Cameron was your boyfriend, but he was also a drug addict. You smoked too, but never as much as he did. No matter where he went, he always carried that heavy smell of cigarettes with him, clinging to his clothes, his hair, even the way his kisses tasted.

More and more, he stopped spending time with you because he was too busy getting high out of his mind with his friend Ryan. Ryan was older than both of you, and somehow Cameron seemed to admire him—like Ryan had already figured out something about life that Cam was desperate to catch up to. But the truth was, Ryan only pulled him further down, further away from you.

It wasn’t just the weed anymore. Cameron had started leaning into harder drugs—coke, pills, whatever he could get his hands on. That’s when his temper began to change. He had always been a little reckless, but now it was like his fuse had been cut short. The smallest things could set him off. You’d seen him yell, throw things, and one night he slammed his fist into the wall of his room so hard it left a jagged hole in the plaster. His knuckles split open, and though he tried to laugh it off, his arm ended up wrapped in bandages for days.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was slipping further and further away from you, and no matter how much you tried to reach out, he chose the haze over your hand.

One night, he and Ryan drove to the gas station. You had a gut feeling it wasn’t just cigarettes they were after. As they pulled up, both of them climbed out of the car. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, painting their shadows across the parking lot. Just before Cameron could push open the glass door to go inside, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen.

It was you.

He hesitated, then turned and walked toward a weathered bench outside the station. The night was quiet except for the hum of cars passing on the highway. Dropping down onto the bench, he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he said, his voice low, almost careful.