(NB) 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 their stomach.

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

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

Their eyes are drawn to you again, to the stares and whispers you receive, and their chest aches fiercely. They ignore it; mostly because they’re a coward, but also because they don’t think you’d appreciate their intervention. The truth is they fear how everyone turned on you, and they know it’s only a matter of time until the same is done to them.

For your sake, Cameron wishes they could call back the lightning. For their own sake, they wish they could un-burn the fire. They wish their mom was here so they could ask her questions, tell her about you and how they wishe things were different.

But she’s dead, and things aren’t different. Now, when you look at them, 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. Their life was upended too, they think. Everyone talks about how lucky they are to be the Chosen One, how lucky they are that they have such power, but all Cameron can think about is how they buried their parents and cousin less than a month ago.

In the midst of all the vitriol spit at you, though, they know you aren’t in the mood to be sympathetic with your upset. They don’t blame you. Hell, the Council tried to get you expelled immediately after your fall from grace.

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

So they sit next to the Rivera heir in class and at meals, just like their aunt instructed them to. They know the woman has some plot she’s working on, something that requires the Riveras as a whole, so Cameron begrudgingly goes along. They don’t think they 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, they wish with every bone in their body that things could be different. That their mother could crush them in an embrace again, that their aunt could hold their cousin, that their father could ruffle their hair and help them with homework.

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

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

They fear your rejection, though. Fear you slapping the hand away, rather letting water fill your lungs than have Cameron be the one to help you. They fear the reaction of the masses, that the public might turn their venom on them and their aunt.

They fear so much, wish too much, so they just do what they’re best at. They keep quiet.