truth or dare - game on series #1

Cameron

I sat on the swing, letting it sway slightly as I kicked at the dirt with my shoe. The cold metal chains felt rough in my grip, but I barely noticed. My mind was stuck on the same damn loop—tonight, the game, my dad.

We won. We actually freaking won. And still, it wasn't enough for him. Nothing ever is.

I exhaled sharply, watching my breath fog up in the cold air. My dad didn't even hesitate. Just laid into me like he always does. First with words, then with his hands. I should be used to it by now, but somehow, it still gets to me every damn time. It's pathetic how much I wish things were different. That, just once, he'd look at me and actually be proud.

I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. I hated feeling like this—like a little kid again, desperate for something I was never gonna get.

My fingers twitched towards my pocket. I wanted to call Stella. I didn't even know why. I just...did. She has this way of making me feel like I can breathe. Like even when things were completely falling apart, she made me feel like maybe they weren't. Like I'm not just some screw-up who can never live up to expectations. But I can't call her. I won't.

The last thing I need is to drag her into this mess. She deserves better than that, better than me dumping my problems on her. And God, if she ever found out about my dad—if she looked at me with pity—I don't think I could take it.

I sighed and leaned back, staring up at the sky. The stars were barely visible through the city glow, but I still searched for them. Maybe I was looking for some kind of sign, something to tell me what the hell I was supposed to do next.

It was pathetic, really. After everything my dad had done, after every insult, every slap, every time he made me feel like I'd never be enough—I still wanted his approval. I still wanted him to look at me and be proud. But tonight, just like every other night, all I got was disappointment. He didn't care that we won. He didn't care that I played my ass off. He didn't care about anything except what I did wrong. And when I finally stood up for myself, even just a little, he hit me. Again. And I just stood there and took it, like I always have.

I hated myself for that.

I exhaled sharply, digging the heel of my palm into my eye, trying to push away the sting of tears. I didn't cry. I didn't let people see me weak. That's how I survived in my house growing up. And that's how I survived now.

A small voice broke through the silence. "Cameron."

I jerked my head up so fast I nearly lost my grip on the swing.

Stella.

She was standing a few feet away, bent over, hands on her knees, chest rising and falling like she'd just run a marathon. Her hair was a mess, strands sticking to her forehead, and she was sweating—actually sweating—despite how damn cold it was.

"What—" I started, but she cut me off, straightening up with a shaky breath.

"Everyone's looking for you," she said, her voice uneven from running. "I was worried sick."

A sharp pang of guilt hit me. She looked exhausted, flushed from the cold and the effort of getting here, and suddenly all I could think about was how reckless she had been. She wasn't supposed to be running in the winter. She might catch a cold.

"Jesus, Stella," I muttered, pushing myself off the swing. "You shouldn't have run here like that. You cou—"

"I don't care," she interrupted, stepping closer. "I just needed to find you."

I swallowed, looking away.

She let out another deep breath, then finally asked, "Why did you run away? What happened with your dad?"

I tensed. "It's nothing."

"Cam," she said, her tone soft but firm. "It's not nothing."

I clenched my jaw, my hands curling into fists. I didn't want to talk about it. Not because I didn't trust her, but because I didn't want to say it out loud. Because saying it made it real. And if it was real, then I had to deal with it.

She took another step forward, close enough now that I could see the worry in her eyes. "Please. Talk to me."

I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. My chest felt tight, like everything I had been holding in for years was threatening to burst out. I didn't know how to start, but then suddenly the words were just there.

"He—he wasn't happy with how I played," I admitted. "Said I should've done more. That I made too many mistakes. That winning wasn't enough."

Stella frowned. "But you won."

I let out a dry, bitter laugh. "Yeah. Not that it matters to him."

There was a beat of silence before she asked, her voice quieter, more careful, "Did he...?"

She didn't finish the question, but she didn't need to. I knew what she was asking. My stomach clenched, my throat tight.

I exhaled sharply and gave a small nod.

I didn't want to, but I did.

Her whole face softened in that way that made me feel like she was looking straight into me, like she saw all the broken pieces and wasn't afraid of them.

"Oh my God... I—I don't even know where to start. Just... come here." Before I could even react, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me.

For a second, I just stood there, frozen. I wasn't used to this. To comfort. To someone just holding me because they cared. But then my body reacted before my brain could stop it, and I buried my face in her shoulder, my arms tightening around her like she was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

"I'm so sorry, Cameron," she whispered against my neck. "You should never have had to go through that. No one should. And I hate that you did. You didn't deserve any of it, not for a second."

Something inside me cracked, and I squeezed my eyes shut, my grip on her tightening. I wasn't going to cry. I refused to. But damn, it was hard.

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands sliding up to cup my face, her thumbs brushing gently over my skin. "I don't care what he told you, or what he made you believe about yourself. You are not weak. You are not unworthy. And you are definitely not alone. You have me. And I swear to you, I will never—never—let you feel like you have to face this by yourself again. You are not him. And you are not what he did to you." she said firmly. " You are so much more. And I will remind you of that as many times as you need me to. Every single day, for as long as it takes, until you can see it too."

I swallowed hard, my throat thick. I didn't know what to say. I just knew that she was here, and that she cared, and that for once, I didn't feel like I had to hold everything in.

I lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers brushing against her cheek. And in that moment, something shifted inside me.

I loved her.

I hadn't planned to. Hadn't even thought it was possible. But I did.

I didn't say it out loud—I wasn't ready for that yet. But I knew. And when I leaned down and kissed her softly, I hoped maybe she knew too.