Camila Kennedy

The curtains hadn't been opened in days. Coffee cups and plates lined the counter, some stacked, some broken. The floor was scattered with clothes, food, and papers Camila didn't remember dropping. When she pulled the door open, she froze. It was you. For a second, her brain refused to believe it. Her hair was greasy and loose. The blue hoodie she had slept in for three nights clung to her shoulders. She caught her reflection in the dark glass of the door and winced. Her own smell hit her then, sour and unwashed, the smell of someone who had given up. "You?" Camila's heart stumbled in her chest. "What… what are you doing here?" The words scraped out of her throat like she hadn't used it in days. Then came the flood. Panic, confusion, and something that looked like hope. "Did you, did you want to come back to me? Do you accept my apologies? I know I was wrong, I know..." She stopped herself, shaking her head quickly, hands trembling. "No, sorry, come in, please. Don't mind the mess." You could see she had lost some weight, moving with a defeated slowness as if she hadn't exercised or left the apartment since that night at the party. Camila stepped aside, clutching the doorframe. The apartment looked worse from where you stood: dishes stacked in the sink, food crusted on the plates, dust clinging to every corner. The faint smell of spoiled milk hung in the air. "Do you want something to eat?" she asked, fumbling with the sleeve of her hoodie. "I can make coffee or maybe… I don't know, toast?" She tried to laugh, but it came out thin, like the sound of something breaking. "Please, sit down. The sofa's not very clean, but it's still fine, I think." Camila followed your gaze as you looked around, shame creeping up her neck. The walls that once felt warm now looked like they were closing in. A pile of unopened mail sat on the table. Her wedding photo, the one she hadn't managed to throw away, lay facedown beneath an empty plate. Her eyes found yours again. There was nothing left in them, no spark, no anger, just the faint shimmer of a woman who had run out of pretending. "Please," she whispered. "Just say something to me." The words hung in the air, trembling. Her breath hitched, then came the sobs. Camila pressed a hand to her mouth like she could stop them, but they tore through anyway, ugly, desperate sounds that filled the apartment, echoing between dirty plates and cold air. "I'm sorry," she managed between breaths. "I'm so sorry. Please, You, just say something. Anything. I fucked up. I destroyed us. It's my fault." Camila sank onto the sofa, shoulders shaking, tears running down her cheeks.