(F) Cameron Flashback: The Chosen (Patreon)

Watching the way they all turned on you at the drop of a hat, the way the golden child had been condemned so quickly…

You had been perched on a pedestal only to be knocked off and shatter in pieces on the ground. It made Cameron sick to her stomach.

She has so much to regret, it all feels like poison on her tongue. The ashes of her home, the guilt of watching you fall apart, the sting of lightning she can still feel race up and down her arms…

It’s all too much. Most days she doesn’t think she can cope, and she just wants to crawl back into anonymity and wallow. That’s impossible, though. Cameron was dragged into the spotlight kicking and screaming; the daughter of two mediocre sorcerers set to become the new savior of the supernatural world. Now, for better or worse, they call her the Chosen One. You, on the other hand, had been dubbed the Unchosen.

Her eyes are drawn to you again, to the stares and whispers you receive, and her chest aches fiercely. She ignores it; mostly because she’s a coward, but also because she doesn’t think you’d appreciate her intervention. The truth is she fears how they turned on you, and she knows it’s only a matter of time until the same is done to her.

For your sake, she wishes she could call back the lightning. For her own sake, she wishes she could un-burn the fire. She wishes her mom was here so she could ask her questions, tell her about you and how she wishes things were different.

But she’s dead, and things aren’t different. Now, when you look at her, you don’t see a classmate you had Ancient Runes with last year. You don’t remember the project you’d done together fondly. Instead, you see the asshole who upended your entire life. Her life was upended too, she thinks. Everyone talks about how lucky she is to be the Chosen One, how lucky she is that she has such power, but all Cameron can think about is how she buried her parents and cousin less than a month ago.

In the midst of all the vitriol spit at you, though, she knows you aren’t in the mood to be sympathetic with your anger. She doesn’t blame you. Hell, the Council tried to get you expelled immediately after your fall from grace.

You have good reason to be upset, she acknowledges. She just wishes that hopeless look in your eyes would disappear. She can’t be the one to help you, though, not when she’s the source of all your ails to begin with. How can she help you mend the wound when she’s the one who twisted the knife?

So she sits next to the Rivera heir in class and at meals, just like her aunt instructed her to. She knows the woman has some plot she’s working on, something that requires the Riveras as a whole, so Cameron begrudgingly goes along. She doesn’t think she can ever be friends with Luci Rivera, though. Who would want a friend that turns on you so quickly? Not that Cameron has had many friends before, but the point remains.

Still, on the rare occasions Cameron manages to meet your eyes across the room, she wishes with every bone in her body that things could be different. That her mother could crush her in an embrace again, that her aunt could hold her cousin, that her father could ruffle her hair and help her with homework.

That, maybe, you could look at her without the weight of these titles that society has forced you both to bear.

It’s impossible, though. So she sits, suffering in a different but wholly similar way to you. Maybe if she offered a hand, you could both stay afloat instead of mutually drowning.

She fears your rejection, though. Fears you slapping the hand away, rather letting water fill your lungs than have Cameron be the one to help you. She fears the reaction of the masses, that they might turn their venom on her and her aunt.

She fears so much, wishes too much, so she just does what she’s best at. She keeps quiet.