╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗
— DAY SEVEN —
season one, episode five, part one

❝𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫, 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝.❞

─── • ───

MEANWHILE...

Gretchen paced the floor of the control room, the recent absence of two of her subjects consuming her mind. Her research assistants, Thom and Susan, had filtered through the camera angles of the island, unable to find anything to acquire insight of their whereabouts. The office was more crowded than usual, courtesy of the addition of both Audrey and Alex, who were two members of the ground team that delivered care packages to the island, while being undetected and efficient.

Audrey was Gretchen's right-hand woman, reliable and trustworthy. In the most stressful of situations, she was the only person capable of stopping her boss from spiralling out of control. Alex, on the other hand, was different. He'd developed a connection to the subjects after surveying them for so long, especially after having made contact with them as he posed as the flight attendant on the plane. Now, as a result, his opinions of Gretchen and her methods were strained, and it often put the two of them at odds.

And as it was, there was tension that now lingered in the underground bunker as they searched for the missing girls, each of them working on opposite ends of the room.

"Just because we don't have eyes on them, doesn't mean disaster," Audrey felt inclined to remind Gretchen, both of the hovering around the desk of case files, far from the audible reach of the others. "They're probably on the western side, where we've had some camera outages due to high winds."

But Gretchen wasn't at all convinced. She was known to be too invested into her research to let such things deter her, and yet every time something didn't go according to plan, she found that blaming everyone else for the mistakes that she could have predicted herself was a much more appropriate response.

"And whose fault is that?" Gretchen, who had swallowed two Ibuprofen pills to calm her ebbing headache, raised a suggestive eyebrow across the room towards Alex. "Maybe this is some sort of sabotage. Or maybe I'm just uncomfortable having someone who actively hates me working in my employ."

"He doesn't hate you," Audrey reassured her, giving her an amicable pat on the shoulder. "It's just that ever since the incident with Jeanette, he's been a bit protective of the subjects."

"Have I not the desire to protect them also?" Gretchen countered, and when Audrey shot her a displeasing look, she sighed inwardly and crossed the room towards her other employees. "Alex, you good?" she asked aloud, and the young man quirked an eyebrow before nodding. "But are you? Because I just thought, as someone who's become very invested in the welfare of our participants, you'd be pretty concerned about our rogue girls."

"If I'm permitted to speak honestly," Alex stood upright and cleared his throat, ignoring the tensed glances he received from Thom and Susan. "I don't know why we haven't sent someone in to find them."

"Well, among other reasons, this is Blaire and Fatin we're talking about," Gretchen told him nonchalantly, walking closer to the wall of monitors. "Neither of them are some delicate flower, my friend. Fatin's much steelier than you think, and Blaire — well, if you've read her dossier, you'll know she's been through much worse."

"And you think the benefactor would share the same thoughts on the matter?" Alex challenged defiantly, and Gretchen felt her jaw tighten as she stared ahead. "Because if that's the case, why haven't you told her?"

"My business with the benefactor is no one's problem but my own, is that clear?" Gretchen spun around to face him, raising a definite hand towards her entire cohort, "So please, I suggest that you refrain from asking questions you don't want the answers to..."

─── • ───

BACK ON THE ISLAND...

Blaire thought there used to be a variety to her nightmares: alcoholic father, absent mother, abusive boyfriend, terrified younger sister. But now, it seemed that her nightmares were variations of a single event, courtesy of the chaotic screams of fear-ridden girls, thrown off course, into the foray of death and destruction. Truth be told, it felt like a broken record which refused to stop, reminding her of all of her faults in tenfold disgust.

But this time, looking away wasn't an option.

The forest was a landscape that unfolded differently at night, when the stars hung above like a spiderweb of silver sequins across a black silk chiffon dress-like canvas, when the savagely harsh winds didn't rattle her bones, when everything went silent and the sickled moonlight glinted through the treetops...

It was pretty.

It was pretty boring.

Life after death, that was.

Blaire remembered lying awake that night that led into their seventh day on the island, unwilling to fall victim to those nightmares again. She'd taken shelter under a canopy tree, with Fatin asleep next to her, and watched time move at a consistent rate, realizing just how boundless it truly was.

Time moved slowly, and yet Blaire seemed to lose seconds, minutes, and every other unit of time brought into existence to an unpredictability that untethered her to the present on a whimsical note. In times like these, she felt like she was fast-forwarding without the ability to select the scenes, or fast-forwarding on a broken remote, unprecedented.

And quite frankly, it annoyed her.

The sun had only just reached its peak against the cornflower sky when she sat upright, her palms sweaty and shivering in remorse. Her recollection of Toni's outburst almost came hurling at her, reminding her of the memory that seized her in iron-grip dread. Her pale lips thinned at the reminder, and Blaire had a sudden desire for slumber, a deep and dreamless atonement to null the ache pounding in her chest.

Her and Fatin hadn't ventured too far into the forest before realizing that the moonlight wasn't sufficient enough to continue on their path in the dark. They camped out in a clearing for the night, just East of the ridge Blaire, Shelby, and Toni had hiked on the first day. Blaire had draped her hoodie over Fatin's shoulders to keep her warm, noticing how frequently her friend shivered in her sleep. There were dark circles under her eyes by the time the sun came up, and yet, Blaire breathed in relief at the fact that nothing happened to them overnight.

"Morning," Blaire whispered at the break of dawn, nudging Fatin awake before she rose to her feet. "Come on, wake up," she added when the Pakistani-American girl merely groaned. "We've got to move before they send the search party."

"Fuck my life," Fatin outstretched her arms with a dramatic yawn, brushing the leaves from her hair. "You're worse than an alarm clock."

Blaire shrugged her shoulders, "Well, I could've just left you behind —"

"Don't even think about it, bitch," Fatin scolded playfully, pulling herself upright using a nearby tree. "Wherever your scrawny ass goes, I go. Fuck, at this point, I'd follow you anywhere. Even if it's straight to Hell."

"We might not be too far off," Blaire laughed, and she pulled her hoodie back over her head, dusting the dirt from the sleeves, a habit made redundant. "But thanks for not pointing out the obvious."

"Speaking of the obvious," Fatin raised her eyebrows suggestively, gesturing towards Blaire's face. "You get any sleep last night at all?" She asked gently. "Or were you going for that raccoon look?"

"Someone had to make sure your ungrateful ass didn't get eaten by a bear," Blaire retorted, forcing out a smile. "So I'm sorry if I don't meet your beauty standards this morning."

"Aw, you pulled an all-nighter for me? How chivalrous," the Pakistani-American girl teased, a smug grin tugging on her lips as Blaire, who's eyes remained vacant, began to trek into the depths of the forest with a scoff. "Hey fuckface, wait for me!" Fatin called after her, swiftly marking the tree with her red nail polish before she followed ran after her friend.

The expansive indigo-blue skies were mottled with sparkling rough-cut diamonds, and the wilderness beneath Blaire's footsteps echoed with a crunch of a branch under her weight. Her and Fatin launched into a semi-coherent rambling every few minutes, touching every corner of their bubbling grievances, airing complaints about the other girls as freely as they'd liked. Then, somewhere in the middle of their tirade, Blaire's tiredness began to take its toll, her eyes growing heavy with each passing second.

"You're quiet today," Fatin pointed out a few minutes later, pitching her tone to low concern. Blaire casted a fleeting stare at the trees, biting her lower lip, conflicting thoughts furrowing her brows. "If you're too tired, we could always, like, head back," she suggested, weary. "Swallow our pride, just like that."

"Huh, I never pegged you as someone who swallows anything." The words laced with blatant jest escaped through Blaire's teeth, unable to stop the confession gushing to be heard. "Besides, the last place I want to be is on that fucking beach."

"First of all, spitters are quitters," Fatin's amused smile grew wider, bright as summer sunshine. "And second, don't blame the beach for your raging PMS," she quipped, stopping to mark another tree a few yards from the other. "Because we both know the sad bitch vibes you're giving off right now are courtesy of our dear friend who lives in basketball shorts. Which, by the way, is a serious fucking problem! Like honestly, remind me to have a chat with that bitch about the amount of athleisure she owns."

A swarm of canaries kept gliding through the trees; Blaire felt them fly aimlessly above her head, and she wondered what it might be like to have that much freedom. She kept quiet for a moment, no longer able to control her own trembling as Fatin finished marking the tree with a cross made of nail polish.

"Unless you have some stellar advice, talking about this," Blaire berated, the corners of her lips forming into a forced half-smirk, "is the fastest way to be on my list of top five annoyances —"

"It's a good thing I love to be on top, then," Fatin hastily intercepted, grinning. Blaire clicked her tongue in disapproval, a frown creasing her forehead, and Fatin took this as a sign to drop the conversation. "But since it's clearly a touchy subject," she changed tact, "why don't you tell me what you did to end up here? Was it to get over a predatory ex-lover like our psychopathic friend Leah? To put it on your college apps like Jesus's honorary thirteenth disciple, maybe?"

There was a cool breeze that seemed to emanate from the heart of the forest that somehow enticed Blaire's feet to move. She marched through the old trees that grew closely together, their branches tangled, their roots gnarled and twisted underfoot as her and Fatin travelled deeper into the forest with no final destination in mind.

"My dad thought I needed a break," Blaire paused awkwardly, scratching the nape of her neck despite the lack of itching, her eyebrows knotted. "Not that he knew exactly what I needed a break from, but... he must've thought a girls retreat might give me time to breathe. He's been pretty on edge since my mom walked out, even with my little sister. But anyways, someone at my school told him about the retreat, and I was forced to put my life on pause just to get stranded on this fucking island, if you can believe it."

"Parents always think they know what's best, don't they?" Fatin side-stepped around a fallen branch, the mischievous sparkle in her eyes already faded. "I mean, I'm here because I caught my dad doing a skank tour of, like, the entire East Bay. So when I sent his nudes to everyone in his contact list for a bit of revenge, it was this huge fucking thing. My mom ended up siding with the cheating bastard — no surprises there considering the stick up her ass — and they sent me here without a warning. Now, as far as I'm concerned, I'm on my own —"

Blaire stopped in her tracks. The look etched on her features was one of utter confusion, and she was staring at Fatin as though they'd fallen into new territory.

"That's not true," the corners of Blaire's mouth quirked into a heartfelt smile. "Not while I'm around, at least. Like fuck, the whole world could be against us but I'd still have your back. That might sound corny, but, honestly? You're the only thing about this place that makes sense to me right now."

Fatin stopped and studied Blaire's face for a moment before giggling, "Don't go all soft on me now, B."

"Sorry," Blaire let out a small breath, fingers anxiously playing with the sleeves of her hoodie. "Too deep?"

"Nah, I got you," Fatin laughed again, pulling her friend into a heartwarming hug. Blaire stumbled forward, resting her head on the Pakistani-American girl's shoulder, unable to say anything about it over the excitement Fatin cultivated. "But you don't have to apologize for shit," she pulled away with a wink. "It's just good to know that that jet-black heart of yours still beats."

"God, this place really must be taking its fucking toll, then," Blaire's response is automatic, laughing and smiling. "Like, this must be what an impending mental breakdown feels like."

Fatin waved her off, "It's probably just Leah's emo girl shit infecting us like a virus."

"Maybe," Blaire stifled a laugh as she cautiously put one foot in front of the other, her converse covered in mud.

"I'm telling you, it's this island. We're all becoming worse people because of it," Fatin said honestly, though she didn't seem particularly bothered by this; in fact, she looked somewhat pleased, until a thought hit her and she scowled. "Ugh! Can't believe I have my fucking parents of all people to thank for meeting you on this damn retreat. I swear, those fucktards will never let me live this down."

"There must be something we could do to repay them when we get home," Blaire mused, scrunching her nose in amusement, and Fatin rolled her eyes. "Wherever home is," she mumbled under her breath, overthinking once again.

"Yeah, fuck that," Fatin tiredly bared her teeth at her in what Blaire interpreted to be a stubborn look and sidestepped over a trunk of a tree, pushing branches out of their path. "At most, I won't sue them for half a million dollars for emotional reparations. That'll be my thank you, and it'll still be more than they deserve."

And with a shared laugh, her and Blaire walked further into the forest, a newfound sense of solace forming between them.

Overhead, the haze of the high noon sun glimmered through the treetops, and the eggshell clouds dappled the cerulean blue skies, and the autumnal breeze was gentle on Blaire's skin. Sure enough, the more and more nail polish that was used left Fatin to think of other indicators. So, with a whimper of pain that Blaire knew to be an overdramatized reaction, she began to rip pieces of her purple Givenchy sweatpants, hanging them on tree branches, scattering the fabric along the pathway.

"Whatever we find out here better be fucking worth it," Fatin quipped, a bloodied gash on her thigh revealing itself as she ripped more fabric from her sweatpants, surprising Blaire who hadn't been present when Leah shoved Fatin out of anger the day before. "I can't believe I'm willingly ruining my Givenchy for those bitches. Hand to fucking God, they better make me a shrine or something to show their gratitude."

"You think they'll be upset about us taking the Cokes?" Blaire queried, after having swallowed the last few drops of her rations. "Like, for all we know, there's a good chance we're on a hit list by now."

"Oh, abso-fucking-lutely," Fatin shrugged, rolling her sleeves past her elbows. The trees were swaying in the harsh winds, arranged neatly, evenly in mediocre landscaped patterns. The scent of dew lingering on the flattened, sun-warmed grass hung in the air. "But once we find something useful, they won't be able to talk shit. Besides," she paused to sigh, "so what if we stole a few cans of our own rations? It's not like we stole food, or medication, or whatever the fuck else Dorothy keeps strict inventory of —"

The feeling of guilt weighed heavily on Blaire's heart.

"Yeah..." She managed to breathe aloud, hesitating for a moment, knowing all too well that the stolen packet of Oxycodone was buried deep in her pocket.

When it was a question of survival, Blaire never once questioned her hunger, never paused to ask herself what she was eating or how much, especially now that she was stranded on an island. The drug addiction she often sought out to fulfill, however, was different. Because the impulse was there, right there, at the tip of her tongue, under her skin, and it was exhausting to resist.

Discipline.

Blaire used to have plenty of it, and she hated how foreign it seemed to her now. Her hands anxiously fidgeted inside the pouch of her hoodie, grazing over what she knew to be the aluminum of the Oxycodone packet over and over again, unnervingly inviting. There was a shiver that ran down her spine, and she bit down on her tongue, fighting the unease.

And she wished, not for the first time, that the island had taken her weaknesses, and not only her strengths.

─── • ───

The hours seemed to blur into one another with every twist and turn looking exactly like the last. The forest had stretched for miles, and Toni had been the one to lead the charge into the labyrinth of trees in search of Fatin and Blaire, the others trekking across the earthy forest floor behind her.

They'd been waking for miles, and if Toni had to guess she'd say they probably hadn't even scoured five percent of the forest yet. The atmosphere was growing humid with each passing second, and still, there was no sign of Fatin or Blaire along the path. To make matters worse, a sense of heated tension had stretched between the group, lingering between Toni and Martha, and Leah and Rachel; both pairs had still carried unprecedented annoyances over things that had happened the day before.

Toni hadn't let herself get too caught up in her drama with Martha though, especially not since news broke out that Blaire had gone missing after their fight on the beach. She hadn't realized how worried she was until she'd stumbled upon a bloodied piece of fabric hooked on a tree branch in the early morning, alerting her that something was wrong.

It hadn't been long before Toni told the others what she'd found, and if they weren't concerned about the absence of two of the two delegates before, they sure as hell couldn't deny their apprehensions any longer.

And so, the seven of them, minus Nora who'd stayed back at the campsite to watch the signal fire, had travelled into the depths of the inland forest in search of their missing members. Toni was forced to swallow the lump of guilt forming in her throat, her anxiety and morbid thoughts getting the best of her, for they hadn't even had the luxury (or misfortune) of finding another shred of Fatin's purple sweatpants.

Blaire should've turned up by now, and that alone was beginning to take an unexpected toll on Toni, especially with how they'd left things on the beach the day before. She'd grown incredibly tense, a headache ebbing away at her temples, and all she could think about was the fear in Blaire's eyes when she took an axe to their shelter, to their hardwork.

Toni didn't know how to explain how that look made her feel, nor did she choose to acknowledge the fact that Blaire had meant more to her than she should have; it was a feeling more than anything, and not something she'd ever bothered to put words to. She knew that her and Blaire were two vastly different people, and yet, they seemed to balance each other out in the most unexpected of ways, almost destined.

This thought was enough to entirely capture Toni's attention for most of the day, even throughout the meaningless games of 'would you rather' that her and the others played to pass the time, or the passive aggressive comments spat between Rachel and Leah, or even the encounter with quicksand that left all seven of them covered in caked on mud, which stuck to their skin, smelling faintly of sulphur and rotten eggs.

"So, um, God knows I'm not a quitter, but at some point, this search party's gotta end," Shelby spoke up from the front of the group, only a few steps behind Leah who was leading with quick gait, her voice weak with concern as their searching grew relentless.

"Yeah, she's right," Dot seconded, the group coming to a stop as she spoke. "We should call it, you know, start out fresh again tomorrow," she added, streaks of dried quicksand cracking on her sunburnt cheeks.

"I'm not leaving without Blaire. There's no fucking way," Toni said defiantly, her expression was flat with bleak desperation, her shoulders slumped and pupils dilated, causing Shelby to shoot her a look. "Not when I'm the reason she's out here in the first place."

"Yeah, Toni's right. We have to keep looking," Leah insisted, her voice cracking as the words left her throat. "We can't stop looking."

Dot just sighed, feeling for both the brunettes who were experiencing the effects of a guilty conscience.

"The sun will be going down soon, guys," she stressed, trying to calculate how long it would take for them to backtrack and find their way back to campsite in her head. "Like, do you really want us out here, stumbling around in the dark?"

Leah distressfully brought a hand to her forehead, her blue eyes brimming with tears that she'd been struggling for so long to keep under control, "We have to find them."

"Exactly, it's not up for discussion," Toni was in complete agreement, the wilderness crunching underneath her sneakers as she kept trekking deeper into the forest, leaving no room for rebuttal. "Blaire! BLAIRE!" She yelled, until her vocal chords strained.

And the others girl were forced to do the same, calling out for both Fatin and Blaire just as they had been for the last six hours. Toni led them ahead, the terrain seeming to get steeper as they trekked up an incline.

"Blaire! BLAIRE!"

"FATIN! Where are you?"

"Blaire! Fatin! BLAIRE! FATIN!"

Toni's body kept pulsing with fatigue, unaware of how little sleep she'd gotten after Blaire's frightened face had done well to haunt most of her dreams. However, she knew somehow that the tiredness would be quick to dissipate once she found the girl she'd been looking for, and that alone willed her to keep going.

─── • ───

MEANWHILE...

Gretchen was pacing up and down; the wall of monitors had filtered through live snapshots and camera angles of the island to no avail, and it drove her crazy, even more than she felt she was. Thom and Susan kept control of the cameras, writing in the margins of their notes every so often, while Alex flipped through the case files for any insight as to where their two missing subjects might've ran off to.

"Leah spins until she's untethered. Toni angers, of course, until she inevitably self-destructs," Gretchen recited from memory, studying the screens carefully, earning awed expressions from her team members. Audrey stood alongside her, close enough to keep Gretchen's madness at ease, and together, the two researchers walked a bit closer to the monitors.

"Fatin, when she's cornered or hurt, disappears. And Blaire, under similar circumstances, often goes looking for trouble. Which, I might add, is exactly what we are witnessing now, and why we are holding off any intervention!" She continued, her eyes now lingering on the one person who held the most reservations. "Alex, could I bother you to go upstairs to the AV room and check the projector? I can't figure out why some of these images are so pixelated."

The young man stiffened yet agreed, "Not a problem."

And doing as he was told, Alex reluctantly took one last glance at the monitors before he left the room. Gretchen breathed in relief at his departure, knowing she could now speak freely without Alex's persistent inquiry. She sat down at the desk nearest to the wall of monitors and sighed deeply, watching as Audrey immediately approached her out of her peripheral vision. The two sat together, out of earshot of Thom and Susan, and studied the screen once again.

"I've read the dossiers," Audrey told her, knowing all too well that Gretchen had just lied to them all. "They're not following typical behavioural patterns."

"No, they're not," Gretchen narrowed her eyes on the monitors, the confession falling from her lips in an ashamed whisper. "Fatin does not disappear when provoked, and Blaire does not go looking for trouble — she doesn't need to." She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Trouble usually finds her first..."

─── • ───

BACK ON THE ISLAND...

The steps Blaire took were lazy as she walked, pace after pace behind Fatin. Her body and mind felt oddly disconnected now after hours of walking aimlessly, her limbs working without conscious instruction, as though she were somehow a passenger in her own body.

It was eerily quiet as they walked deeper into the forest, and harshly cold. Her and Fatin had exhausted every conceivable small talk topic. Now, as luck would have it, they were circling back to a handful of commonalities that existed pre-island. But one could only talk so much about meaningless social statuses, about normal things that felt so far away.

Blaire often found herself wondering why they'd even bothered to be reminded of the lives they would probably never get back to, the untouchable futures meant simply to be tucked at the back of their minds — never to be revisited.

Oddly enough, hunger was the last thing on Blaire's mind. Her appetite came in waves, receding deeper and deeper into the horizon of hollowed numbness before the beckoning hunger rescinded inwardly to a quiet hum.

She should've been bothered, but she wasn't.

Because guilt sat at the pit of her stomach, fluttering.

And because, if this was the afterlife, then she didn't want to accept it. Blaire just wanted to be back in New York, with a lit joint between her lips, watching as Kofi puked his guts out onto Finn's front lawn, and Mikayla and Cleo sipped lukewarm Budweisers on the porch, giggling uncontrollably as the partygoers fled hastily from the scene. She just wanted to haunt the hallways of Xavier Preparatory, or even Finn's Italian-styled mansion, just out of spite for everything those places had done to her.

Truth be told, Blaire supposed she should've been grateful that they were stranded, and invisible, and alone. Because, for as long as she could remember, all she wanted was an escape from everything. But she hadn't dreamed of it being quite like this; this far from everything she once knew, from everyone she loved.

It was comical. It was absurd. It was humiliating —

God really did have a twisted sense of humour.

Blaire rubbed her eyelids again, groaning.

"Hey bitch, stay with me," Fatin nudged her on the shoulder, curiosity sparkling in her dark eyes, and the corners of her mouth stretching into a grin. "You're in your head a lot — too much, maybe." She pointed out, hanging back a second to walk alongside Blaire now. "Something clearly has you riled up, so lay it on me. This is a no judgment zone, I promise."

Blaire heaved an exasperated sigh, taking the lead as she maneuvered between the massive network of overgrown tree-roots and hanging branches. She kept quiet for a moment, thinking of what to say. It wasn't the right time, nor the right place to confess seven days of festering thoughts. Not when the wilderness had surrounded them, like trapped animals squeezed in a space-limited prison.

Then, into the silence, Fatin said, "If this is about Toni, you can go ahead and say it. Like I said, no judgment."

Blaire felt herself get a little defensively snappish on instinct. "Why are you so sure that this is all about Toni?" She muttered churlishly, picking at her nails, causing Fatin to shoot her a sympathetic look.

"Because it's clearly been bothering you since last night. Like, you were fucking crying about it." She pointed out gently. "And since I have appointed myself as your new best friend on this clusterfuck of an island, I have an obligation to do a wellness check."

Blaire laughed a bit at that, but she also felt her chest tighten. "I don't know, Fatin," she sighed in confession, letting her guard down, ducking below a low-hanging branch. "It's just been fucking with my head all day, honestly. Like, this retreat was supposed to be an escape from all of that shit, you know? But I don't know, maybe that was just wishful thinking."

"Wishful thinking is one thing, reality's another. Life's just a bitch like that," Fatin remarked, folding her lip over her bottom teeth. "But hey, you know it's, like, okay to feel the way you do, right? I know I've been teasing you since the jump about whatever you've got going on with Toni, but trust me, I know it fucking sucks to put your faith in the wrong person."

But that question was one Blaire had been so eager to ignore, because it wasn't a question she necessarily wanted to be asking herself.

In her heart, she knew Toni's catastrophic outburst could not erase the six days of unexpected tension, late night conversations, conspiracies of island castaways, feelings of attraction. Because, deep down, Blaire remembered it all. Each and every one of Toni's traits, memorized without effort, were somehow burnt into her beating heart, blazoned and unafraid.

And now that civilized distractions were meaningless as her and Fatin travelled into the depths of the forest, Blaire couldn't stop fucking thinking about it.

"I guess sometimes you just want to believe people are something that they're not." She admitted in a breathy whisper, her lips curling downwards into a frown. "And by the time you realize who they really are, it's too fucking late. Maybe that's why it's easier not to know sometimes. Because then things will change, and people will leave, and you won't have to be burdened with the memories of all their bullshit."

She wasn't bitter. She was sad, though. But it was a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time to heal, like a wound encased in scar tissue. Far away, on the horizon, the sun had reached its peak in the sky, disappearing between the gaps of canopy trees in a blaze of red and orange and green leaves.

"Spoken like a true fucking warrior princess. God, I respect that so much," Fatin cooed, after a brief moment of hesitation. "Toni's one lucky bitch to have you feeling some type of way about her, you know? Like, fuck, I'm jealous!" She joked to lighten the mood. "What's so special about the She-Hulk anyway? Holy shit, don't tell me the basketball shorts turn you on."

"I don't know how to explain it, honestly," Blaire replied automatically, which was the truth. There was more to it, of course, but she didn't want to think about it. "Toni just felt different, I guess. Familiar, in a way? I mean, like, she got on my fucking nerves in the beginning, but I guess becoming castaways together sort of gives you a bit of common ground." She shrugged, unsure of whether she was making any sense. "I liked spending time with her, talking about random shit and —"

"Eye-fucking across the beach?" Fatin finished with a giggle, her laughter echoing through the trees. "Having naughty little sex dreams about each other at night?"

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

Fatin snorted, "What, am I wrong?"

"It's not like that," Blaire shook her head, stopping for a moment to retie the laces of her black Converse.

"God, you can't lie to save your life. Come on, we both know that's such bullshit!" Fatin exclaimed primly, and Blaire rolled her eyes. "Like I've told you before, not only is my gaydar impeccable, but I also have a third-eye for sexual tension.You two aren't exactly fooling anyone, B."

Blaire stood up again, "Fatin, I have a boyfriend —"

"Yeah, and he's like, what, a million miles away?" The Pakistani-American grinned to herself triumphantly and marked another tree nearby. "Besides, if I know anything about your sad ballsack of a boyfriend, it's that you definitely have a type: hot and aggro as fuck — Toni's two for two."

The shade rising to Blaire's cheeks was an immediate scarlet red; she seemed to have choked on a scream that never left her mouth. "Haha," she said dryly. "Very funny. Now let's just drop this —"

"I'm serious!" Fatin dissolved into a fit of giggles, fliting an impassive look at the New Yorker. "Come on, please don't tell me you're actually gonna go back to that limp dick of a man, that fucking abuser —"

"Fatin... stop it," Blaire hastily intercepted, her blood now running cold. The sensation stirring in her stomach was mildly discomforting, as if an army of hectic ants were crawling under her skin, leaving tiny footprints of goosebumps. Partial inky-black roots had fallen over her chalk-white face as her lips quivered, contorting into a muted whisper, "J-Just stop, please."

The atmosphere grew thick with tension, both girls halting in their tracks to look at one another. There was a line here, repeated over and over, until Blaire lost count. It had been in too many dreams, too many nightmares to allow any more tears to fall.

Fatin's expression softened as she realized what she had said, and it was almost instinct to reach out, to touch and shake the nightmare off. "B, I'm sorry," she put her hand on Blaire's shoulder, innocently and impulsively, and the dancer flickered. "Fuck, I didn't even think about — I'm really sorry —"

"N-No, don't be," Blaire let the three words linger in the air for a moment, continuing to smile in a way that didn't quite meet her eyes. "Fuck, I'm the one who's sorry, it's just — I don't know — I thought I could ignore it, but I guess I was wrong."

The blood drained from her face, and Fatin feared she might faint. For a second, she truly believed the dancer would, until she felt a hand cover her own, the cold press of the rings Blaire never took off cooled her skin.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, you know that, right?" Fatin asked her, before Blaire even had the time to process her confusion and the numbness eating away at her nerves. "I know we've talked about this before, but I just need you to know that."

Blaire frowned slightly, "What if I want to?"

"Then that's up to you," Fatin murmured, her voice gentle, her dark brown eyes wet. "But, if it makes things easier, I've already had my suspicions..."

"Well, consider this me confirming them," Blaire opened her mouth, stumbling over her words. Her eyes casted downwards, on her shoes, arms folded over her stomach, almost nervous of the reaction. "Mind if I skip the details, though?" She asked insecurely, reaching for the pendant around her neck.

"Honestly, I could do without," Fatin replied softly, the 'duh' tacked to her tone. Her eyes traced Blaire for a moment, noticing how the purple and yellow edges of her bruises spilled beneath the material of her sweater, and Fatin couldn't stop herself from pulling the New Yorker into a hug. "You're so fucking strong, you hear me? Nobody deserves that, especially not you." She whispered into her ear as they embraced, and Blaire felt the tears swell in her eyes. "God, I don't even know him, but... I wish I could kill that bastard."

Blaire buried her head into the crook of Fatin's neck and exhaled a shaky breath, "Sometimes I wish someone would've."

"Well shit, dude! I know what I'm doing the second I get off this island," Fatin let herself pull back from the warm embrace with a smile, gazing at Blaire with inquisitive eyes. "Just say the word, B. Like, I'll probably end up doing jail-time and earn myself an orange jumpsuit, which, by the way, isn't really my colour, but for you, Tiny Dancer? I'll risk it all, I swear to God."

Blaire let herself laugh at that, the white smoke of her breath curling in between them. Her jaw worked, once then twice, and when she spoke again, she sounded unnaturally neutral, like it was taking all of her will, all of her control not to show emotion.

It was a good thing she had no tears left to spill.

"How sweet of you." She managed to respond with blatant jest, chancing a wink in Fatin's direction. "Toni might have some competition if you keep on flirting with me like this."

"Oh my God, so you do have the hots for the wannabe Michael Jordan!" Fatin thrusted her arms in the air victoriously, her gaze unexpectant but a little too knowing. "See, I fucking knew it! My gaydar has never been wrong, I swear."

"Shut up," Blaire rolled her eyes again, continuing on their trek through the forest. Then, after a few paces, she cocked her head back, "Don't tell anyone?" She pleaded. "It's... really complicated, and not something I'm ready for everyone to know."

"Wait, which part?" Fatin asked gently, hesitating.

Caught, Blaire played with her rings anxiously, "Both, I guess."

Fatin mimed locking her lips. "Your secret is safe with me," she promised, and six days ago, Blaire probably would not have believed her. She had no reason to trust a stranger to hold a secret that had potential to ruin her. But Blaire had seen how deep Fatin ran beneath the surface, how much she cared for people who just had the decency to get to know the real her.

So now, without a doubt, Blaire trusted her.

"Thanks," she said gratefully.

"Don't mention it," Fatin's eyes became wide and innocent again as they continued through the trees. "But hey, forget about Toni and all of her excess baggage," she called into the silence after Blaire. "Like, if she can't get her shit together, then that's her loss. Because, in case you haven't noticed, there are other people on this island who are practically begging to jump your bones."

Amused, Blaire looked back at her, "What're you talking about?"

"Well I, for one, have made it clear from day one that you're my hot lesbian fantasy," the Pakistani-American girl joked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "But, my horny ass aside, haven't you noticed? The Christian girl is ready to sin for you, baby!"

Blaire cocked an eyebrow, "You mean Shelby?"

"Yeah, the blonde youth counsellor," Fatin nodded in confirmation, tearing at more of her sweatpants, leaving one pant leg now torn all the way up to her thigh. "Honestly, I'm willing to bet everything I fucking own that she has had sex dreams about you that leave absolutely no room for Jesus."

"Oh my God, do you hear yourself?" Blaire, who shook her head again, was amused. Then she smiled, a bit wicked. "Your obsession with my love life is so fucking weird."

"It's helping to keep me sane," Fatin defended herself, shrugging. "If I can't have my socials, this is the next best thing!" Besides," she quipped, still trying to stay light and playful, "it's like I have a front row seat to the first lesbian season of The Bachelorette, so excuse me for being excited about making history."

Blaire raised a hand to her mouth in attempt to suppress the fit of giggles threatening to erupt from the depths of her throat. She finally felt settled, like the lightheartedness of the conversation had somehow calmed the butterflies in her stomach.

"You're such an idiot."

"Oh please, I know you love it!"

"But love is such a strong word," Blaire pointed out sarcastically, cracking a wide smile. "Honestly, I'd probably settle on not entirely dislike, at the most."

Laughing, Fatin flipped her off, "God, you're the worst best friend I've ever had."

"How many best friends have you had before me?"

"Not relevant," Fatin replied, as dignified as possible.

"Bitch," Blaire said playfully, and she realized she had rediscovered her ability to laugh in the most hopeless of places. She thought more about her conversation with Fatin, and abruptly found herself close to tears again, overwhelmed, though for a vastly different reason.

Fatin felt like home to her, effortless and sincere.

And, for an unknown reason, Blaire kept thinking of her life in New York, of her best friends who often cared for her in ways that her own family couldn't quite grasp. She smiled as the memories flooded back, transporting her to a time where, even when she felt like she had nothing left, she was bountifully loved —

Blaire's bedroom, which was strewn with half blown-up air mattresses and piles of blankets, was occupied by her and her friends on a cold Thursday night in the middle of March, just a few weeks after she'd recovered from her ankle injury.

Mikayla Foster and Cleo Solarin, her two best friends since elementary school, had busied themselves by putting on face-masks and sorting through movies at their disposal, while Blaire resigned herself to having to scroll through the entirety of her text conversations with Finn.

He hadn't stopped blowing up her phone since the night she harshly told him to leave her room, and that alone had privately annoyed her. On multiple occasions, Blaire had even physically furrowed her eyebrows at the screen.

Mikayla, having noticed this, made her way over and dropped down beside her best friend on the queen-sized bed, brandishing a rather alarmingly tall stack of DVDs.

"Okay, so here's my dilemma," the blonde said with a huff, spreading all the DVDs around her like a fan before she ripped the phone from Blaire's hands, forcing her attention. "We're supposed to be having a girls night, and all you've done is stare at your phone for the past two hours," she ridiculed, dangling the phone in front of Blaire's face. "And I'm sorry, but I refuse to let whatever bullshit Finn is spewing over text ruin our night."

"Amen to that," Cleo preached from the floor, sprawling out on a deflated air mattress. "Put his ass on mute."

"Easier said than done," Blaire rolled on her side and pillowed her cheek on her hand, overthinking. "God, I'm sorry for being such a fucking buzzkill. He's just been, like, really overbearing lately, and I don't know what to do."

"Yeah, fuck that," Cleo replied bluntly, propping herself up at the end of Blaire's bed to join the conversation, the mattress dipping near her foot. "I know he's your boyfriend and all, but honestly, I have no fucking sympathy for that asshole, especially with how he's been treating you and my brother lately. Like, Kofi almost got suspended for the shit he pulled on the football field —"

"Out of sight, out of mind! All this toxic masculinity bullshit is exhausting," Mikayla interjected with a demanding tone, which was usually her response when she had had enough of a conversation topic. "No more boy drama tonight," she added, placing Blaire's phone on the bedside table before frowning at her array of DVDs. "On to more important things, like: should we watch Hairspray and Grease back-to-back? Or do you think that's too much John Travolta in one sitting?"

"He's definitely most appreciated in small doses," Blaire laughed, sorting through Mikayla's movie selection. "Besides, it'll be a definite mindfuck to see him go from smoking hot Danny Zuko to stiletto-wearing Edna Turnblad. Like, I don't know if I'm ready for all of that."

"That's such a good point," Mikayla agreed, rearranging some of the DVDs. "The Outsiders and The Breakfast Club can go in between, just for the eighties symmetry."

"Fuck, I was hoping we'd get to see Tom Cruise in All the Right Moves," Cleo threw her head back with a groan, pouting as Mikayla carefully wiped the edge of the DVDs with her shirt. "You know, if you pause it just right, you can see his penis!"

"Tempting, but it'll have to wait," the blonde clarified, reading the summaries of all the movies, even though she was already familiar with them from the amount of time she'd spent at Blaire's watching as she curated the entire collection. "We'll go through the decades. Clueless and 13 Going on 30 have to be in the list somewhere, or else we've completely fucked up the art of a good movie marathon," she deadpanned, clapping her hands together excitedly. "B, what do you think about —"

Mikayla's voice caught in her throat as the sound of Blaire's ringtone, coming from the bedside table, cut across her. The sudden noise made the three girls jump in surprise, and Blaire clutched at her chest as she looked towards her phone, the blood now pounding in her ears. She was staring at her phone, biting her lower lip, still not believing Finn had the audacity to call after she'd stopped responding.

"Don't answer it," Cleo told her almost instantly, like she knew Blaire's inner thoughts, and the African-American retracted her frustration into a sigh. "It's not worth it."

"Yeah, Cleo's right," Mikayla nudged Blaire supportively on the shoulder. "Just let it go to voicemail."

Blaire trembled slightly, "He won't stop calling if I do."

"We don't even know for sure if it's him," Mikayla pointed out optimistically, shrugging her shoulders. She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and waited for the phone to stop ringing, watching it as if it was some ticking time-bomb.

"Then let's just wait to see who it is," Cleo stood and crossed the room, snatching Blaire's phone of the bedside table. "Kayla and I will listen to the voicemail to, like, make sure everything's okay. If it's an emergency, then we'll call him back. But other than that, he's ruining our girls night."

Wide-eyed, Blaire leapt from the bed and tried to grab her phone out of their hands, reaching desperately in between Mikayla and Cleo, wrestling with them both to get it back. The phone had stopped ringing and the screen lit up with a notification immediately, indicating that a voicemail was waiting to be heard.

Blaire's eyes flashed with sudden panic.

They couldn't listen, they couldn't know...

And so, she practically begged them, "No, wait, just give me the phone —"

"If it actually is Finn, then I'll personally tell him to fuck right off," Cleo grinned mischievously, pressing PLAY on the answering machine, holding the phone between herself and Mikayla. "Don't worry, I'm a woman of my word."

"Guys, please, leave it alone —"

"Shh! I can't hear anything!" Mikayla hushed her, bringing a finger to her lips to signal for silence. "This is for your own good, B. We'll handle this, trust me."

"Hey, it's Blaire! Leave me a message and I'll be sure to get back to you," the dancer's noticeably younger voice chirped over the answering machine, followed by a loud BEEP!, and Mikayla and Cleo looked at each other, waiting to hear the voice on the other line.

There was a pause, and they waited for the machine to count. Blaire swore that her heart skipped a beat, and with each passing second, she was in shambles. Memories were sieved, even the most discernible of details escaped her attention. Her tear-stained cheeks were now made permanently ridden, like war paints, worn to show her sins. Her head spun in dizzying swirls as she tried to listen, her heart hammering between the bones of her ribcage.

"You have one new message."

The tone sounded again, and Blaire knew there was absolutely nothing she could do. She closed her eyes and exhaled shakily, leaning her head back against the headboard for an undetermined amount of time.

Please don't be Finn, please don't be —

"What the fuck, Blaire? Why aren't you answering your phone?" Finn's aggressive voice was so loud through the speaker that Blaire could practically hear it from across the room. "Like fuck, I told you I was sorry about what happened. How much longer are you going to punish me? I know you're with Mikayla and Cleo right now, and I swear to God, if you tell them anything... there's no going back. Remember that. C'mon, pick up the fucking phone! This can't be the end for us, not after one little mistake. Blaire, please, just —" and his voice was cut off by the BEEP! that, this time, signalled the end of the message.

Blaire brought her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her leg and bowed her head to hide the tears, her face riddled with shame. She then let out a muffled and broken whimper that sounded more like an exhale of air.

Cleo let the phone fall to the floor, her hand trembling, as though she was struggling not to reach out for her best friend. Blaire wished she would, which made her feel even worse. She couldn't handle a lecture right now, not from Cleo or Mikayla, not when despair was bubbling over in her throat like water that was left too long on the stove.

"Blaire," Cleo turned towards her on the bed, discomfort evident in her voice. "What the actual fuck was that?"

"I t-told you not to listen," Blaire shook her head, her head lost in a haze of foggy dizziness. In her stomach, shame felt like a wave of dirty water, like a cloud of cigarette smoke — drowning everything else, suffocating, numbing.

"Well, we're sure as hell glad we did now," Mikayla spoke up in a breathy whisper, too stunned to speak before. "Tell us what's going on, B — this is really scaring me."

"Just forget it," Blaire avoided their eyes, curling into a ball, feeling the numbness spread. "It's not that big of a deal."

"Sounded like a big fucking deal to me!" There was a flash of frustration that distorted Cleo's mouth, "Fucking hell, Blaire, this is serious. He was, like, threatening you over a goddamn answering machine. What kind of manipulative shit is that? You really need to tell us what's going on."

Blaire's breathing grew ragged, and instead of willing herself to provide an audible response, she hesitated. There was a new kind of cold that congealed in her chest, one that had nothing to do with the weather. Fear had always made her retreat, made her unable to speak.

The thing about fear, Blaire was starting to realize, was that it could lie dormant for a while, an undercurrent of sadness you'd learned to accept, and you'd make space for it in your life, like an intrusive roommate. Then, all of a sudden, something would trigger it, and it would surge, brand new in its ferocity, from the depths of your heart, and you would be forced to remember that fear wasn't a roommate so much as a monster under your bed...

And when the monster showed its teeth again, no matter how much time had passed, they were just as sharp as ever.

Like in this very moment, when it dawned on Blaire that only the truth would set her free. She'd never expected the night to end like this, but now, there was no going back, just like Finn had warned. And so, with her hand trembling, Blaire had no choice but to roll the sleeves of her sweatshirt up to her elbows, revealing her darkest secret to the two people she trusted more than anyone.

Blaire's face was still pale, and her fingers were nervously tangling together in her lap. The bruises that covered her arms from Finn's abuse looked even more violent close up, and Mikayla and Cleo were left speechless as the entirety of their friend's painful experience was exposed. The two of them glanced at each another, blinking with disbelief, and Blaire forced herself not to tremble under their gaze.

It was like Blaire's memories were just wiped, and she was forced to face the brunt of her grief all over again.

And it was fucking exhausting.

"Oh my God," Mikayla cupped her mouth, not looking at her, the bedroom now rife with tension. "Finn, did he — did h-he — ?" She cut herself off, swallowing the end of the words she was about to say, and when Blaire did nothing but give her a weak nod, she inhaled sharply, "What the hell, B? How long has this been going on?"

"I don't know — a few months, maybe," Blaire managed to answer, slow and clear, turning to face her. "It doesn't matter... I'm dealing with it."

"The fact that Finn's still walking around as an innocent man means you haven't dealt with shit," Cleo murmured dejectedly, looking at her in disbelief. "God, I can't fucking believe this! Honestly, I could kill that bastard with my bare hands right about now."

"Keep your voice down!" Blaire pleaded under her breath, signalling towards her bedroom door. "My dad's in the other room, remember?"

"And what difference is that supposed to make, exactly? You know your dad would have him expelled if he knew," Cleo started pacing the floor in wide, angry strides. "I can't believe you're acting so cool about this. Like, Finn's a fucking monster, don't you get that? Why are you protecting him right now?"

"Cleo, relax!" Mikayla begged aloud, and she prayed to any god who might be listening to the conversation to have it stop there. "I know you're upset, but taking it out on Blaire is just making things worse. She's not at fault here, okay? She's just scared. Which is why, we'll go with her down to the police station in the morning and —"

"What, are you insane? Absolutely not, no!" Blaire cried out, terrified. "Have you forgotten about Finn's role in all of this? He's the mayor's son, Kayla! If you honestly think Thomas Hayward doesn't have the entirety of the NYPD wrapped around his finger, then you're fucking crazy! We won't even make it out of the police station before he's payed them off to maintain his family's perfect image," she stressed aloud, the panic evident in her voice. "It's my word against Finn's, and in the fucking patriarchal society we live in, there's just no good ending for me. I'm either labelled as a victim for the rest of my life, or a lying bitch with seriously false allegations about the mayor's son. Trust me, please, this'll just make everything ten times worse."

"Fucking politicians, I swear," Cleo cursed under her breath, her hands on her hips. "Okay, fine, so the police station is out. Still, we can't just sit here and do nothing!"

"I can't afford to lose anything else, okay?" Blaire's voice cracked with exertion, and she let the truth of the words wash over her. "And that's exactly what will happen if people were to find out about this! My dad's too in the bottle to make much sense of anything, so I know he'll send me away to get help. Then I'll lose my spot on the dance team, and my scholarship to Juilliard, and my little sister —"

"Okay, and what about everything you'll lose if we don't say anything? Have you thought about that?" Cleo retorted, and Blaire felt her throat tighten, the tears on her lips tasting of salt. "That's what I thought," she spoke again into the silence. "So you can tell me to mind my fucking business all you want, but I'm just trying to look out for you."

Without much hesitation, Mikayla nodded in total agreement, "Right, because we're your best friends —"

"Exactly, and as much as I love you both for trying to help, I'm begging you to leave it alone," Blaire stared at them with her doe-eyes, the fear evident in their depths. "Please, I can handle Finn, even if may not look like it. He's not going to jeopardize my plans for the future. We're going to graduate this year, and I'm going to go to Juilliard, and go on tour with fucking Beyoncé some day, and fall in love with a millionaire, and then I'll never have to see Finn again. So please," she breathed out shakily, reaching out for them both, "just promise me you won't say anything."

Blaire's desperation was so painfully clear, and the words pressed against Mikayla's teeth almost instantly, words she couldn't help but utter, letting them fall like raindrops.

"Okay... I promise," she managed to say in spite of herself, trying to do the right thing for her best friend.

And, as the words fell from the blonde's lips, Blaire realized, abruptly, that she was still crying. "Thank you," she said gratefully, sniffling.

"Fuck," Cleo was genuinely concerned, and trying to help, and — God, Blaire hated herself for putting her friend in this position. Hated that she'd ruined their night, and was making them promise to keep it a secret, even when it seemed that Cleo would make good on her word and murder Finn in cold-blood if given the chance. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to this, but... okay, I promise, too."

"And you can't tell Kofi either," Blaire added in a whisper, her words coming out as a garbled pleading, and she held onto Cleo's arm with a feverish vigour, halting them both to show her seriousness. "Please Cleo, I don't want to worry him, and you and I both know what he'd do if he found out."

"To be honest, this shouldn't be a secret in the first place, B," Cleo returned gently, her expression softening. "You can't afford to be keeping these kinds of secrets right now, and Kofi cares about you —"

Blaire cut across her, "I know, I know — just promise me."

"Fine," Cleo gave in after a moment and wiped the tears from Blaire's face with the pads of her thumbs, willing herself to be strong. "But if that fucker so much as looks at you while I'm around, I'm going to have to commit first-degree murder."

Blaire inhaled a sharp breath, ready to argue, but Mikayla placed a hand on her back again, calming and gentle.

"No more struggling in silence, okay?"

And Blaire, for the first time, no longer felt alone.

"Okay," she replied wholeheartedly, and Mikayla and Cleo engulfed her in the tightest possible embrace, as if trying to give their best friend back the life stolen from her —

The flood of consciousness that brought her back into the present took Blaire by surprise, and she had no sense of direction as she walked through the trees. Before she had even realized what was happening, the New Yorker took a step too far and slipped downhill, skidding to the bottom of an overhanging ridge.

Fatin, who was walking a few paces behind, yelled out in surprise after her friend who fell in front of her, and she watched on in horror as Blaire smacked her head against one of the trees as she tumbled down the hill. The Pakistani-American frantically climbed down the ridge after the New Yorker, kneeling down beside Blaire once she reached the bottom, and putting a hand on her shoulder to assess her wounds.

"Holy shit! B, you good? Fuck, you're bleeding!"

But Blaire felt someone else's hand on her skin, and instinctively she shoved it off, frantic, freeing herself from the touch. And then, as she slowly shifted back into consciousness, her mind registered the look on Fatin's face, her features now scrunched with shock and concern.

"I'm sorry," Blaire breathed out, horrified. She was losing control, just like before — no, she couldn't let it happen again. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, and Fatin merely waved it off before she tore at more of the fabric from her sweatpants, raising the piece of material to a newfound cut on Blaire's forehead, wiping away the blood pouring out. "God, that hill came out of nowhere."

"Maybe you should watch where you're going next time, you clumsy bitch," Fatin's smile was steady and lighthearted, though she was breathing a little ragged, and fidgeting with the hems of her sleeves. "God, how I wish I was this out of breath because of a good fuck and not because I just ran down a steep fucking hill to save your ass," she let out a groan. "Maybe we should just head back at this point, you know? I'm sure the redheaded chainsmoker will patch you right up —"

"Fatin," Blaire cut across her, a sudden awe evident in her voice that made Fatin's eyes widen with intrigue. Somewhere in the near distance, the New Yorker had heard a familiar sound and quickly motioned for silence. "Do you hear that?"

Water.

Flowing fucking water.

The two girls shared a look, trying to sharpen their senses to detect where the sound was coming from, and Blaire rose to her feet quickly, dusting herself off at the knees and following the sound. Her vision was slightly blurred from her tumble downhill but she wouldn't let that deter her, her priorities changing within an instant. She let the forest floor sound beneath her feet as she stumbled and slipped toward the distant sound of the flowing water.

Blaire followed it almost absentmindedly, with Fatin trailing quickly behind her, knowing that same sound would lead her where she wanted to go. She came to an abrupt halt shortly after, pushing through trees and making calculated turns before she stumbled upon an open clearing, where a flowing waterfall descended into a wide lake, boarded by rocks and a bay of white sand; the water was clearer than that of the ocean on days where the tide was low, and Fatin let out an excited cry of victory as she brought up the rear.

"Let's fucking go! We did it, woohoo!"

Then, without warning, the Pakistani-American girl pulled Blaire by the wrist and ran into the water with her, both of them submersing themselves in the clear blue depths, clothes and all, ridding themselves of the dirt and grime they'd accumulated over the week since their crash.

Blaire splashed into the water like a little kid, carefree and innocent, and then lifted her hoodie over her head, resting it on a rock nearby the shore, revealing the red bikini she'd been wearing since the day before. She brushed her hands through her wet hair, allowing the edges to cling loosely to her face, before scrubbing vigorously at the dirt under her nails, the blood congealed on her forehead.

"Fucking jackpot!" Fatin squealed again as she resurfaced from under the water, a smile spreading from ear to ear across her face. "This is easily one of the best things that could've happened to me today. Second, of course, to a much-needed orgasm, but... I know beggars can't be choosers."

"The night's still young, who knows what might happen," Blaire replied brightly, and Fatin laughed harder, winking in her direction. "But," she prefaced, edging back towards the waters edge, "one of us should probably go back and mark the trees so we can find our way back later, you know?"

"Shh! I'm too busy relaxing," Fatin waved her off and floated comfortably on the surface of the water, closing her eyes as the mid-day sunlight hit her face.

"Fine, I'll take that as my cue, then," Blaire sighed, and the water rippled beneath her as she pulled herself back onto the patch of dry land. Before she went trekking back into the forest, however, she found herself kneeling down beside her discarded hoodie, and she pulled out the Oxycodone she'd stolen from the depths of its front pocket.

The day had drawn its course, and with no other goal in mind, Blaire could no longer ignore that her entire body was craving the effects of the small white pills. The temptation had messed with her head, sending her into a whirlwind of denial. She swallowed the lump in her throat, pivoting on her heels for a moment to make sure Fatin wasn't looking, hoping to see the Pakistani-American crunching her nose, dark eyes narrowing in possible confrontation.

But there was nothing — and no one — stopping her, because Fatin was too preoccupied in her moment of bliss to notice anything other than the way the sun glistened against the water droplets on her skin.

Blaire hesitated, going over everything in her head.

She shouldn't... she really shouldn't...

Then, without warning, her hand reached for them, like a fatal mistake. Blaire's insatiable desires overpowered everything else as she popped two of the Oxycodone pills into her mouth, a single tear rolling down her cheek at what she knew to be her own self-destruction. She hated how it felt like her body was getting torn apart from the inside, hated how desperate she felt for something so wrong —

But, eventually, Blaire's innermost demons won and she swallowed, ridding herself of the overwhelming temptation and cravings that made her feel empty inside. The Oxycodone trailed down her esophagus and buzzed throughout her body, slowly spreading to every inch of her and feeding the demon inside her.

And it felt good.

No, it felt amazing.

Her eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the effects already coursing through her system, and she felt her worries slowly dissipating, disappearing into nothing. Then, just as quickly as she took them out, Blaire shoved the remaining pills back into the front pocket of her sweater and stood, ridding herself of the evidence.

Believe it or not, Blaire recognized those warning signs — the secrecy, the lies; she knew what they meant, of course, but she couldn't find a reason to care, at least not right now when a strange sense of calmness had settled over her. She brushed her hands through her wet hair again and slowly forced herself to look away from the aluminum packet of pills before she started towards the trees, carrying the almost-empty bottle of ruby red nail polish with her, ignoring every single warning sign along the way.

Only a few minutes had passed before Fatin pulled herself back onto the shore of the bay, laying her wet clothes out to dry as she waited for Blaire to return. Next to her, drawing her eye-line for no particular reason, was the very same hoodie she'd given the New Yorker on the first day; the pearl white colour had dirtied itself as a result from their expedition into the wilderness, and Fatin, for whatever reason, had the sudden idea to wash it in the water of the lake.

That's when she saw it.

The aluminum corner of the Oxycodone packet was peeking out of the pocket of Blaire's white hoodie, like a blinking neon sign at a godforsaken gas station in the middle of fucking nowhere, and Fatin couldn't help but notice it. Blaire had grown careless and left it exposed, or so it seemed, and the recently discovered information troubled Fatin more than it should have.

Her heart broke at the absence of two of the pills as she took a closer look, her features creasing with an worried and concerned expression.

"Fuck, Blaire," she cursed under her breath, into the silence, "what the hell have you gotten yourself into?"

─── • ───

author's note:
*this chapter was not proof read*

new gif banner by wonhosmila ILY <33

one of my fav chapters to write <33 these next two chapters took SO long bc it's mostly original content between blaire and fatin in the forest loll so I really hope you enjoyed it so far!!

also blaire and fatin (#faire) is the best brotp idc

some blaire/toni angst in the next one 👀 ur not going to want to miss it!

[insert begging for comments and votes]

love you guys!

xo, selena

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