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sincerelyjxyy · 5 days

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Gold Rush - Fourteen

Invisible String - Gold Rush

Chapter Fourteen - Not Worth Loving Back

Song Of The Chapter - All Too Well by Taylor Swift

✧ i'm afraid of a lot of things, but mostly most sincerely, i am afraid of being completely unraveled by you, and you finding nothing you want in here. — l.m. dorsey, she is made of chalk ✧

Summary: Ensue the drama, because Josie and JJ's differences are rearing their ugly heads.

Preface: Any dialogue that is accompanied by ASL will be underlined and italicized unless stated otherwise. such as when I say Naomi is interpreting everything being said, I wouldn't need to then underline the dialogue. Also, there is only a second of weight shaming by a parent that quickly passes, but I warn you just incase! Also just wanted to say comments are ALWAYS welcome! Love you!

Warning: Please note that I am NOT a law professional by any means. Any legal jargon/ideas depicted are the act of a twenty minute Google search. take it all with a grain of salt :)

Word Count: 11.7k

Gold Rush Masterlist

THE SIGHT IN FRONT OF JOSIE NEVER GOT EASIER TO DIGEST, NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES SHE'D BEEN FACED WITH IT. She stood, unmoving, in her position at the threshold between her bathroom and bedroom. Her wide-eyed stare rested on the boy on the other side of the glass, while he observed his surroundings outside.

Just the sight of him made Josie want to turn back into the bathroom and empty her stomach.

Even from her view across the room, she could easily spot the obvious wounds sprouting across his angelic face. His jaw was tightly clenched, grimy and bruised as it sat in place.

She rushed to the window, undoing the latch and shoving it open, and reached out for the distressed boy. She was unable to get her arm or any words out, before JJ tumbled into her room and wrapped his arms around her waist. She was quick to reciprocate the desperate embrace and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting them atop his backpack.

JJ's hat fell from his head as his face dropped into Josie's neck, but he paid it no attention as it fell onto the white rug at their feet. The sparse drops of his tears had already dampened her skin, and she sniffled to keep her own rapidly growing ones at bay.

"I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it. I couldn't. He was right there, right fucking there, but I was too chicken-shit to do it. I just couldn't." His voice cracked through the repeated cries as he shook his head.

And Josie, however clueless she may have been, could do nothing but comfortingly shush him and cradle the back of his head as he sobbed into her skin. "It's okay, Jay. I'm right here; you're okay. You're with me. You're alright."

The weight of his body slumped into hers was enough to strain her. She could feel herself struggling to keep the two of them standing. So she made the decision to move them backward toward the foot of her bed.

Once the back of her knees hit the mattress, she sat down and pulled him down with her. But while she expected him to sit beside her, the distraught boy instead sank to his knees between her legs and pressed his face into her stomach.

Josie ran her fingers through the locks on his head and leaned down to kiss it softly. She willed herself to refrain from blubbering as she listened to his broken noises. "Jay, look at me. C'mon, hey." She gently scratched his scalp to garner his attention.

JJ shook his head, denying her the right to check his injuries and face his puffy eyes as he gathered himself. Josie knew that there was a large part of him that felt embarrassed about coming to her like that, but she'd be damned if she did anything to validate it.

"JayJ." She pushed his head back and slid down the bed to meet him on the floor. With the new position, JJ moved to sit to the right of her, both their backs pressed against the bed. He leaned his head back on the mattress, his jaw locked and his eyes firmly shut, but managed to take firm hold of her right hand.

Because of this, Josie was able to get a good look at the left side of his face.

The tiny gasp that left her mouth was involuntary, as she surveyed her best friend's features. Her blood ran cold as brief assumptions of what might've happened raced through her thoughts. She reached for his face gently, and she refrained from taking offense when he tilted his head away from the touch.

The gash on his lip from the kook fights had reopened and grown to spread over the corner of his mouth. He sported new cuts on his left cheek and brow bone, blood painted down the cheek no doubt from a hand running over it. The entire left side of his face, around his mouth and jaw and up his cheek and temple, sported nastily formed purple and green bruising.

It made Josie physically ill once again, and she composed herself before any words could come out coherently. "I'm gonna go get the first aid kit, 'kay?"

The grip JJ had on her hand didn't ease up. He was reluctant to let her go anywhere, and she knew that. So, she rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb and watched as he said nothing and refused to look at her. "I'll be right back," she mumbled assuredly.

Without another word, she was able to remove his hand and stand to make her way into the bathroom.

She dug through the medicine cabinet as the adjoining door to the bathroom opened, and Josie lightly cursed as Naomi crossed into the room. Josie smiled, trying to inconspicuously look for the kit as she avoided the questioning glance her sister sent her.

"What're you doing?" The younger girl glanced up at the cabinet Josie rummaged through, while the redhead grew frustrated at the lack of the medicinal box.

"Looking for the first-aid kit, you seen it?" The teen was aware that she needed to keep her sister's attention away from her bedroom, where prying eyes could probably catch the top of JJ's head if they looked hard enough.

"What do you need the first-aid kit for?"

Josie glared at her suspicious tone and shrugged. "Do you know where it is or not?"

Naomi defiantly crossed her arms. "Not sure. Maybe you misplaced it the last time you had to bring it back from one of your delinquent excursions. Y'know, 'cause you hang out with those types of people," she carelessly offered as her eyes flickered around the bathroom. The phrase was a favorite of their mother's, which caused Josie to scoff.

She moved down to shuffle through the cabinet below the sink. "Aha!" She pulled it from behind the sink pipe and stood up. Her expression dropped as she registered her sister's words and turned to glare at her. "Those types of people? Aren't you all about eat-the-rich?"

Growing up in the environment of their mother's career, the Grey children were well informed and all for the idea that the top one-percent should be required to ethically contribute to the economy. Having said that, it seemed a bit hypocritical for her sister to then shame people of less economic standing.

"Oh, please, I don't hate your friends because they're poor." She grabbed her eyeliner from where she'd previously left it on the sink. Her blank stare bore into Josie, tilting her head to emphasize her point. "I hate them because they're annoying and offer nothing to the community other than stealing shit. I mean, JJ literally shot a gun in a crowded place; he's kind of psycho."

Josie shook her head with furrowed brows, ready to jump to JJ's defense, but her sister had already turned back into her room and shut the door behind her. The older girl scoffed at the younger girl, but she couldn't stop Naomi's words from making their imprint.

It was fascinating how much her litter sister had grown up. It'd felt like within the span of a few months, Naomi Grey had gone from running around in her overalls and playing with bugs to going out by herself and telling everyone everything she hated about them.

Of course, she was still a thirteen-year-old and had her own faults—times when she showed her age. Josie tried to remind herself of this as she questioned why her sister would assume so little of people she didn't know. Naomi still held a sense of young naivety, which only saw the world as black and white. It was something Josie also continuously struggled with.

The world was so much more complex than just good and bad. There was an entire array of colors that made life so much more complicated than the two colors of "right" and "wrong."

She shifted the box between her hands, biting down on her bottom lip as her fingers ran over the plastic, before she turned to reenter her room. She quietly shut the bathroom door behind her and paused, listening for any noises that might warrant concern. When she was confident, she walked around her bed and sat back on the ground beside JJ.

He hadn't moved an inch since she'd left him. The only things that did move were his eyes, which scanned the room and took in every change that had happened to the room in the four years he hadn't been there.

The walls were still that soft shade of crepe pink, and she still had a display of her favorite albums on her wall. But recent pictures of the pogues littered the walls, instead of the ones of young tweens cheesing on the middle school playground. Framed pictures of Josie and her friends, as well as influential women throughout history, and old antiques littered the flat surfaces of her room. History-related books and fake plants said everything one would need to know about her life.

There was a particular picture on the desk in front of them that Josie could see JJ's focus return to. When she caught the resentful look he sent the photo, she had half a mind to stand up and place the picture face down on the wood.

The picture sat in a beautifully ornate, old, golden frame, decorated with artistic depictions of baby angels and flowers. The photo itself was of Josie and her family—her mother, Lily, and Naomi. It had been taken during their annual Christmas break trip the year prior, when they'd traveled to Rio de Janeiro for two weeks.

The four of them stood in front of Cristo Redentor, arms wrapped around each other and smiles wide. Josie remembered the moment fondle—at least, the parts that didn't contain her overwhelming panic stemming from how high up on the Corcovado Mountain they were. She'd very giddily spent a few minutes teaching their tour guide how to operate her camera, before racing to find the perfect spot. When they'd all posed for the photo, the two youngest in the middle, Naomi had vocalized and signed something about the irony of it when none of them were religious.

They'd all let out hearty laughs, the beautiful Brazilian sun complementing their pearly smiles and crinkled eyes. Petunia had squeezed Josie's side through her laugh, leaning in to almost press her temple to Josie's cheek in laughter. Naomi grinned widely, evidently proud of her joke. Lily had thrown her head back in a boisterous laugh, dark brown hair slightly blowing in the wind behind her.

Josie had opted to grin down at the front of her feet, not wanting to stare out too long at their viewpoint. She'd leaned in her mother's direction a bit, as she basked in the moment of womanhood and joy. It'd been such a special moment for Josie, given that she almost never felt that close with her family.

Over time, it'd become somewhat of a comforting picture, hence why she'd framed it on her desk. But she couldn't, for the life of her, find out why it would draw JJ's attention as much as it had. Eventually, his stoned expression took in the plethora of other objects in her room.

She withheld from asking him if he was okay, as she already knew the answer, and placed the kit on the ground to open it.

She removed some alcohol wipes, ripping open the packaging, before she gently reached up to grab his jaw. Tilting his face toward her, she started the process of cleaning the smeared blood and dirt from his features.

The blond stayed silent through all of the motions, and Josie calmed herself with the sound of his low breaths. It was so silent that Josie swore she could hear her heart cracking, as she silently blamed herself for the pain he felt. She'd been the one to tell him her idea. She'd been the one who refused to let him go when his father had demanded it.

Guilt encompassed her, causing her moving fingers to tremble.

He slightly winced when she rubbed cream onto the wounds, and Josie immediately pulled back in fear that she'd hurt him. Still, he said nothing, keeping his words to a minimum as he remained cold.

No matter how many times she went through the same process, the absence of JJ's voice right after a beating always gave her a shock.

So many questions bounced around in her brain, which wasn't unusual. But most of them were questions she knew she'd never want the answers to. How did it happen? What all had his dad done? How long did it last for? Did he come straight to her? What was he thinking about? Why didn't he leave with her at the station?

Discomfort slowly began to radiate from JJ, only growing as Josie started to apply the bandage strips to his cuts. Even though Josie could recognize it, it was still a foreign feeling. She quickly tried to ascertain what the best way to ease it would be.

"Let's go outside—get some fresh air." She closed the med-kit and lifted to her feet, setting it on her bed. She offered a hand down toward the boy, but he ignored it and got to his feet himself.

He avoided the hand as she kept it outstretched for him, choosing to instead stuff his hands into his pockets.

She tried to shake off the wounded feeling that bubbled in her chest at his rejection, wiping her hand off on her shorts. She leaned over her desk to open the window, when JJ's dejected voice finally drifted through her room. "Why d'you have John B's bag?"

Josie's brows furrowed as she finished lifting the glass pane. She spun around to face her friend, who had moved to stand by her bed. He'd also placed his hat back on his head.

He held up their friend's familiar camo backpack, and Josie huffed both in realization and a bit of annoyance. Of course, John B had to be so air-headed that he forgot his bag in her bedroom. Had it not been on the other side of her bed, it would've been incredibly easy for someone like her mother to spot.

"Oh, he was actually here right before you were. You missed him by like fifteen minutes." Josie shrugged, moving to take the bag from him and throw it over her shoulder. He let her do so with no resistance, simply watching as she directed her head toward the window. "C'mon."

He wordlessly climbed over her desk and back out the window. Once he situated himself on the roof, she handed him the bag. "Meet me outside the gate."

He nodded, again soundlessly, and turned to climb down as Josie shut the glass behind him.

She rushed out of her bedroom and down the stairs, unbothered to search for the other members of her household as she raced through the foyer. "I'm going out for some air! Be back in a bit!"

Briskly, she exited the front door and made her way down the steps and through the yard, practically sprinting through the front entrance. She kept her eyes peeled for her familiar friend making his way down or any prying eyes.

Surprisingly, JJ had found his way down quicker than Josie, and she found him leaned against the dark fence that surrounded the yard. John B's backpack hung from his grip, his own still slung on his back.

She took the bag from him and smiled, in spite of his blank expression. However, he seemed to be a bit more at ease outside of her house. Josie would take what she could get. "Walk with me?"

He said nothing, but still followed as she began their journey down the sidewalk.

There was no discussion as they walked the short distance, before JJ veered off to lead them into a small, wooded portion of the surrounding area. Josie instantly noticed his dirt bike leaning against one of the trees by the walking trail.

"So..." Josie drawled as she peered up at the boy walking to her right. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

"Y'know what happened." He shrugged, cargo shorts rustling as he stopped by his bike to set his backpack down on the seat. He removed his hat and ran his hands through his hair, which caused Josie to pause and take him in.

It was the first time since they'd reunited that Josie realized just how much he was actually freaking out.

"JJ, what did you mean when you said you couldn't do it? What couldn't you do?" She was soft and hesitant as she questioned him, and she immediately wanted to take it back when his shoulders tensed.

But she couldn't ignore the growing concern that ached in every part of her body. The part of her that so desperately wanted to know and cure his troubles yearned for answers. She recalled the crack and shake of his voice when he'd come barreling through her window. She still felt the remnants of the tears that had painted her neck—the vision of his red eyes still prevalent.

"I-" He paused, looking around in ambivalence. He ran a hand over his blond locks again, huffing as if he didn't want to admit whatever it was to Josie. As if he were ashamed he couldn't do whatever it was.

She couldn't tell which one it was, unsure if he was hesitant for her sake or for his own. Either way, she approached him slowly. "JJ..."

"I was right there." His hard voice came through clenched teeth, and he stared down at the ground as he bitterly pointed at it. "I was right there. I had the gun, and I was gonna do it. He was asleep, and all I wanted to do, Jo—all I wanted to do was put the goddamn bullet right between his eyes."

Josie's hand covered her mouth as it fell open. She clutched her chest with the other, as she registered what her best friend had admitted to her. Her heart filled with unfiltered sorrow, sitting heavy in her chest. Not only had he gone through the physical pain his father bestowed upon him, but he also had to endure the mental pain of loving him in spite of it.

"But I didn't." His hand fell to his side, tongue running over his teeth. His harsh stare never left the ground, and Josie knew he was replaying the scene over and over in his head. "But it's not like you'd care." The accusation in his tone felt like whiplash, and it sent Josie rearing back in shock. "I mean, you probably think I'm a pussy for not shooting him, right?"

She shook her head and stared at him in bewilderment, silently commanding him to meet her gaze. But he never did.

"Are you serious right now?" The accusation in her tone was crystal clear as she met his energy. A major sense of déjà vu came over her, and she couldn't help the irritation that grew in her stomach. The way he'd treated her the morning of Pope's encounter still left a sting.

He'd never been to her after she'd patched him up—after she'd treated him with such gentility and care. Quiet, maybe. Reserved, absolutely. There were even a few times when he'd left without ever saying a word to her—when he'd left her to willow in the thoughts that would always remain unanswered. But he'd never been so blatantly and outrightly cold toward her.

"C'mon, Josie. We both know how you feel about the guy. Probably hoped that I'd shoot him when we found it."

Josie scoffed indignantly and crossed her arms, marinating in his words. Was that really who he thought she was? Some petty, immature girl, who wished for her best friend to kill his own father because of her own hatred toward him.

JJ refused to look at her as he walked over to lean against a tree, again running his hands through his hair. But Josie practically nipped at his heels and followed after him with heavy footfalls.

"Okay, I understand you've just been through hell, so I'll give you a pass. But you have no right to be an absolute jackass every time you feel bad, Maybank." Josie's jaw locked with her scowl. She chewed on the inside of her cheek to refrain from shouting at him. It wouldn't resolve anything to get loud.

"I mean, yeah, okay. We're all aware of how much I loathe Luke, and I'm never going to apologize for that. But JJ-" She stepped closer to where he leaned on the tree. "He's your dad. As much as I hate him, I love you more. And somewhere in there, you love him. So no, I would never expect, nor want, you to freakin' kill him."

And yet, regardless of her assurance, JJ still shook his head. "You don't get it, Jo."

She flailed her arms up exasperatedly and shrugged in confusion. "Get what, JJ? That you have a complicated relationship with your dad? Trust me, I get it. I get it better than anyone." Flashes of her own difficult childhood raced across her vision.

"You know I get it! My dad hated my guts simply because I look like my mom, and my mom is the reason behind everything I hate about myself! I know what it's like to loathe your parents and love them at the same time."

"But it isn't just about my dad, Jo. This is about me and how absolutely fucked I am! There's no gold! I'm on the hook for thirty grand—thirty! And those smugglers... Jesus." He finally peered up at Josie, gaze serious and voice loud. "Those smugglers that almost killed us were murked—slashed like some Freddy Krueger-type shit. We're all fucked, and I can't even put a bullet through the head of the guy who did this?" He motioned toward the gash on his face.

As he shouted at her, Josie clutched her stomach and tried to regulate her breathing. His claim about the people who'd shot at them made her queasy, stomach turning nauseously as she let it sink in. Dead—but not just dead. Murdered.

Her head spun on its axis, thoughts jumbling, and she tried to organize everything and process it accordingly. She could feel her temple pulsing with a headache as she swallowed the words he spat at her. "JJ-"

He pushed past her to make his way back to his bike. He pulled his hat back over his filthy hair and threw his backpack over his shoulders. He climbed on and, with his head, beckoned her toward the space in the seat behind him. "C'mon, we're gonna go find John B and get the hell outta here."

Josie was baffled by his assertion, brows furrowing as she observed the fast pace their situation accelerated toward. "And where exactly are you planning to go?"

JJ sighed as if her question was a nuisance, and it stung her a bit. "I don't know, Yucatan, maybe."

Josie's brows rose to her forehead, eyes wide. Ignoring the expectant gaze he directed at her, she waved her hands around at their surroundings. "Yuca-" She scoffed incredulously at his impulsive proposition. "Are you insane? You can't go to Yucatan, JJ. I mean, I get that it's a you thing—to run from your problems—but come on. This is a new level of wild that is just unnecessary! We can figure this out without you fleeing off to Mexico!"

JJ scoffed at the insinuation that his plan wasn't the only acceptable option, breaking away from her eyes and focusing on the handles of his bike. Josie stared at him, waiting—hoping, that he'd smile and tell her he was kidding. He couldn't actually be considering running off to God-knows-where.

Of course, he did no such thing. "We can go, Jo. We'll live on the beach and catch our own food. It's perfect, and it's far enough that we won't have to deal with any of this." He shrugged as if it were the simplest solution imaginable.

"What about Pope and Kie? Huh?" Josie's hands sternly fell to her hips. She noticed the way his form bristled when she mentioned Pope.

His gaze was firm as a wave of irritation rolled off of him and toward her. But, despite his vexed feelings, he still answered her. "They'll be fine, and we can always come back for them. Pope's got the college thing; he's a big boy, and Kie's got her family of kooks."

Josie huffed out in incredulity. She couldn't help but wonder if he was actually hearing himself or just talking out of his ass.

Her tongue ran over her bottom gum and took in his appearance. His previously white shirt had darkened severely from the dirt and sweat that had taken it over. And even though he seemed outwardly calmer than when he'd arrived, the frenzy behind his eyes was prominent. They held the panic that stemmed from a bloodline that consisted of a long line of people who ran from their problems.

"What about me?" Josie solemnly asked, voice cracking. "I've got my family of kooks and the college thing." It was a low blow—something she knew he would take personally.

His shoulders tensed all the way up to his ears. He gripped the handles of the bike so tight that his knuckles paled in color. He took a moment to himself, before he shook away whatever burdens were shouting in his head. His jaw set, and he turned to look at her. "Are you coming with me to John B's or not?"

"Midsummer's is only a couple of hours from now, JJ." She realized how bad that sounded, especially in the case of the boy with her. But the aggrievement that consumed her fought to rear its ugly head as her best friend basically commanded her to follow him.

She'd follow him to the ends of the earth; she was sure of that. But she wasn't sure that she appreciated the way he expected it. Like he was entitled to it.

JJ laughed ironically through his nose, nodding as he cast his gaze back to the front of the bike. "Right, can't say I'm surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Josie snapped rather loudly, her jaw dropping as she gaped at him. She couldn't believe he was trying to make her feel bad. All she'd wanted to do in the first place was offer him support.

"It means exactly what you think it does!" He retorted, matching her tone. He removed himself from the bike to fully face her, and she glared up at him as he did so.

Heat creeped up her neck and into her arms, the burn from the Carolina heat mixing with red-hot emotion. Her lungs clenched, and the top of her spine strained as anger filled her body. She glowered at the boy before her, gaze hardened, as they stood chest-to-chest—as much as they could with the slight height difference.

The proximity was compact, shared indignation swirling around them like a red bubble encompassing their beings. And, like always, they succumbed to the ease of feeding off each other's emotions. They were two souls that reached in to tear apart the other's feelings and swallow them whole.

"I mean, think about it, Jose, or��Josephine, or whatever." JJ voiced her full name with so much malice that she had to step away from him, bursting her part of the imaginary red bubble. "You were getting ready for your little extravagant party when a poor lowlife from The Cut had to sneak in your window. 'Cause god-forbid anyone finds out about the psycho pogue with nothing to offer hiding out in your room—yeah, I heard that shit."

His confirmation that he'd overheard her conversation with her sister made her heart dreadfully skip a beat. She breathed out a helpless breath as he continued. They were too far down the rabbit hole to turn back. "You wanna know the difference between you and Kie? She may only have her kook family, but you?" He shook his head.

"You'll always be a kook. With your big house, and your entitlement, and fancy trips, and thinkin' that you're better than any of us from The Cut. Your whole family is a bunch of kooks. Your first kiss was Rafe fuckin' Cameron, and your ex-boyfriend is just as bad as the rest of them." His chest heaved as he stared at her, almost as if he looked through her.

"Let's face it, Jose, you're not a pogue. You were born a kook, and you'll always be a kook. So stop lyin' to me, and stop lyin' to yourself."

He pulled John B's bag from her shoulder and turned away from the dejectedly stunned girl. She was certain the whole island—hell, the whole state of North Carolina—could hear the sound of her heart shattering on the ground. Her biggest fears and insecurities had been thrown in her face with a crumpled-up list labeled All of the Things You Were Right About.

She could see the tears that built in her waterline and the cloudiness of her vision as they obscured her sight. Her chest contracted, then significantly struggled for the air it needed. Her heart hammered so loudly in her chest that, if she hadn't known better, she'd think it was coming up her throat.

It felt like someone had pushed her into a vat of ice water. Her whole body was succumbing to hypothermia as she watched the sun that could offer her warmth set over the horizon.

"JJ..." Josie's voice cracked once again as she took a baby step toward him, but he'd already climbed back over the bike. He pulled John B's backpack over his chest, carrying both bags since Josie would not be accompanying him.

"Accept it, Jose. Deep down, we both know where you're gonna end up. Better to just rip the band-aid off right now." His tone resembled the ice that chilled her veins, as he revved up the bike and let up the kickstand from the ground.

"Enjoy your party."

Before Josie could even respond to the sarcastically spat comment, the blond took off. He left her in a cloud of dirt and silence as she watched him leave, seemingly for good.

She had to clutch her chest, the loud thumping of the organ behind it threatening to break free from its chamber.

No. There was no way that was it. He couldn't just leave her like that—he wouldn't. That was not how their almost nine-year friendship would meet its end.

It was like her breath had been stolen from her, and she desperately clawed at her throat as she gasped for air. She felt light-headed, like someone had slammed a cinder block against the back of her head.

It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't real.

She pinched her arm, gripping the skin tightly, and tried to wake herself from the nightmare she found herself stuck in. When that didn't work, she looked down to count her fingers—she always had more in her dreams. But when she counted to ten, reality sank in.

The wail that escaped her was watery and broken, gargled as she drowned in the sea of torment. She slapped her hand over her mouth, trying to conceal it from the birds beautifully singing in the trees. If she couldn't protect herself from pain, could she at least protect them from witnessing it?

Tears fell freely over the hand on her face as she backed into the tree—the same tree he'd leaned against—and threw her head back as the continuous sobs broke free from her lips. She slid down the trunk, bark scraping into her shirt and back as she fell to the ground.

Her heart hurt. That was the only word she could find to describe the freezing, bone-chilling feeling in her soul. She couldn't think about anything other than how much her heart hurt. It was so bad that it stopped any other functions of her body from working properly.

But it was more than just pain.

Was there even a word to describe the insufferable feeling pounding in her being? There had to be. Despair, hopeless, anguish, wretched, desolation, distraught—none of them could ever accurately portray the shreds her soul had been torn into. The pieces she could feel herself falling into.

She couldn't have been the only person to have ever felt that agonizing heartbreak.

She'd lost her best friend. Her person. She'd watched him walk away from her two times that day—once to his doom and once to hers.

Did it not break him as much as it broke her? Did he not feel tortured by saying those things to her and then bidding goodbye? If he really did plan to go off to wherever with John B, she would probably never see him again. And that was what he'd left her with.

But even if he didn't go, those things he'd said? The things that he thought of her? It was clear that he never wanted to be around her again—and maybe he never did in the first place.

Josie cried even harder at the thought, coughing into her hands and choking on her cries, but she couldn't deny the resentful part of her that reciprocated the sentiment. Because how dare he say those things to her?

She'd spent more than half their lives right by his side. So how could he look at her and confidently spit those words at her?

Sure, she wasn't born on The Cut, but she'd spent so much time on that side of the island that she knew it like the back of her own hand. The Chateau sometimes felt more like home than her own house did. From the trees of her childhood to the private beach spots that she'd spent hours exploring, she'd buried the deepest parts of herself in the soil of the southside.

And sure, she wasn't financially disparaged. She didn't know what it was like to live paycheck-to-paycheck, worrying about when the next meal would be. But she'd spent days and nights helping those who did make sure that they were able to keep their businesses afloat and feed their families.

The pogues were her family—her chosen family. The people who she wasn't expected to love, but who she chose to love in spite of everything else. They were the people she was certain would be there for her future children's births. They were the ones who would sit with her outside on old rocking chairs when their hair turned gray.

How dare he say she wasn't a pogue, when she'd made the decision to be one the moment he'd given her that stupid pink crayon.

She was hyperventilating, swiping the tears that fell down her cheek in a mixture of both anger and anguish. Her palms moved to run over the back of her neck, giving her cries clear vocality, as she grasped onto the sweaty skin and hair. She couldn't grasp what her day had become, wishing to return to the morning when she'd assumed the worst thing that could happen was John B leaving their texts unanswered.

She tucked her knees into her chest, her head falling into them in an effort to offer stimulation to her face. The skin of her legs dampened from her tears, and she wrapped her arms around them, as if to hold herself together. She couldn't bear to fall apart more than she already had.

The freeze that had previously devastated her when he'd bit at her and left quickly began to run hot—a raging swelter that had her afraid she would pass out from heat exposure. It seared her mouth with a stinging sensation, and Josie had to spit it out into the dirt.

She pleaded for the melted hole in her chest to sew itself back up.

The sound of crunching leaves made Josie's head shoot up from its position on her legs. Snot and tears mixed together on her face, but she couldn't find the embarrassment she should've held when she noticed her little sister's approach.

"What the fuck?" Naomi gaped at her sister, pausing mid-step, as she finally found what she'd been looking for. And, despite the disgusted and confused tone in her question, she swiftly and wordlessly advanced toward Josie at the sight of distress.

Naomi planted herself down on Josie's right and wrapped her arms around the older girl's shoulders. Just like that, pain consumed Josie again as she felt the embrace. She wept into Naomi's shoulder, letting all of her devastation escape her once again. Only, that time, her cries were cradled by the gentle hands of the unscathed.

Josie's entire body shook in pure anguish, and Naomi remained silent to let her sister do whatever she needed. It was enough for both of them to just be there.

Once Josie was able to compose herself, she pulled away from the younger Grey girl. And, despite how much she cringed at it, the redhead lifted the bottom of her shirt to wipe the mess off of her face.

Naomi grimaced at the sight, a slight eugh leaving her lips.

"What are you even doing out here?" Josie hiccupped as she sat up and leaned back against the tree. The response she received was a wave directed at their surroundings.

"Mom's looking for you—she said you went out for fresh air or something." She paused and gestured at Josie's face. "I just followed the sounds of a dying cat." She mimicked the abysmal impression of Josie crying to sound exactly like she'd described.

"Asshole," Josie muttered through a sniffle, pushing her sister's shoulder. "Are you gonna ask what happened?"

"I don't really care." Naomi stood and held out a hand toward her sister to help her up. Once they were both on their feet, she shrugged and gave what, Josie was sure the teen thought, was an apologetic shrug. "No offense."

"None taken." Josie waved her off, wiping her hands across her face and then on her shorts.

Without another word, Naomi moved to walk back toward the house. Josie stumbled to quickly follow her.

There was a silence all the way to the gate, before Naomi stopped and turned to Josie. "Can I, as the obviously more intelligent one between us, offer you some advice?"

Josie raised a brow in amusement but directed her to continue.

"No one should ever be able to get that sort of reaction from you unless they're, like, dead or something. Like I said, I don't care what happened, but I do care about you being depressed. Because you can't do the dishes when you're depressed."

Josie chuckled, impressed with how much emotion her sister displayed—a welcomed difference. Because, regardless of what stance Naomi maintained, Josie could read between the lines. She could see that, deep down, Naomi was looking out for her older sister.

"So, try not to go all Bella Swan, okay? 'Cause all of that back there was pretty bad." She once again obnoxiously mimicked her sister crying, and Josie rolled her eyes and swatted at the younger girl. Naomi returned the smack, scoffing unamused.

They both made their way through the gate and up the front steps, when Naomi suddenly turned and reached up toward Josie's head. The redhead flinched away from an assumed attack, but the younger girl simply pulled a leaf and a piece of bark from Josie's hair, flinging them somewhere on the front porch.

"You might wanna straighten that one more time."

Josie nodded as Naomi opened the front door, and they were immediately greeted by a frantic, yet very well dressed, Petunia Shoupe.

Their mother donned a beautiful emerald-green silk waterfall dress, with a scooped neckline. The left sleeve was replaced by an asymmetric cascading side panel. The self-belt was tied neatly around her petite waist. The entire dress was complemented by the silver diamonds that hung around her neck and from her ears.

She radiated fierce beauty.

As the woman caught sight of her daughters, she almost screeched in displeasure. Because while she looked like that, her middle daughter stood at the threshold of their home in her casual clothes—no makeup, puffy red eyes, and distressed hair.

"Josephine Margaret Grey, what on God's green earth have you been doing?" Petunia stomped toward the girls, and Naomi rapidly ducked away from the stairs. Josie was subsequently left to fend for herself.

"Mom, I-"

"No, we don't have time for excuses." Her eyes searched the foyer for the grand wall clock, and they widened when she processed what it said. "You need to be ready now. Come on, I'll touch up the hair, and you'll do the makeup. Since you can't seem to do something as simple as getting ready on time."

Josie let her mother grab her by the elbow and drag her up the stairs to the teen's bedroom. She willed herself not to cry again as she thought about the last time she'd walked down those stairs—just a little while ago. When she still had her best friend.

Naomi's statement about not letting people emotionally control her struck her brain repeatedly, especially when Petunia opened the door of the bedroom. She could smell the lingering scent of the reason behind her broken heart—sweat, saltwater, and a bit of weed drifted through the air. It consumed her, like a cloud of smoke around an explosion.

She grabbed her chest at the sight of the first-aid kit that sat neatly on her bed. Josie followed her mother into the bathroom, mentally coaching herself to take deep breaths and control her emotions.

Petunia made her way into Naomi's room, dragging a chair from the desk right by the door, which she shoved in front of the counter. She frantically motioned at the chair when Josie didn't immediately jump in it, and the teen promptly obeyed her mother's silent command.

As Josie opened the bottom left cabinet to grab her makeup bag, her mother plugged in the flat iron that laid cold on the counter. They both hastily got to work covering the mess Josie had made.

Petunia, surprisingly, never asked for an explanation of Josie's appearance, which the teen assumed was due to Petunia's overwrought thoughts worrying about fifty thousand other things. The silent time in her mother's presence was nice—relaxing almost. Josie tried to allow herself to bask in the minutes she felt at peace with her mother.

In that half-hour, she recalled the things JJ had said to her, masochistically replaying everything over and over. While she understood that he was upset by everything that had happened, she held firm to the belief that she did not deserve to be spoken to like that. It was wrong, on so many levels, for him to fling those things at her, just because he'd had a rough time.

He ended their friendship because of this. He'd said goodbye.

Josie knew him well enough to remind herself that this wasn't completely uncharacteristic of him. He was so familiar with absence that he oftentimes tended to push people away, both accidentally and purposely. But it didn't make it any less hurtful, and Josie wasn't sure how she could shrug off the things he'd said.

He told her she wasn't a pogue. He'd called their friendship a band-aid that needed to be ripped off. He'd said that she acted entitled, and he'd indirectly insinuated that she saw herself as better than him.

Her pain was all JJ's doing.

It stung, immensely so, and Josie had to tightly close her eyes to refrain from crying once again. She then made herself swear that she would not let it absolutely wreck the rest of her night.

Tomorrow? That was a different story. She'd let it wreck her tomorrow.

Petunia was able to finish Josie's hair at record speed. Instead of the pinned-back look Josie had originally gone for, her mother had gone for a low hair wrap. Her auburn hair was completely pulled away from her face, aside from the strategically placed strands that fell around her face.

By the time Josie finished her makeup, her mother had already started to steam the non-existent wrinkles out of her dress.

Josie made her way into the bedroom, and Petunia tossed something out for her to catch. When she raised the item up in front of her, she inwardly groaned in recognition. It was high-waisted shapewear—because of course.

"You've been put on a bit around the tummy," her mother explained, circling her hand around her stomach. "That will make sure that you don't get rolls. Kennedy from the boutique made it specifically for you."

Josie grimaced as she inspected the garment, which looked way too small to fit her comfortably. Obviously, her mother would get her something a size too small, because what better motivation than that, right?

"Mom, I'm not gonna fit this." Josie glanced between the article of clothing and the woman at the foot of her bed, voice defeated from everything she'd been dealt that day.

"Josephine, we don't have time to discuss this. Move it." Petunia approached and motioned for Josie to undress. Reluctantly, and dejectedly, the teen lifted her shirt over her head and slipped off her shorts and underwear.

"Alright, suck in and tuck your belly," Petunia instructed as Josie pulled the Spanx up her legs. The teen loudly inhaled, and she sucked in her stomach as tightly as she could muster. Seeing as it was a couple of sizes too small, her mother tugged at the fabric as it fought against her.

She groaned and moved to tug at it from a different angle. "More, Josephine. Suck in." She tapped the teen's stomach.

Josie let herself breathe an exhale, before taking in another big gulp and holding herself there. She began to feel lightheaded, dizziness slowly altering her vision. It couldn't have been healthy to take in erratic breaths, especially while she still actively recovered from her meltdown outside.

It certainly wasn't good for her lungs or her brain.

"Alright, stay here," Petunia commanded, finally getting the fabric over Josie's stomach to sit under her chest. She exited the room and took a left to make her way down the hall, toward her own bedroom. Josie quickly ducked back into the bathroom, very uncomfortable in her underwear with the door completely open.

She didn't know if Cory or anyone else were around to poke their noses in other people's spaces.

She'd only waited about a minute, before her mother rushed back in and put some stuff down on her bed. One of the things her mother immediately picked up was a roll of tape. She ripped a piece off, glancing up to find where her daughter had gone. "Josephine." She waved her over.

Josie approached her again, and Petunia reached out to roll down the top of the shapewear an inch. She then laid a piece of tape sideways under Josie's right breast, where the material would sit. She then did the same on her left side, and then in the center.

Her mother tugged the material back up and pressed the top of it into place. "The tape stops it from rolling down. Turn."

Josie nodded and spun to face away from Petunia, who repeated the same process on her back. As she did so, Josie noticed that her mother also used the tape to mold her skin for a more toned appearance. Pulling her rib skin back, taping the fabric down on her thighs—it was all about appearances.

The teen sighed and closed her eyes, forcing herself not to dwell too much on Petunia's obsession with Josie's physique.

"Okay." Petunia spun the teen back around when she'd finished. Josie quickly realized how difficult it was to breathe or move. The material hugged her body firmly—so tight that Josie sent out an apology to the woman of the nineteenth century. How awful it must've been to wear a corset.

Without looking at her daughter, Petunia grabbed the other thing she'd sat down on the bed. Another roll of tape. "This is boob tape. You put it on—make sure to pull up for lift—and use it on the dress to keep it in place." Her mother acted out the motion, and Josie nodded.

She'd used the tape once before; Sarah Cameron's friend Scarlet had taught her how to use it back when they'd all been friends. She understood the gist of what it was used for.

Petunia handed the roll to Josie, before swiftly turning her attention to the dress that was still neatly laid out on the bed. To keep her mother from impatiently shouting at her, Josie quickly unclipped her bra—rather ungracefully as she grappled with the clip multiple times—and peeled off the protective film of the tape.

After five minutes of struggling to figure out the correct way to pull her skin and have her boobs sit correctly, she managed what she considered to be a success. The tape may have hurt a bit, but the girls were sitting, and her nipples were covered.

She only wondered how long it would last.

She grabbed the dress from her mother's outstretched hands, tugging it over her messy excuse for underwear, and let it fall down her form. As she smoothed it out with her palms, the loud voice of her sister rang through the second floor of the house.

"I need someone to clip this dang necklace before I jump off the landing!"

"I'll be right there, baby!" Petunia called out to Naomi, flattening Josie's dress one last time. She stepped back to give her a couple of scans, shrugging in what Josie concluded was acceptance. "Alright, go pick out some nice jewelry, please. You need to be downstairs for pictures." She walked through Josie's door, stopping to add over her shoulder. "In a timely manner."

Josie threw her thumbs up, watching her mother leave, before making her way across the room. She moved toward her dresser, where an antique box sat neatly, and lifted the lid to observe the plethora of jewelry.

She decided to go with a pair of golden-pearled, crystal-drop earrings. The embellishment in her ear was a squared golden crystal, and dropping from it were three circular pearls before a final teardrop-shaped pearl. They radiated a level of antique elegance that Josie always gravitated toward.

She decided to match the earrings with a few golden rings. One with a simple pearl embellishment, a golden one with the family crest stamped into it, and a simple one with ships carved into the outer rim.

She already knew exactly what necklace she wanted to wear; she didn't even have to think twice about it. Pulling the shiny golden necklace from its pocket in the box, she admired the sun pendant that hung from the chain.

The party was for Midsummer's, after all. As a celebration of the summer solstice, it only seemed fitting that she wore something to represent the warmth of the summer sun. She felt like the people of the Iron Age would appreciate her acknowledgement of the tradition's origins.

While she struggled to clasp the necklace, she looked around her room to find her backpack. She paused once the necklace fell against her chest, the image of her mother throwing a fit at her choice of bag coming to mind.

Groaning, she marched over to her closet. She flicked on the light as she walked in to shuffle through her basket of bags. As she moved the wad of T-shirts sitting on top of it, a certain dark blue shirt at the top of the pile caught her eye.

It wasn't anything special—a stupid shirt she'd gotten for two dollars at a thrift store. But what was special about it was the drawings and words that littered the fabric in white and gold.

On her most recent birthday this past March, JJ had surprised her with the exact activity she'd insisted on doing weeks prior. They'd gone to the local donation center, bought shirts, and completely went to town decorating them for each other.

It was a fond memory that had the rest of the pogues groaning in jealousy when the duo arrived at her birthday hangout in matching shirts.

But now, all she could do was petulantly stare at the shirt. And, in a moment of spite, she threw the shirt in the bin labeled 'donations' at the other end of the closet.

She went back to sort through the bags and eventually pulled a black hobo tote bag from the basket. After she held it against her dress to see if it matched well enough, she figured it was as good as she was going to get.

While in the closet, she also pulled out the black, strappy stiletto sandals that Petunia had specifically bought for the event. Josie audibly groaned as she eyed the shoes, taking her time to sit on the messy ottoman in her closet and strap them on.

Once she was done, she clumsily made her way back out of the closet and toward her backpack. She dumped all of the contents onto her bed and then sorted through everything to pick out what she'd needed. Her journal, gum, a stick of deodorant—which she quickly applied, shiny lip gloss, perfume—which she also applied, a bra for when the tape inevitably failed her, and her camera.

"I think that's everything," she muttered to herself, as she double-checked everything around her room. She paused when her eyes caught sight of the med-kit from earlier. Rather than lying on the bed like before, her mother had moved it to her bedside table.

It seemed almost metaphorical—the fact that her mother had moved it from its original spot. Symbolic of the way her mother viewed Josie's friendship, or former friendship, with the Maybank boy.

The box stared at her like a silent reminder of what had happened between her and JJ, and her chest ached longingly as a result.

Tomorrow. She could be sad tomorrow.

She sniffled and pulled the bag up her arm, rolling back her shoulders. Stuffing her phone and air pods in her bag, she made her way out of her bedroom door. Carefully, and trying not to look like she was as uncomfortable as she felt, she walked through the upstairs landing and down the stairs. She froze when her eyes met the sight waiting for her at the bottom.

Her mother stood tall in her heels, and she was rolling a lint-roller against the sheer black silk of Naomi's dress. Cory stood aside in a simple all-black suit. His emerald-green pocket square matched the color of the matriarch's dress. But there were two other things in particular that surprised Josie.

One was the shocking appearance of one of her older sisters, Lily.

For three years, Lily Grey had been residing in Boston. She attended Harvard, as their mother so graciously liked to remind everyone, and she was one year away from advancing to medical school. Lily Grey was Petunia Shoupe's pride and joy.

But, regardless of how intimate her maternal relationship was, Lily had always made it very clear that she resented the Outer Banks—a concept she'd inherited from their mother. So, it obviously came as a massive shock to see her step even a toe back on Kildare Island.

Her hair had been dyed dirty blonde, a major change from the deep brunette she'd bore at birth. She was also much paler than the last time Josie had seen her, which was at the teen's birthday. She wore a gorgeous light-blue scoop-neck, strappy midi dress.

She looked as beautiful as she'd always been.

The second thing, or person rather, that surprised Josie was the boy standing at the bottom of her stairs. In his black suit jacket and pants, white button up, and the deep burgundy bowtie that Josie had handpicked.

At the bottom of her staircase stood the boy she'd spent the last two months falling for. Max Edwards was there, with his bright white smile, as he waited for her to walk down the last few steps.

She narrowed her eyes at him, furrowing her brows to show how unorthodox his showing up was. No matter what feeling she harbored toward JJ in that moment, Max had held him back and let Rafe take multiple punches at him. He'd let his anger get the best of him, and that was something Josie found hard to let go of.

"Oh, Josephine, good." Her mother breathed out in relief, signing as she spoke. She beckoned her daughter to join Max at the bottom of the stairs, and he held out his hand for her to take as she stepped down.

But Josie did no such thing, and she instead brushed past his extended hand as she stepped onto the ground floor. "Mom-"

"Not now, please." The irritation was evident in Petunia's voice, and the finality of her tone made Josie huff in annoyed acceptance. She should've known it was too much to ask for just one thing to go her way that evening.

Josie turned to where Max waited by the steps and settled in on his right side, placing her bag down and out of sight. Against her better judgment, she let him wrap his arm around her back and rest his hand on her side. And, despite her best efforts to dissuade herself, she habitually raised her right hand to rest on his stomach.

Her mother snapped a few photos and moved to show them to the others. Lily offered a thumbs up when she thought a particular photo looked good, and Naomi gave out a hum of indifference. After what felt like a hundred photos, Petunia finally let the camera fall around her neck.

Josie felt extreme admiration toward her friends for always agreeing to be on that side of the camera—being photographed truly tested what patience Josie did have.

"Okay, now let's get some of you girls."

Max moved to stand beside Petunia, who squeezed his arm in a quick greeting.

Silently, the girls were able to navigate their way into the correct poses with Josie's guiding hand. Josie, who was the shortest and middle child by birth, took her usual spot in the center. Lily stood to her left, and Naomi stood on her right.

As their mother messed with the camera settings, Josie turned to her older sister. "What happened to 'never stepping foot on that filthy island for the rest of my life'?"

Lily shrugged and motioned toward Petunia. "Mom needed me here, so I came. It's grown-up stuff; you wouldn't understand."

Josie scoffed and rolled her eyes, movements harsh to portray her frustration. "I'm seventeen, not five. Why the hell would Mom 'need' you to be here?"

Lily shook her head, equally as passionate in her signing. "Leave it alone, Josephine. If Mom wants you to know, she'll tell you."

"But that's not fa-" Their conversation was interrupted by Petunia, who scolded Josie to get back into place. Josie scowled, shimmying back to her spot in annoyance.

What the hell did Lily mean by "Mom needed me here"? It was incredibly uncharacteristic for Petunia Shoupe to pull Lily away from her studies, as much as it was for Lily to return home. So, what could've possibly warranted both those things to happen?

The siblings' photos were taken quickly. Afterward, Petunia directed Josie to take photos of her and Cory, then of her and Lily, and again of her and Naomi. By the time they'd finished, Josie was convinced she'd explode from how much Petunia corrected her.

She was grateful when it was declared that the pictures were finished, handing the camera back to her mother and fetching her bag. She ignored when Max leaned down to grab the bag, quickening her haste to snatch it from the floor before he could.

"Okay, is everyone good and ready to go? We need to make it there before Rose does!" Everyone gave their confirmations, and Petunia began to herd all of her sheep out the door. But as everyone exited, Josie tugged at the back of Max's sleeve to stop him from following.

"What the hell are you doing?" She hissed through clenched teeth, watching her family from the corner of her eye to make sure they weren't eavesdropping.

Max sighed, shuffling on his feet, and stuffed a hand into his pocket. "Trying to figure out how to apologize, and then beg you for a second chance."

Josie scoffed as she crossed her arms, and she instantly caught the way his eyes fell toward her chest. She huffed again, smacking his chest in disbelief. His eyes snapped up and peered at her apologetically.

"Josephine, I'm sorry, okay? Really sorry. What I did was so stupid, and you had every right to break up with me. I've been an absolute ass the past few weeks, about everything." He closed the distance between them, gently grabbing her hands as he sat down her purse. And, again against her better judgment, she let him. Because she was a sucker for that soft tone of his.

"But I like you. Like, I really, really like you. I let Topper and Rafe get in my head and cloud that, which was idiotic on my part. But I want you to know that I will never let something like that happen ever again." His touch moved to cradle her jaw, and she stared up at him, doe-eyed.

She wasn't sure how to respond. It wasn't the declaration of love that she'd hoped for—that she'd been hoping for. And she wasn't expecting him to ask her for another chance less than twenty-four hours after they'd broken up. So soon after she'd experienced a different kind of heartbreak.

But Max was her first boyfriend. The first guy to outwardly show romantic interest in her more than just in the physical sense, even though almost no one even did that. He was the sweet boy from Houston, who just so happened to also like Bon Iver and thought that Indiana Jones and Pirates of the Caribbean were some of the best franchises of all time.

He was the first boy she'd ever thought she could love.

"If I have to get down and grovel for you, I will," Max playfully threatened, already bending at the knee. But Josie grabbed his hands and let out a small chuckle, shaking her head softly as she bit her lip.

"Don't tempt me. It's just-" She sighed, silently readying herself for whatever was going to come from forgiving him. "I really, really like you too. I think you can be pretty awesome, when you're not being a kook jackass. You're totally out of my league-" Max scoffed in disagreement and smiled as he leaned his forehead down to rest against hers.

"And you're the first boy I've ever felt this way for. I think that has a lot to do with why I was—I am—so upset with what happened. Because I love them. The pogues—they're my family." Josie hurriedly reached up to wipe at a stray tear that escaped down her cheek, trying to pull her emotions back. The last thing she wanted was for her mascara to run.

"I know that, and I'm sorry. I understand that they're important to you, and I am willing to put everything that happened behind me. Just please, please try with me. Yeah?"

Josie closed her eyes and basked in the feeling of his breath fanning her face. She was certain that was the most he'd ever apologized. Hell, it was more than she'd ever heard him apologize combined.

But there were so many different doubts and questions running through her head. What would the pogues say when they found out she'd taken him back after what he'd done? Was she ready to commit to loving someone who did what he'd done? Was she even ready to take him back so quickly? Was it worth the possibility of getting her heart broken again?

But wasn't that what love was supposed to be? The willingness to do something, even if it hurt, because that love was worth anything it came with.

Josie would be naïve to believe that love would be easy—she knew that now. It was a childish fantasy to believe that someone wouldn't have to try every day to keep that love going. If she was ever going to have the forever she wanted, she'd have to work for it.

The image of JJ struck her. More specifically, the image of the biting words he'd shot at her when he'd told her she didn't belong with the pogues. When he'd blamed her for her life as a kook. She couldn't stop the resentful words that responded to those bitter statements.

You think it's bad that my ex is a kook? Problem solved: he's not my ex anymore.

Josie nodded to herself, standing strong with her decision, and opened her eyes to smile sweetly at Max. Obviously, she wasn't only getting back together with him out of spite, but it was a prominent catalyst for her choice of forgiveness. She could only hope it would fade in time.

Once he returned the smile, she pulled away and grabbed his wrist to lead him out the front door. She locked the door behind her, pulling it shut and double-checking the lock.

"There you are! Hurry up, both of you!" Petunia hurriedly rushed them. She waved toward herself down the stairs, practically guiding them down from the porch.

Max wiggled his fingers to slide in between Josie's thumb and index finger, clasping them as he assisted her stiff form down the stairs. She was grateful for the assistance, too focused on trying to make her calculated steps also pass as graceful.

Naomi and Lily chuckled as they watched the couple descend the front steps. Josie glanced up from her focus on her feet to glare at Naomi as she spoke. "They were probably sucking faces or something." After she finished signing, Naomi pointed back at Josie and dramatically mimicked making out with herself. Lily nodded through her own giggles.

"Fuck off, dickheads. The only faces that suck here are yours." Josie's face fell blank as she silently signed. While her sisters rolled their eyes, Max stared at her curiously.

"What'd you say?" He inquired as he led them both to his truck, parked at the end of the driveway. He gave Cory and Petunia a wave, opening the passenger door for her. It was a good look for the parentals.

She stepped around the open door and turned to smirk at him. "I said that my boyfriend is an annoying prick who needs to finally kiss his girlfriend before she breaks up with him again." She felt bad for bringing it up so soon, but she silently hoped that the more they acted like a couple, the more comfortable she'd grow in their relationship again.

"What kind of boyfriend am I?" He gasped in insincere astonishment, before he leaned down to close the gap between them. Josie abstained from answering honestly.

Before he could let his hand wander to her waist, she sheepishly pulled away and patted his cheek. She gave a quick glance to her mother and Cory, the latter impatiently waiting for them to move out of the way. She then turned and, using the handle by the door, carefully pulled herself into the truck. When she sat down, she was reminded of how painful it was to breathe.

Josie watched as Max shut the door and jogged around the front, calling out something to Petunia and throwing a thumbs up. He made his way to the driver's side, sliding in and settling before he backed them out of the driveway.

The ride to the Island Club was silent for the most part, with Max having reached over and clasping their hands over the console. Josie, however, spent most of the drive reminiscing on the faint pain in her chest that remained from her argument with her best friend.

She couldn't help but wonder what he was up to at that very moment. Were he and John B already planning on how to cross the border in the Twinkie, or were they packing up the boat ready to sail down the coast?

Or had John B talked some sense into JJ the way Josie hadn't been able to? Were they instead chilling in the Chateau as JJ told John B about how he'd kicked Josie out of his life?

She wasn't sure which one was worse.

⋄ ⋟⋆ june 24, 2020

is it natural to wander through the universe of our own brains, entirely lost? this is how i feel. i am a stranger in my own head- crying out for my mother to take me into her breast and bathe me in warmth. but my mind is concomitantly freezing cold and scalding hot. there is no solace in a golden warmth. there is no comfort. i whine like a stray dog, glassy eyed and rotten as my teeth fall from my bleeding gums. i beg someone to take me home, i beg for my home. i'm so lost, because you were my home. but i have no home, i am a dog with no home. i am an animal- a beast. and i imagine this beast is not worth loving back.

- josephine grey ⋄ ⋟⋆

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lizzie-is-here · 2 years

Text

like the dawn

part x- the letters

“i’m afraid of a lot of things, but mostly, most sincerely, i am afraid of being completely unraveled by you, and you finding nothing you want in here” - l.m. dorsey

summary: as you settle in at the compound, the free time gives you a bit too much room for self reflection. not like the closeness of your trio is helping with your littles crushes either.

wordcount: 4.3k

warnings: pining, more pining, lil 🤏 angst, trauma, hydra fucked up ya boi, lists, yes lists is a warning

a/n: can you tell i was obsessed with parallels this chapter 💀 also the ✨olive theory✨ but no but i’m really happy w how this turned out hope u enjoy and like always, love you! 🥺🤍

taglist: @whelvedfeelingsstuff @sebsgirl71479 @rebloggingmyrecs @babyblublossom @local-mr-frog @thenyxsky @capsiclesdoll @moonlightreader649 @saranghaey @almosttoopizza

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The next days were dedicated to establishing a schedule. Thankfully, that was something Steve had always been good at. With his help, you had a nice, flexible schedule that would help you ease back into normal life.

5:00 AM:

Wake up. Take a flying lap. Get ready. Suppress the urge to think about how domestic getting ready with your boys is. Head down to the kitchen for a snack before stretching and going for a run around the compound. Follow up with a workout and cool-down stretch.

7:00 AM:

Eat a good breakfast, and use the opportunity to try new foods. Sometimes other members of the teams join you. You still don’t talk around them much. After breakfast, shower.

8:30 AM:

Let Steve teach you and Bucky about the modern world, plus catch you up on his life. Get distracted by his smile and his biceps. Pretend to not be distracted. Think about the lockbox.

12:00 PM:

Eat lunch. Sometimes with other team members. After lunch, go for a fly around the grounds.

1:30 PM:

Either run errands or just go into town. Avoid touchy paparazzi and blush when Bucky defends you in front of them. Get confused about why you’re blushing. Think about the lockbox again.

6:30 PM:

Dinner. Always a full-team event. Sit silently so as to not interrupt or bother anyone. Always thank whoever cooked or ordered the food. Help clean up after.

After a week, you’re comfortable with the order. You enjoy how much time you spend with your boys, despite worrying about being clingy. And despite how quiet you are around everyone else, you enjoy being around them, too.

One day, after your morning run, none of the three of you hear the noise coming from the kitchen. But the team hears you.

You, Bucky, and Steve are in the middle of a half-joking-half-serious debate about Steve’s old USO costume, voices carrying down the halls with a lightheartedness that the rest of the team isn’t used to hearing.

“It made your ass look great,” you insist, causing Tony to snort and shoot an “I-told-you-so” look at Natasha. Sam silently laughs even harder when he hears the infamous Winter Soldier fully agree with you, even going into talking about how “lifting” the spandex was.

“You two are just pervs,” Steve laughs. “That uniform hid absolutely nothing.” Bucky elbows him.

“Bet the girls loved that,” he chuckles. Steve goes ten shades of red and hides his face in his hands, trying to ignore the teasing.

The lights in the kitchen flicker with your laughter, and a few of the Avengers glance up. Compound lights rarely flicker, much less go out. A perk of having a Stark running your tech.

The three of you stumble into the kitchen, and in the brief moment before you realize the whole group is gathered there, Natasha Romanoff notices three things.

One: Steve has never looked this happy. Not in the four years she’s known him. His features are lighter, the deep crease between his brow is relaxed. He finally looks his age.

Two: You and Barnes are much louder than you’ve been acting. She supposes guilt is making you more shy than usual. More than anything, she’s glad to see you smiling for once.

Three: The three of you are absolutely in love with one another.

Hidden glances, lingering touches. As the matchmaker of the group, she’s seen it dozens of times before. She knows the signs.

But she’s no fool. Her “mother” didn’t raise her to be one. The three of you are, in the most polite way possible, mentally fucked. It’s hard not to be, after 70 years are absolute shit. And that makes relationships more difficult and complicated than they already are.

Natasha makes a mental note that she’ll share with Wanda later.

The moment you turn and spot the group, your little trio freezes. You and Bucky go silent, though you’re still trying to hide occasional chuckles as he elbows Steve. The blond is mostly unaffected, though his smile cools a bit.

“Vis helped make sandwiches,” Wanda says, breaking the tense silence. “Come and try them.”

You oblige, taking one from the tray and sitting on a barstool. You leave one stool of space between you and Sam and tuck your wings close to your body, hoping to not trip anyone.

The Falcon leans in as conversation continues.

“Hey,” he whispers conspiratorially. You tilt your head. “Barton and I were wondering if you’d want to join the Bird Squad.”

The what? The look of confusion on your face has Sam explaining.

“You know, I’m the Falcon, he’s Hawkeye. You don’t have a bird-themed name, but hey, I think the wings are more than enough for you to qualify.”

Grinning at his antics, you nod. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, I’ll join the…”

“Bird Squad,” he says.

“The Bird Squad,” you finish. Bucky comes over just then, raising a brow at the man next to you.

“Please stop with the bird puns. The bird-patterned socks were bad enough,” he groans. Bucky takes the seat between you two nonetheless. He offers you the olives from the toothpick in his sandwich. You trade them for the crust off yours.

Next to Tony, Steve waits for the billionaire to speak first. The two can rarely ever talk without arguing, but he’s more than willing to try. For the team, if not for himself.

“I know we joke about you guys being old, but physically, how old are you actually?” Tony asks. He’s watching you peel the crust from your sandwich.

Steve huffs, calculating. “I turn 31 this year, and those two… Well, we don’t know how long they were in cryo between… missions.” He glances at you and Bucky. “She was 27 and he was 28 when they went under.”

The blond can’t read Tony’s expression as he nods, simply taking another sip of coffee. Steve takes it as a sign he’s done talking.

Circling around the counter and sitting on the other side of him, you offer a smile before passing an olive to him. He takes it gratefully.

Peter, apparently done eating, bounces out of his chair and hops on top of the counter in front of you. He immediately starts talking a mile a minute.

“Okay, this might be a weird question and you can totally say no, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything, I’m just really curious, but can I see your powers? It’s just, Ned- that’s my best friend- has been asking about how they work since he’s really interested in the physics of them and I just never have an answer and I feel bad-”

To stop him from losing his breath, you hold out your hand, summoning a small ball of light. You’ve been trying to keep your powers to a minimum here. You know better than most how destructive they can be, and the last thing you want to do is wreck the compound.

But a small, floating ball of light won’t do any damage. Strangely, it’s not even hot. The teen pokes at it, alarmed when his hand passes right through.

“Wait, if you can make solid objects with it, why is this…?” With a flick of your wrist, you feel the light change.

“It’s almost like changing the density,” you explain. “You probably understand it better than I ever will. I just know that it works.” When Peter touches the light again, it’s solid. You toss it, watching as it dissipates in the air.

He’s amazed, gaping for a few seconds before gathering himself, thanking you, and hurrying off to call his friend back. You lift up your hand again, allowing the light to flow and wisp-like smoke. Peter’s reaction makes you feel a bit better about your powers. He wasn’t scared, just curious.

“I told you,” Bucky quips. “Your powers aren’t something to be disgusted by.”

Huffing, you point to his left arm. “Then neither is that,” you counter.

“No, this is different.” The metal plates shift and rearrange with his movements. Steve watches, mesmerized by them. As horrible as its origin was, the intricate design of the prosthetic was something beautiful.

He says so, but Bucky shakes his head. You frown.

“Maybe if it wasn’t in so much pain all the time, you’d be able to feel a bit better about it. Just let me soothe the nerves, even just for a little bit,” you plead. Lowering your voice, you cut off his racing thoughts. “You don’t deserve to be in pain.”

Bucky considers your words. He shrugs, but doesn’t refuse. He watches you smile, quite literally lighting up the room.

Steve chuckles as the lights flicker, grabbing your empty plates and tossing them in the sink.

“I was thinking we could head into Brooklyn,” he suggests. “Our museum is open, so I figured we could stop by there and look through.”

He thinks for a moment, then nods to you. “Maybe you’ll finally open that lockbox and let the world in on whatever’s inside.”

The world? You know he means the news, the people that read about you. But those letters in there are for him and Bucky only.

To be fair, they are your whole world.

———————————————————————

People weren’t as invasive and nosy when they were wandering around your museum, you find. They seem more respectful as you wander the exhibits, trying to piece together your past.

The memories have been coming easier, but they still feel so distant. Like dreams, or a lingering sense of deja vu.

There are dozens of pictures lining the walls, descriptions neatly written below them. The three of you talking around a campfire, Steve and Bucky at the fair, a younger you proudly holding up a 1st place trophy, front teeth missing and a tiny bow clenched in your fist.

You trace your hands over them, mesmerized by how happy you look. You look lighter, softer. Not bearing a literal weight on your shoulders and eyes that always seem a bit sad.

Steve walks up behind you, following your wistful gaze as you soak up each photo and try to place it in your memories.

“Hey,” he says. You smile, so warm and so familiar that Steve’s knees almost buckle. “You like the museum?”

“It’s great,” you say, following the pictures around to a replica of your shared apartment. “Helps with the memories.” The couch catches your eye. With a bit of focus, some moments in time push through the fog.

Lazy nights when you three were too tired to move, instead piling on the couch and sleeping there. Camping out there when Steve was sick and you gave him the bed. Bucky coming home that day that started the end of it all.

Slowly, not wanting to overstep, Steve wraps an arm around your shoulders, carefully navigating past your wings. You lean into his touch, sniffling a bit when Bucky joins you two, also staring at the battered couch.

One particular memory comes to mind. And you begin to hum.

You can’t remember the exact words, but you try your best as you begin to sway.

“It’s been a long, long time… Haven’t felt like this, my dear, since can’t remember when…”

Dancing. You three spent more money than you could afford on records for your little apartment, and after Sunday dinner it was your tradition to try and teach Steve to dance.

What you’re doing now is little more than shifting your weight. But it means the world to you and your boys. It means that you’re remembering. Bucky joins in humming, making his way through the refrain before trailing off.

“You said you’ve got a record player, didn’t you, Stevie?” he asks. Steve nods and begins talking about some of the older records he has when a particular glass case catches your eye.

Your lockbox. Behind the 4-inch bulletproof glass, the small box sits with its key placed beside it. You crouch to read the description.

‘In the final days before her disappearance, Agent (Y/N) (L/N) wrote what is estimated to be around a dozen letters and stored them in this box. While other letters she wrote were left out, no one knows what lies within the small cherry-wood box. Out of respect, it remains locked to this day.’

A picture of you sits beside the paragraph. Bow slung over your shoulder and dressed in your uniform, you stand tall and proud. Catching a glimpse of your reflection in the glass, you immediately shake your head to dissipate the lingering thoughts.

A woman steps up beside you. From the way she’s dressed and the keys in her pocket, you figure she works the museum. Your guess is confirmed when she gestures to the box.

“We were wondering when you’d stop by,” she says. “Anything here of yours that you want, just ask. We’re here to help in any way we can.” You smile gratefully, thanking her before glancing back at the box.

“Could I…?” The woman nods and wordlessly unlocks the case. She lifts your box with all the care in the world, handing it to you and wishing you well before whisking off.

Steve and Bucky catch up to you, spotting the box.

“They let you take it?” The former asks.

Holding it up, you grin. “Yeah. Guess they missed their timeframe on finding out what’s inside.”

“Will you tell us?” Bucky leans in, gently elbowing you.

Even thinking about the letters makes you blush. In your grief the days after their “deaths”, you’d poured every thought onto paper. The openness that you know lies on the pages sends embarrassment creeping under your skin.

“Maybe,” you finally say, tucking the box under your arm and stowing the key in your pocket. They both shrug, not pushing further, and move on to the next exhibit.

It’s an hour later when you leave, avoiding reporters and paparazzi as you clutch the lockbox close to your body. Making it back to the compound and into your room is much easier, though you still haven’t opened the box.

Steve and Bucky ran down to the kitchen to bug Sam, and in the meantime, you’ve been staring at it. The key is in your hand, the box is on your bed.

Since you’ve gotten home, you’ve showered, changed into pajamas, checked the news, and watched an episode of new show that caught your eye.

But you’re scared. You’ve already felt… that feeling lately. You fear that, if you open the box and reread the letters inside, it’ll only be intensified.

A part of HYDRA’s process was breaking you down into a weapon. To them, you weren’t a person capable of giving or receiving such an emotion. They made you believe it. That you were only good for their missions.

If you open the box, you aren’t sure if you can handle keeping a secret like that from your boys. You aren’t sure if you could handle telling them, either.

They’re all you have left. Losing them through your own actions would destroy you.

Still, you grip the key in your hand, steel your nerves, and unlock the box.

Gently opening it, you blow away the dust coating the old paper before carefully lifting the stack of letters and setting them on your bed. You grab one, unfolding it and hyping yourself up before reading the first words.

‘Dear Steve Rogers and James Barnes,

This is the fourth letter I’ve written. Without either of you, there isn’t much else to do except think and write. And I’ve been doing a lot of both. There are plenty of things I wish I’d told you, but before everything else, I wish that I had told you I love you. Yes, still. And while I can’t tell you when it started, a part of me feels like it’s always been there. Like a fact of life I’ve lived with ever since that day on the playground.

I don’t think telling you would’ve changed how things went. Maybe you two would’ve been more careful if we’d had more to lose. But I’m so tired of entertaining what-if questions, so I’ll deal with that thought down for another time.

Missing you feels like too weak of a word to describe what I feel. You’ve been perhaps the only permanent thing in my life. Everything else changes too fast for me to keep up. School, work, whatever else people worry about now. But you were my constant. The one thing I could rely on. Even if the sun didn’t rise one day, I always thought you’d be there. And now I’m alone.

Steve, you were always so full of energy. Even when sick, you’d always have something to say or a new drawing to work on. I never admitted it, but I loved watching you draw. You had a real talent there. Seeing you become Captain America was the best and worst thing, I think. Knowing that you were healthy, even better than me and Buck, was a weight lifted. But the world doesn’t know you. They aren’t mourning you, they’re mourning their symbol. I can’t forgive them for that.

Bucky, the day you were drafted has always stayed in my mind. You were scared for the first time I can remember, shaking on our couch that I can’t go back to. I can’t go back to that apartment alone. I'll always remember the late nights in the kitchen, when Steve would go to bed early and you’d tell me all about some new scientific discovery or invention that you’d read about. The world doesn’t talk about that part of you.

I can hear Peggy and the other Commandos talking. They’re worried about me, I think. I can’t blame them. I sleep more than I ever have, write, and take dinner in my tent. Colonel Phillips hasn’t said anything yet.

The world is moving on without us. I may not be dead, but I think after losing you, I’m not completely alive.’

Sniffling, you wipe your eyes and fold the letter back up, setting it in the box along with the others. You remember bits and pieces of the time after they “died”, and true to the letter, you’d spiraled in the remaining weeks before you’d caved.

A knock on your door.

“Come in,” you call. With your feet dangling off the bed, you don’t need to sit up to know the two sets of footsteps.

The sun hangs low in the sky, and even at the end of the day the compound bustles with agents and doctors. You yawn, stretching your muscles. You’ve found that your energy levels tend to rise and fall with the sun.

Even though it’s early, Steve and Bucky are more than willing to turn in for the night. A lazy night in is far more appealing than watching more news on the Avengers and the Accords, and dinner could be ordered in without much fuss.

“Are you done for the day?” the blond asks, sitting beside you. Bucky moves the throw pillows from the bed, tossing them around the room with no regards to where they land.

You shrug. “I want to go help clean up after dinner, don’t wanna leave Wanda to do it on her own.”

“Wanda can move things with her mind, I think she’ll be okay with doing the dishes for one night.” Scooping you up while Bucky throws the covers back, he unceremoniously dumps you onto the plush bed as you shriek.

Reaching over to grab a pillow, you swat at him, only to receive a pillow to the face from the brunet behind you. Before it devolves into a full-on pillow war, you raise your hands in truce, laying down to catch your breath.

Your boys follow suit, laying down with you. You tuck your wings in, wrapping them around yourself on both sides like the fluffiest blanket you’ve ever touched.

“This is nice,” Bucky mumbles into the blankets. You nod, closing your eyes to avoid facing just how close they are. Normally you wouldn’t mind. But you blush easily, and something like that would raise questions.

You listen as Steve calls in a pizza, followed by another call of him asking Vision to pick it up, seeing as he was the fastest one in the compound. Poking at a stray feather, you blink hazily in the golden light.

The food arrives minutes later, and you finish the pizza just as the sun starts to graze the treeline. Steve and Bucky get ready for bed as you turn on the TV and collect some more blankets, only increasing the growing pile on the bed. The cold doesn’t bring good memories to any of you.

Once you finish, you lightly pat the bed, gesturing for Bucky to sit.

“You said you’d let me work your shoulder,” you remind him, tone stern. Steve helps you, tugging your friend in front of you. He sits in front of him, making sure he doesn’t try to start another pillow fight.

“You don’t have to do this,” Bucky says to both of you. Your responses are the same.

“I know.”

You can feel the warmth of your healing radiating from your hand. “You ready?” you ask. Steve takes his hands, calming him as he takes deep breaths. He nods.

You’ve seen the x-rays. The sketches of the metal arm and exactly how it’s designed. It’s a medical nightmare, put simply.

A titanium limb far outweighed a normal arm, meaning Bucky walked with a tilt, which led to back pain and a constant soreness in his neck muscles. In an attempt to support the heavy prosthetic, HYDRA had poorly grafted the metal onto the surrounding bones, covering parts of his clavicle and sternum.

All of this combined puts him in a world of pain. And now that he’s finally letting you work on it, you wonder how he didn’t break sooner.

The pain radiates from where the metal attaches, searing across his back and up the left side of his head. His muscles are knotted and tense, struggling to receive input from the destroyed nerves.

Bucky’s wincing as you work, trying his best not to shout in pain and relief as your powers mend his invisible wounds. Steve notices, and in an attempt to distract him, taps your lockbox.

“So, you ever gonna tell us what’s in this?” Since he’s facing you, he gets a perfect view of how you turn two shades pinker, fumbling and accidentally brightening the nearby lamp.

You cough, shrugging. “Maybe.” Your tone suddenly becomes a bit sad. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.”

“Ready for…?” Bucky asks.

“Ready for you two to know.” That’s all you say, focusing on soothing the nerves in his neck.

Both Steve's and Bucky’s minds jump to the same thing.

Steve’s known exactly what he’s felt for you two ever since middle school, when he asked his ma if he could be in love with two people at once. Sarah had smiled knowingly, nodded, and watched his little mind run and slowly take in what that meant.

But he never said anything. Bucky started going on dates and you turned your focus on studying, and he’d never found the perfect moment like all his books talked about. No screaming confessions in the rain or dramatic dances at a fancy party. He thought he might find that moment as Captain America, but constant missions made that a bit hard.

All he has is this room, Bucky’s hands in his, and your eyes occasionally meeting his own.

Bucky didn’t realize his feelings until he was taken by HYDRA for the first time. He’d always enjoyed dating around, more for the experience of learning about someone than anything else. Settling with one person when everyone was so different seemed so boring and bland. And then he almost died.

During his capture, he had a lot of time to think. And the only people he could ever see living with for the rest of his life were you two. Sure, it was unorthodox, but so was everything you three did together. Damn all tradition to hell, he swore that, if he got out of that place alive, he’d tell you both. But that never happened. Instead, he got 70 years as a puppet.

All he has is this room, Steve whispering nonsense to calm him down, and your gentle hands mending every source of pain you can find.

“There. All done.” Sitting back, you flick your hands, sending stray tendrils of light flying away.

The sun has long since disappeared, and you can spot a few stars from the window. Going to bed early won’t change the fact that none of you will sleep well. Nightmares always come for at least one of you.

Tonight, you take the middle. Laying on your stomach, Bucky and Steve slide in on both sides as you rest your wings atop them.

For a while, you sit in silence.

Steve breaks it.

“The thing you aren’t ready to tell us, whatever it is, you know we’ll always be here, right?” he asks. You nod immediately. You never doubted that. Not once. You’re scared of how things will change, though.

“I know. Not like you’d ever let us get away,” you laugh.

Bucky hums, content and almost floaty due to the lack of pain. “You’d chase us to the bottom of the ocean, wouldn’t you, punk?”

“Jerk,” Steve huffs, tugging up one of the many blankets.

Eyes fluttering shut, you manage a “Dumbasses” before you slip into sleep.

Making sure you’re not awake, Bucky glances at Steve.

“So, we both know what those letters say?” He knows you well enough that he’s confident in his suspicions.

Steve hesitates, but agrees. “Yeah. A pretty good guess, at least.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“She’s not the only one.”

“Yeah. But we’ll wait.”

“We’ll wait.”

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