005
1412 Words
The air in the diner felt... wrong. Heavy. Like it was choking her. Thick with fried oil and something sharp, metallic—like blood or fear. Camille couldn't breathe right. Her chest squeezed in weird little pulses, her ears still ringing from David's words—Ellie’s mine too.
What did he just—?
It was like someone had slammed a steel door inside her skull. Everything went tight. Her brain... static. Like her head was stuffed with cotton and broken radios. Ellie’s tiny hand stayed locked in hers, damp and shaking, like a trapped chick. So small. So warm. Her fingers twitched every now and then, like she wanted to run too, but didn't know how.
Camille’s heart? A goddamn sledgehammer. Loud. Brutal. Stupid. It thudded against her ribs, her throat so dry she could taste ash. Like dust in her mouth. Like fear. She wanted to run. She needed to. Her backpack was still down by the booth, screaming at her like a fire alarm—leave, leave, leave—but she couldn’t. Ellie’s fingers were locked around hers like handcuffs, like maybe she was the one holding her up.
Her brain was a cracked bowl full of guilt and anger... and—and something softer. Something she didn’t want. Something that made her feel... stupid. Weak.
You’re not her mom. You’re nothing.
But... she needs you.
Adrian hadn’t moved. Not an inch. Like someone froze him mid-breath. His fists were clenched like he wanted to punch through the damn counter. His skin had gone that weird pale colour—like milk and sweat. Eyes darting. From David, to Tara, then back to Ellie. He looked like he was falling apart in slow motion. Threads snapping.
The flickering fluorescent lights above made his face look... off. Old. Like the years had suddenly caught up to him. Camille’s gut twisted.
“What did you say?” Adrian asked, voice thin and cracking like broken glass. He looked like he was going to pass out. “Ellie’s—what?”
David didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just smirked. That lazy, nasty kind of smirk men like him were born with. His tie hung half-loose. Like he didn’t give a s**t. His suit wrinkled. Cheap cologne already wearing off.
“You heard me, Cole,” he said, voice all smug and slow, like he’d been waiting all day to say that out loud. “She’s my daughter. You don’t get to play happy family with some—” He waved at Camille, eyes curling with something sharp, ugly. “Some nobody.”
Her whole body went hot. Then cold. Then hot again. Nausea clawed its way up her throat. Her palms were so wet she almost dropped Ellie’s hand. Nobody. That word echoed. Bounced off her bones. She could hear old voices again—foster homes, cold beds, locked fridges. Whispered names. Being too quiet so they wouldn’t send her back.
She grabbed the side of the booth to keep standing. Her nails scraped the sticky vinyl. The floor shifted a little. Her knees wobbled. Shouldn’t be here. Should’ve said no. Should’ve walked away. But then Ellie whimpered. Soft. Scared. That sound sliced through her.
“David, stop,” Tara snapped. Her heels clicked too loud on the linoleum, sharp as gunshots. Her voice wobbled under the surface. That perfume—Camille could taste it. Sweet, fake, suffocating.
“This isn’t the place,” Tara hissed. Her eyes darted to Ellie.
Camille saw it. The guilt. The self-hate. The way her eyes screamed I messed this up without saying a damn word. Camille knew that look. Wore that look.
“You don’t get to decide that,” David barked back, voice rising. The diner froze. For real. A waitress stood like a statue, mid-pour. Coffee overflowed. A customer dropped their fork.
“You walked out, Tara,” David said louder. “You don’t get to tell me what to do with my kid.”
Adrian stepped forward. Just a step. His voice was raw. Gravel soaked in water. “Your kid?”
His hands shook. He looked like he was holding back an earthquake. “You don’t know her,” he said, and then—he stopped. Couldn’t finish. His breath caught in his throat like it hurt.
He looked down at Ellie—still curled up in Camille’s arms, tiny, crayons scattered like bones.
“She’s mine,” Adrian whispered, voice cracking. And it shattered Camille. She didn’t want it to. But it did. Because the way he said it—soft and broken—like he was trying to believe it himself.
And it hurt.
He’s falling apart, Camille thought. And I’m just… here.
David laughed. Loud. Nasty. Sounded like a cough wrapped in a scream. Camille flinched. Her ears rang. Her stomach flipped like a broken elevator.
“You think a piece of paper makes you a father?” David said. “You weren’t even there when—” He stopped himself. Looked at Tara. Her face—white. Her lips parted like she was about to confess to murder. But she said nothing.
The air shifted. Camille felt it. That storm’s coming feeling. The diner buzzed. Her thoughts scattered.
What’s he talking about? When what?
Then—Camille cracked.
“Enough!” she shouted.
Too loud. Too broken. It bounced off the greasy walls. Her chair screeched as she stood, nearly tripping over her own feet. Her bag was still on the ground, untouched.
Her cheeks burned. Her hands shook so bad she shoved them into her hoodie like that’d fix anything. “Just—just stop fighting like she’s some stupid trophy!”
She pointed to Ellie, who was crying now. Soft. Muffled. Tears rolled down her face like they’d always been there. Camille couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swallow.
“She’s right there,” Camille choked out. “She’s hearing all of this.”
Her voice broke. Her breath hitched. Her legs wanted to fold. She looked at the floor. At anything but them.
I’m not her mom. I know that. But I can’t... I can’t let them tear her apart like this.
Adrian met her eyes. And something shifted. For a second, nothing else existed. Not David’s smirk. Not Tara’s perfume. Not the diner. Just that look. That broken, do you see me look.
“Camille,” he whispered, like her name meant something. Like it was the answer.
And for a moment, she wanted to believe it. But no—she didn’t let herself.
“I didn’t know he’d—” Adrian started.
But David jumped in. Loud. “Save it, Cole.”
He stepped closer. The floor squeaked. The sound made Camille want to scream.
“You don’t get to play the victim,” David said. “Not when you’re paying her to play Tara.”
Silence.
Then that laugh again. That laugh made her blood run cold.
Camille froze. Her vision blurred. Her stomach hit the floor. Her heart banged against her ribs like it wanted out.
He knows. How does he know?
“I’m not pretending,” Camille wanted to say. But the words got stuck. Trapped behind all the shame.
And then—Ellie.
“She’s not pretending,” Ellie said, voice small but strong.
Camille turned, slow. Ellie sat up. Tears on her cheeks. Chin trembling.
“She’s my friend,” Ellie whispered.
Camille’s heart cracked right down the middle. Those words—my friend—they hurt. Not because they were wrong. But because they were too kind. Too real. She didn’t deserve them.
Tara’s face twisted like she was about to spit. Guilt. Fury. Regret. All mixed up in her expression like bad paint.
Then—
The bell above the door jingled.
Everyone looked up.
A woman stormed in. Purse swinging. Heels clicking like knives on tile.
“David!” she shouted. “You can’t just leave me in the car like that!”
Camille blinked. Who the hell—?
The woman’s eyes landed on Ellie. She stopped mid-step. Voice cut off. Her face twisted.
“Is that—?”
And that was it.
Camille’s heart stopped.
Ringing. Lights flashing. Air thick again. Her mind screamed.
Another one?
Who the hell is she—?
Adrian looked like someone had slapped him.
His hands started shaking again.
Camille knew—this wasn’t just about David or Tara anymore.
This was bigger. Messier.
And she was already drowning in it.
- Writer
