𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ౨ৎ paige bueckers

𝐱𝐯. 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

๛ ๋ ׅ ˖  𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞? / 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞  𝅄 ׂ⭒

౨ৎ

real life, present (cameron's POV)

I was watching Great British Bake-Off when I got the call.

It was supposed to be a peaceful night. For the first time in almost a month, Maia and I were looking forward to a quiet evening. I could tell that she was slowly falling back into the person she was before everything happened, before she needed distraction 24/7. Though not yet healing, she had started to let her mask of fake confidence fall away. Inside was who she'd been the entire time: delicate, hurting, desperate for any method of escape.

She was in the adjacent room, finally getting some much needed sleep. Parties are tiring, yes, but the true exhaustion comes from the facade. You could see it slip every now and then, the smile falling from her face as if a sudden realization had melted it away. As if her jaw had gotten tired of forcing the same, carefree expression. Never in public, only in the quiet moments when she thought no one was looking.

It was time to put that alter ego to bed. It was time for my friend to come back.

I had just settled in when my ringtone pierced through the silence. It startled me at first - I almost always have my phone on silent. But late at night, when it mattered most, the phone rang.

And I picked up.

౨ৎ

real life, a few minutes before (azzi's POV)

"That's why." said Paige, voice suddenly small. The room had grown silent, the tick-tick-tick of the clock the only indication that the world still moved. "That's why I said those things."

The dorm suddenly felt tiny, the silence deafening. The heat from the argument happening just seconds before had dissipated, leaving behind a faint yet incurable chill. My eyes moved from Jana to KK, then to Kayla and Ice. Each girl stood at attention, and each girl fell short with nothing to say. No words seemed right in this situation, leaving us to sit in silence with a new weight upon our shoulders. These were the four people (five, including me) that she trusted. No, these were the only people that she trusted.

Paige was relentless, unstoppable. She had fought and won against a torn ACL, a wounded meniscus, stubborn doubts, unbeatable odds. She was - and is - the strongest person I know. To see her crumple like this was unprecedented. Looking closely at her now, I could see clear signs of distress: her nails, severely bitten and practically red; her clothes, thrown on haphazardly and without care; her eyes, facing the floor but seeing beyond the carpet. How had I not seen the signs?

"Can I have the room please?" I asked, my focus on Paige. As the others trailed out, I moved to sit next to her, mind racing with things to say. I knew what I had to tell her - I had known it for weeks, ever since that livestream. After a moment or two, I gathered my words and spoke.

"You have to talk to her."

That jolted her out of the funk. Her head whipped around, eyes no longer trained on the floor in search of an answer. I could tell she was scared; the implicit mention of Maia, even without saying her name, was enough to ring alarm bells. She shook her head, almost frustrated.