“Even if you were overreacting, which you aren’t, it’s still very cute.”
Camden sighed blissfully, drawing comfort from her girlfriend’s physical touch.
“You know what else is cute?” Angie asked.
“Hmm?”
“Coming to watch the movie with me you said you’d watch fifteen minutes ago.”
This got Camden to remember the pastel pink stationery she’d set only a few inches to the left of the candle. She ran her hand over it thoughtfully.
“Sorry… I haven’t been able to get this right.”
Angeria peered over it, making note of the perfect calligraphy that looked like it had taken ten minutes per letter. Honestly, that wasn’t even an outlandish estimation.
Privately, Angie thought this was a lot of work to put into an RSVP letter. Especially in response to an invitation that, according to Camden, had only been given to her as a formality by some self-centered prima ballerina at her ballet company.
“If you’re so worried about the writing, wouldn’t it be easier to print it?”
“I don’t want her to think I’m not putting any effort in… especially since I’m rejecting the invite,” Camden twirled some of her red hair to calm herself. “She might assume I have ill-intentions in not going, but the banquet truly just does not sound like my scene. I wouldn’t want to cause a fuss in the company.”
All of the manners and etiquette Camden was forced to navigate in her job gave Angie a headache. That, on top of the ridiculous amount of hours she put in…
It seemed like a lot.
“Maybe it’ll be easier if you come back to it later.”
Mulling over her girlfriend’s words, Camden’s eyes flickered between the inviting sofa and the painful letter.
“Don’t tell me you’d rather be doing homework than watch a movie with me?”
Camden bit back a smile. “Maybe you just have bad taste in movies.”
Feigning offence, Angeria fell out of the embrace and dramatically pressed her hand to her chest. “You take that back!”
Wildly shaking her head, Camden couldn’t contain her laughter any longer. Angie responded to this dreadful assault on her character by scooping Camden up, the smaller girl letting out a squeal.
“Angie!”
With Camden in her arms, she walked back over to the couch and plopped her down into a pile of pillows and blankets. They both giggled themselves to the point of breathlessness.
Once the laughter subsided, Angeria took a fluffy white blanket out from under where she’d set her girlfriend down and gently wrapped it around her.
“Take a break for a little while,” Angie cajoled, “You deserve it.”
At this, Camden melted into her girlfriend’s side. It was as though she was finally letting go of her tension, letting herself relax after a long day of decidedly not.
Except, there was something else. Something more intense, something heavy, something that Angeria couldn’t quite discern.
Camden didn’t say anything else. Angeria pulled her closer, hoping it would be enough to comfort her through whatever emotions had reared their head.
●
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●
It was a regular day of the week for Camden.
In the morning, she got up early to warm up for rehearsal. She attended the rehearsal itself, doing her best to pick up the choreography. Before leaving, she gave her letter to the prima-ballerina with as much grace as she could muster.
She didn’t stick around for her to open it.
Walking back home after her 5pm workout at the gym, Camden’s mind buzzed about the upcoming show, whether or not her dancing was up to par, if she’d accidentally left a typo in the RSVP note.
Her attention was broken when she came upon a local store. There was a vibrant pink azalea plant displayed in the window, its petals as delicate as they were vibrant. It managed to draw a smile from her, even with the stress weighing on her.
Her mind was basically made up from the second she laid eyes on them: she was going to buy them for her girlfriend.
On her way to the flowers, she stumbled across something else.
A massive bag filled with tealights was on a shelf, level with her eyeline. There must have been at least fifty haphazardly thrown inside in a hilarious contrast to the elegant three-wick candles that Angeria owned.
Entranced, Camden reached forward, ultimately tucking them under her arm to purchase them.
It was a little hard to finagle them along with the plant, but she made it work and brought her haul up to the cash register.
Right on the checkout counter was a display of multicoloured lighters.
Camden felt a breath get caught in her throat when she grabbed a teal one, adding it to her shopping pile.
Thankfully, her apartment wasn’t too much farther from the store. She carefully set the azaleas down on her kitchen table, allowing her to take off the heavy bag hanging from her wrist.
She spent a few minutes dotting on the plant, giving it some water and fluffing out the foliage.
Eventually, though, she caved, turning her attention to the rest of her new stuff.
It was rare for Camden to buy something impulsively.
It was rare for Camden to do anything impulsively.
Her finger traced the surface of the tealights in their plastic encasing. They were clearly very cheaply made, but rather than being off-putting, it gave them a sort of mystique that drew Camden in even more.
She grabbed the bag along with the lighter, sitting cross-legged on her apartment floor.
Tearing a hole in the packaging, she dumped out the contents as if it were a pillowcase full of candy on Halloween.
She let herself admire the sight for a second. Usually, her apartment was so immaculately cold that it might as well have been a listing in a real estate magazine.
There was something satisfying about seeing the candles dot the floor like bits of confetti, or the legos your parents tell you to clean up but you don’t.
The lighter was more nerve-wracking, Camden having to fight the instinct to hold it away from her body. Eventually, she worked up the courage to try and light it.
Her first attempt was… not ideal. Her fingers clunkily skidded across the mechanism, not even producing a single spark.
After a few minutes of trying, she got it to form a single flame.
Its warm hue gave it an inviting aura, but also, a dangerous one. It couldn’t have been larger than a paper clip, but Camden still felt like she was wielding a power previously unknown to her.
With her other hand, Camden plucked a tealight off of the floor and lit it.
And then another.
And then another.
She moved faster than her brain could process, rhythmically transferring the fire to each wick and setting the candle down before repeating. Her heartbeat got faster with every new flame, the sound pounding in her eardrums.
After setting down one more, she realized there were none left.
Blinking, she inspected her handiwork.
Surrounding her on all sides were tiny, menacing flashes of fire that made her apartment look like it entered an alternate dimension. It gave the space a pleasing glow, Camden finding beauty in the threat that it posed.
She curled her knees into her chest, soaking in the sensation of the fire licking at her skin. It stung in a way that Camden wasn’t used to.
What am I doing?
Camden had no idea. How could she explain any of this if someone happened to walk through the door?
Exhilarated butterflies shot through her.
What if something catches fire?
This was, most definitely, a hazard. Her wooden apartment floor, her nearby fabric carpet, and the majority of her furniture were all flammable.
She pictured the whole place going up in smoke. Having to scramble for any belongings she could, or maybe not even having time to before escaping.
Having to figure out how to rebuild her life piece by piece after it crumbled around her.
It was an image that consoled her.
There was another part of herself screaming, You shouldn’t be comforted by any of this! Do you even see yourself right now?
But the shame was pitted against a sense of overwhelming comfort. She had no idea why this was making her feel better, but it was.
Minutes passed. Camden let the heat seep in even more, her eyes getting watery. Her mind continued to wonder.
What if I catch fire?
This intrusive thought snapped Camden from her daze. Her previous comfort was painted over with a thick coat of fear.
No. She didn’t want to catch fire. What was she thinking? What was any of this?!
Camden started blowing out the tealights, the room getting darker with each flame snuffed. By the end she felt a little dizzy, but she managed to put them all out.
Everything was back to normal.
That was a good thing.
Right?
After the wax solidified, Camden hastily picked up the half-depleted candles and dumped them, along with the lighter, into a random drawer.
She locked them away, artifacts of an impulsive decision that was best forgotten.
Whether or not she could forget was another matter entirely.
And whether or not she wanted to forget.
●
●
●
Camden spared a glance to her phone screen when it buzzed between her hands.
The potted azaleas were propped up on Angeria’s work desk, the bright pink petals contrasting nicely against the dark wooden surface.
The picture drew a downcast smile from her.
She’d been thrilled at the chance to do something nice for her girlfriend, surprising her at her job a few days ago to deliver the gift and take her out on her lunch break. She was equally thrilled to see that the plant was thriving under Angie’s care.
They were supposed to go out again today after Angie finished her shift…
But her ballet choreographer put a wrench in that plan. He was adamant that everyone stay home and prepare themselves for a gruelling rehearsal.
Of course, Angie understood, because she was the sweetest and most supportive person ever.
It didn’t make Camden feel any less guilty though.
So here she was. Staying home. Like she was told to.
Camden rolled her slightly sore shoulders, walking over to the mail she’d let pile up over the course of the week. Might as well do something productive now that her plans were ruined.
Her fingers shuffled through the envelopes like a deck of cards, her eyes glazing over.
This is just… sad.
Why couldn’t she just go have a nice night with her girlfriend like she wanted to? It’s not as though she was on house arrest, or would get kicked out of the ballet company for daring to take a step outside.
At least… she hoped they wouldn’t fire her for that.
But what if she did go out, and couldn’t make it through practice because of it? What if she made it through fine, but her body didn’t retain the choreography well enough and she completely froze on opening night?
She would humiliate herself. She’d disappoint everyone.
Frustrated, Camden let the mail slip from her hands and clatter against the table.
Her thoughts were beginning to whirlwind. She needed a distraction.
And that’s how she found herself staring into the drawer she’d pledged to forget.
Waxy tealights filled the whole thing, rendering the bottom invisible. The lighter poked out from the top in the same way that a birthday candle stuck out of a cake.
She snatched it from the pile, quickly, as if it would burn her.
As if she wanted it to burn her.
She fiddled with it for a few minutes, letting the disappointment in herself be replaced by the tingly sensation of heat. It was a wonder how such a tiny orange flicker had that kind of strength.
It wasn’t enough.
Camden felt herself moving, felt herself grab the letters strewn about the table, and felt herself walk over to her kitchen sink.
The envelope at the top of the stack was a pristine white, its neatness mocking her.
Moving the lighter closer, the letter began to smoulder.
It went up in flames.
Camden watched as the white slowly morphed into an ash black before disintegrating completely. The fuel helped the fire grow large enough to brush against her face.
Her adrenaline skyrocketed, watching the paper gradually run out of space and draw closer to her arm…
With a quarter of the letter left, Camden was finally alarmed enough to throw the remaining bit into the sink and douse it with cold water.
Staring down at the letter, damp and destroyed, she pressed her hands to her chest and tried catching her breath.
She hadn’t bothered to check who sent it, if it was an advertisement or a bill or even something more urgent. And now, she’d never know.
There was no way of reversing what she’d done.
It made her feel alive. It was liberating.
It was addicting.
Camden grabbed another letter from the stack, staring in awe as it transformed from white to orange to black to nothing.
As they disintegrated, she speculated about the contents of each one. An important memo? Some overly-formal and passive aggressive response to the RSVP note? A notice that her apartment was being foreclosed on?
It didn’t matter. They were gone.
With each consecutive paper burned, she let the flames encroach further and further to her hand.
By the end, she was left with skin tinged a faint red, scraps of wet paper in her sink, and most importantly:
The feeling of pure catharsis that came along with destruction.
●
●
●
“Eucalyptus Spearmint.”
Camden tensed at the voice, as if caught in the act of robbery. It dissolved a little when Angeria’s lips pressed into her cheek.
“I thought it’d help you to relax, but I don’t think it’s doing much.”
She’d been trying so hard not to look at it.
The glowing blaze was hypnotizing, lulling her into a state where her past experiences with fires roared back with a vengeance.
She didn’t want to think about it right now. She wanted to spend time with her girlfriend, but of course, she had to find a way to ruin that too.
A delicate finger carved the side of her chin, guiding her back to Angeria’s sturdy brown eyes.
“Talk to me. What’s going on?”
Camden felt herself wilt at the question.
What was she supposed to say? Hey, Angie, I’ve actually gone and burned all of my mail and have also been having intrusive, yet for some reason, pleasant, thoughts about getting burned.
Her throat grew heavy.
She’ll think I’m crazy.
“W-well, I-” Camden sputtered, “Rehearsals have been intense, with the show opening soon…”
“You’re going to do great.” Angeria tried to reassure her.
“What if I don’t?”
There was more force behind the inquiry than Camden meant there to be.
Angeria’s eyebrows furrowed in worry, setting a concerned hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder.
“What if I don’t hit my moves correctly? What if I mess up? Will you be disappointed in me?”
“Of course not.”
Her fingers soothingly trailed across Camden’s neck, who winced.
Would her answer be the same if she told her the full truth, flames and all?
And maybe it wouldn’t. Angeria was so incredibly supportive, but what if she didn’t deserve the support?
What if she deserved to be a disappointment?
Her eyes began to sting, and this time, it wasn’t because of the heat.
“I know things are getting harder at practice. You need to remember to take it easy every once in a while, to give yourself a break.”
But Camden didn’t want a break.
She wanted to break.
She wanted her mascara to leave messy streaks down her face, for her graceful strides to turn sluggish and disorderly. She wanted to take all of her schedules and routines and rigid expectations and burn them all down.
But why? Why did she want to wreck everything she’d worked towards her whole life? Why did she want to risk losing the one person she cared about more than anything else?
Angeria guided her over to the couch, coaxing her so that her head was on her lap. She entwined her fingers in Camden’s red locks.
Camden retreated in on herself.
●
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●
The unrelenting drudge that was Camden’s life marched forward.
She followed the directions of her choreographer and trainer. She rehearsed again and again, and then some more in her dreams while she slept. She was never late, never unfocused, never shaken.
At least, she never let it show that she was shaken.
Her job was demanding, but that came with the field. Camden loved to dance, and she feared that losing it might be as deadly as losing oxygen.
Even if sometimes she loved it more than it could ever love her back.
And then there was the guilt that bubbled from how much she’d been neglecting Angie.
Her schedule was constricting to the point that Camden was suffocating.
For once, Camden wanted to be the attentive, encouraging one. She wanted to make Angeria feel every bit as special as she made her feel.
How could she though, when she was always busy, and when she wasn’t, always so needy?
It was a ridiculous contradiction of being too controlled and too passive all at once.
She didn’t know how to fix it, but she did know how to make herself feel better.
With fire.
This time, she was more indiscriminate with the paper she chose. Camden grabbed whatever happened to be lying about, getting a jolt of adrenaline when she remembered some of her choreography notes were mixed in with them.
She watched as, one by one, they were all reduced to ash. A smile tugged at her lips when she noticed her sleeve getting singed.
There was a particularly fancy-looking envelope that Camden did not hesitate to light up. Her mind raced at its grandeur, because it must’ve been something important. This was further confirmed when the flames had ripped through the envelope, revealing stationery coloured to evoke a sunset.
Actually, in this state, it seemed a lot less unfeeling than the rest of the random paperwork she was burning. It looked personal somehow.
Her vision landed on a single word right before the fire consumed it.
Camden. In large, sweeping cursive letters that she instantly recognized.
It was Angeria’s handwriting.
Camden screamed, the page slipping from her grasp and falling to the floor. Instinct pushed her to trample the fire out, wailing on it with all of her might.
When she finally got the courage to look down, she was left with a single strip of tattered stationery, its edges crisp and ashen.
Getting on her knees, she squinted to try and read whatever remained.
Her heart panged at what little was visible. Angeria’s letters were written in sprawling cursive with an artistic flourish. She spied a few inkblots where Angie tested the pen, and some of the text itself was scratched out and re-written.
Leaving those imperfections imbued it with personality. Angeria’s confident, endearing personality.
Camden choked back a sob.
The letter was unintelligible. The sentences were chopped down to nothing.
I kno
you t
work
I don
hope
see y
She screwed everything up. Angeria wrote to her, and now she’d never get to read what she was trying to say.
To Camden in this moment, it seemed like the writing was on the wall. Or, in this case, reduced to dust by a lighter.
I’ve been neglecting her too much. I’m driving us apart, and she sent this letter to tell me that.
No. She couldn’t lose Angeria.
She hastily scrambled for her phone, feeling her heart get caught in her throat as the ringtone blared.
“Hey baby,” Her girlfriend’s voice poured through the speaker.
Camden trembled. Her laboured breathing tipped Angeria off to the fact that something was wrong.
“Is everything okay?”
Desperation allowed Camden to speak her mind in an unkempt stream of consciousness. “Angie, I’m s-sorry, I know I’ve - I haven’t been good to you lately, I haven’t been putting enough energy into our relationship even though it’s the thing that matters to me the most-”
“Hey, slow down,” Angeria gently broke into her girlfriend’s nervous ramble. “Breathe, baby.”
Calming down proved a difficult task when she was still clutching onto the burnt letter, but it was made easier by Angeria’s stable tone. Eventually, her sobs became mellower and more spaced out.
“You don’t have to apologize for anything. I know how hard you’ve been working lately, and I know how important dance is to you.” Angeria soothed.
“But you’re also important to me Angie,” Camden insisted, “So, so important.”
“I never doubted that for a second.”
Some slyness crept into Angeria’s voice as she added, “It doesn’t hurt to hear it, though. Feel free to repeat it as much as you want.”
Pure relief swept over Camden. How did she get so lucky to have someone so understanding in her life? When every fibre of herself was insisting that tenderness was the very last thing she deserved, her girlfriend was still able to get through to her.
“I love you, Angeria.”
“I love you too.”
A chuckle rang out from the speaker.
“I was trying to surprise you with a letter. I wish it would’ve sent by now because it would’ve helped with all this…”
Camden sucked in a breath.
“I did get the letter.” She whispered.
“Oh? Did you read it, then?”
“I-”
The instinct to lie was immediate.
Angeria wasn’t upset with how evasive she was being. She might get upset, or scared even, if she knew the rest of the truth.
But she couldn’t keep living like this.
“I burned it.”
Camden forced the words out, her throat hoarse and heavy.
“You… burned it?”
“I’m sorry,” Camden squeaked, “I can explain… please.”
A pause.
“I’ll be right over.”
The call dropped. Camden fought the urge to clean her teary face, to run over to her drawer and stuff today’s condemning evidence away forever. She couldn’t shake the image of sweet Angeria, who’d just finished consoling her, coming through the door. Of watching her soft gaze twist into a look of pure disgust all because of her own actions.
The very last thing she wanted was to let her down.
That’s why the fire was such an appealing escape. It took pretty, tiny, candles meant to be placed on display and ogled, exposing their true purpose: to burn.
It was Camden’s way of projecting exactly how she felt on the inside.
Sure, the projection was cathartic to watch. But it wasn’t doing anything to change her situation, was it? Just as always, she was expressing these feelings in private. She forced the candles out of their pretend masquerade of poise so that she could keep her own.
Because it was easier than risking anything. This way, the only person at risk was herself.
Was that really the case though, when it was icing Angeria out?
Sort of ironic considering all of the fire that was involved.
In any case, Angeria deserved to know the truth, and Camden would have to accept the repercussions.
So she stayed still.
She set the burnt letter and the lighter out of her reach, but still out in the open for all to see.
She didn’t wipe her face, she didn’t straighten out her outfit, she didn’t fold her sleeve to hide the scorch marks.
She let herself be imperfect.
It didn’t take Angeria long to arrive. Worry lines etched into her forehead when her eyes landed on Camden, who wanted nothing more than to fall into her arms.
Instead, she buckled down on her fear, beginning the explanation that she knew her girlfriend was owed.
“I didn’t realize it came from you… I tried to put it out once I knew.”
Gingerly, Camden pointed to the lighter and the note.
Her stomach started doing somersaults when Angeria delicately picked the page up in all its destroyed glory. She picked up the lighter too, but more forcefully. Angeria’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Why?”
Camden did her best to not flinch away from the question, from her confused tone, from the possibility that this would mark the end of their relationship.
Don’t be selfish. Angie deserves to know.
“It… it made me feel better. T-to wreck something.”
Coming out of her own mouth, the words sounded horrible. She didn’t even want to imagine what Angie was thinking.
She meekly pointed to her sink, too shaken up to face the bits of paper she knew were in there. They were smaller than last time, indicative of how much gutsier she’d gotten with letting the fire close in on her.
“Lately, I haven’t felt like I’ve had a lot of control… or maybe too much control, I don’t know.” Camden fixed her gaze on her fumbling hands. “I wanted a distraction, to let myself do something rash for a change. I’m not proud… but I didn’t know what else to do.”
She moved to grab the drawer handle. As if ripping off a bandaid, she opened it with a single shock of force.
The sea of tealights felt intensely incriminating. Angeria’s eyes raked over them, a storm of shame overtaking Camden.
“I understand if you’re upset, or if you think I’m crazy, but I didn’t want to keep this from you-”
Camden’s voice died out when Angeria took her hand, thumbing at her ashen blouse. Her expression was sympathetic in a way that Camden struggled to wrap her head around.
“I don’t think you’re crazy, Cam. You’re not crazy. Please don’t think that of yourself.”
Camden shook her head, her breath quickening.
“But - but I’ve been having thoughts of burning down this apartment, of… getting burnt. And I’m comforted by those thoughts! That’s - that’s not normal!”
Even as Camden wavered, Angeria stayed resilient.
“You shouldn’t blame yourself for thinking things you can’t control. You’ve been under a lot of pressure for a long time. Something’s gotta give.”
With her free hand, she tucked some of her girlfriend’s curly hair behind her ear.
“Be gentle with yourself.”
“You’re…” Camden hesitated to lean into the touch, “You’re really not mad?”
“No, baby. Not at all.”
Whatever was left of Camden’s composure came undone at the seams.
Usually, this was an outcome that would horrify her. But here, in this moment, she felt safe enough in her girlfriend’s presence to finally do what she’d been wanting to.
Break.
She let her tears flow without blinking them back. She let herself cling to Angeria, who took her girlfriend’s small figure in her arms and pulled her close.
“Shhh. I’ve got you. Let it all out.”
Camden wasn’t sure how long they held each other for. It was long enough for her to feel a release, that maybe she didn’t deserve to be a disappointment, that there was a way to combat these self-destructive feelings without getting mad at herself for having them.
“I love my job… but I can’t keep this up forever,” She finally admitted to herself.
“I know how hard it is for you to come to terms with that. I’m proud of you, Cam, I really am.”
Angeria pulled away just enough to be able to gently cup her girlfriend’s cheek.
“We’ll figure this out together.”
It wasn’t something that could be fixed in one night.
But with her girlfriend by her side, Camden could finally believe that she’d be able to get out of her rut of self-imposed perfection.
The changes started small. She shaved a few minutes off of her training sessions here and there. Instead of continuing to rehearse well into her break, Camden would retreat into the corner of an empty practice room and text her girlfriend.
Eventually, she got the courage to act on her bigger impulses. To leave the studio altogether during her break, driving herself to Angeria’s office and making the most of whatever small amount of time they could steal together.
Those five measly minutes were worth a thousand hours spent doing anything else.
Spending time with Angeria reassured her that being herself was enough. Letting her imperfect, goofy side out wasn’t some sort of inconceivable crime: it was actually a good thing.
Nothing solidified this more than whenever her heart soared listening to her girlfriend’s infectious laugh that brightened her day more than any flicker of fire could.
Camden wasn’t an object. Maybe, the world didn’t want her to exist as one either.
Opening night came. Where the nerves would usually crush Camden like an avalanche of dense snow, she found herself excited to perform.
This time, more than ever, Camden understood why she poured her entire soul into ballet. Instead of obsessing over her form, she let the hours she put in speak for themselves, concentrating on feeling the music and being present in the moment.
It was more cathartic than any burning letter could aspire to be.
That didn’t mean her worries were completely gone.
Backstage, through the glow of a successful first performance, Camden still couldn’t help but wonder if her leaps could’ve been tighter, her turns more fluid.
Those thoughts took a backseat when she found Angeria outside the stage door, clutching the most extravagant bouquet of roses to have ever graced this earth.
Camden ran up to her, letting herself be lifted into a heartfelt hug.
“You blew me away,” Angeria said, awestruck.
As always, her compliments made Camden’s cheeks match the red of the bouquet.
“It really seemed like you were a part of the music,” Angie continued, “Like you were floating.”
“It felt like I was floating… and I don’t think I’m afraid to fall anymore.”
As if on cue, Camden moved her hands from where they were wrapped around her girlfriend’s neck. Even though she was still in the air, Angeria kept holding her up, just as always.
She threaded a hand through Angeria’s dark hair, using the other to stabilize her chin as she pulled her into a deep kiss.
Camden knew she made the right decision.
If she’d chosen to burn, she would’ve disappeared.
Instead, she broke.
Breaking isn’t the same as disappearing. Breaking isn’t the same as being worthless.
It means picking up the broken pieces and figuring out how to turn them into a mosaic.
A mosaic made even more beautiful by its mismatched colours, its imperfect jagged edges.
She was grateful that she had Angeria to help her see it.
