chapter one ╱ and what have you done?

          Juliette's blood is pounding and insistent beneath her skin. That's how it always goes, on the rare occasions she leaves Laurent House. Past the downtown shops, she moves at a brisk and fast pace, but not fast enough to make it appear like she's bolting. Her eyes don't wander to window shop, her chin is lifted, and everyone on the street is stealing glances at her. To outsiders, Juliette Laurent looks like she has a purpose, a destination. She is someone of importance, even amongst Kooks. 

The scent of nectarine and apricot suspends in the summer air. The leaves and branches simmer with heat haze, and a few feet away lies an abandoned ice cream cone on the sidewalk pavement. A thin layer of sweat sticks to her skin, and there is sand stuck under her fingernails from her morning walk along her private beach. 

Juliette is romanticizing the heat again, beguiled by the squawking gulls and gentle wind-chimes. She can hardly help it ⎯ it's like second nature by now, and is her favorite form of escapism. 

She has good reason to. Her daily life is like swimming in cyanide. Life is not for Juliette Laurent's swallowing; it will never be. If she opens her mouth, the chemicals and poison will come gushing in. It lurks by her lips, waiting and waiting. 

Juliette enters a pharmacy and heads straight for the medicine aisle ⎯ a familiar ritual. The bell on the door handle jangles behind her, and she counts twelve inhales and exhales of air before she reaches her destination, plucking her usual painkillers off a shelf. She has hardly turned away when somebody roughly bumps against her shoulder. 

She winces and looks up, biting back a snarky remark. 

Topper Thornton wears a guilty grin as he lifts his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry, Julie."

Juliette stifles her irritated huff and smiles flatly, "You're good." 

Assuming that was all, she turns and heads to check out when she realizes that Topper is undeniably trailing after her. "Hey, Julie," he tries to make conversation, fidgeting like he's rehearsing something in his head. "There's a party at the Boneyard tonight." When Juliette doesn't answer, he adds, "You should come."

"I'll be busy tomorrow. Not sure if my dad will let me," she finally tells him, approaching the cashier and setting down her items. She reaches into her purse for her wallet. "You have fun though."

Topper shifts, his usual bravado faltering, though he brushes it off with a shrug. "Yeah, no, I get that. It's just ⎯ I know Sarah has been missing you. It's been like a couple of weeks since summer started. You know how she gets."

Sarah Cameron. The golden girl from one of the few families Juliette's father approves of. Juliette holds nothing against her. In fact, she rather likes her ⎯ based off of the short conversations they've had over the years, which is why Topper's words confuse her. Juliette is not close enough to anyone for them to miss her. 

"And I know some people have been saying things," Topper continues to ramble. He glances at the cashier, who is ringing up Juliette's things. He quickly adds, "Not that I believe it or anything."

"Everybody talks," she answers, lightly shrugging with practiced indifference. "I appreciate the invite, though."

He sighs, expecting as much. It's known that Juliette Laurent doesn't go to parties, but people will always try. Others have done much worse to vie for her attention. After all, everyone wants to be in mere vicinity of Laurent's circle. 

"Yeah, I get it," Topper nods, unwilling to push any further. He says, forcing a smile, "Just think about it, okay?"

She thanks the clerk and picks up the small, paper bag. "Maybe," she replies, the word familiar on her tongue.

༄.°

          "Where have you been?" Kenneth Laurent asks his daughter, the moment she closes the front door. His voice is warning and sharp. 

Juliette instinctively goes very still, all her senses on high alert, like prey cowering before a predator. "I went to the pharmacy," she answers truthfully. Something about his gaze makes her feel as though she's lying. 

His eyes narrow on the bag in her hands. "You didn't tell me."

"I couldn't find you, earlier. I texted you," she says a little too defensively. 

It's clear that he didn't see the text. Juliette can tell, based on the way his eyes flicker with annoyance and his fists ball up. He retorts, "Then you should've called."

She has no answer for him. Her voice dies in the back of her throat, like always. In front of her father, Juliette wonders if she will always feel this small, powerless. 

"Why didn't you call, huh?" Kenneth pushes. Without giving her a chance to reply, he demands, "I asked you a question. Answer me."

She knows she has to answer before it gets bad. "I don't know," she says hoarsely. She does know, of course. But the answer is something she'll never say to his face. 

"You don't know?" he scoffs, then seethes, "You never know anything, you worthless brat." There is a stretch of terrifying silence before he shouts angrily, "You're not going anywhere this summer. Now get out of my sight."

Juliette doesn't need to be told twice. In Laurent House, where nobody is watching, she has no desire to appear confident. With her head lowered and hands shaking, she turns on her heel and heads straight for her bedroom on the third floor, keeping her footsteps as quiet as possible. 

Angry tears burn her eyes, rotting her irises. Though she hastily brushes them aside, she knows it will eventually fester and blow into a breakdown in the future. But that isn't her problem right now. 

Her bedroom is the size of a small apartment, practically a penthouse. Nobody outside her close family has ever stepped foot inside, and it shows. The room is cluttered, a chaotic shrine to maximalism — littered with forgotten rings, scattered shoes, sketchbooks, and empty glass bottles of Sanpellegrino artfully stuffed with flowers. These relics keep her company in her endless solitude.

It is a comfortable prison cell. 

You're not going anywhere this summer. The words echo through her head, but it's an empty, futile threat that Juliette hears all the time, wielded like a weapon to remind her of her father's control. She pushes it to the edges of her brain as she tears open the packaging of the painkillers, taking two pills and swallowing them down with a swig of lukewarm water that had been sitting on her nightstand. 

She leans against her bed, her eyes wandering towards her windows. Every single one has been flung wide open since the start of summer, letting the salt-laden breeze weave and fuse with her room. It's a foolish, pointless attempt to convince herself she has a part in something beyond her walls. 

No matter what she does, the house will always feel stifling. 

Juliette watches as boats skim across the water, some drifting as far as the horizon. The air is thick with the scent of wisteria, and before the setting sun, the sea dazzles like powdered gold has been spilled across the glistening waves.

Something in her stirs ⎯ a gnawing, desperate urge to prove her father wrong, to defy and break free from her slammer. Juliette leans further into the breeze, daring to hope. Her optimism has been cruel to her before, yet her solitude is making her mind go to places it shouldn't. 

Summer after summer, she's sworn to get it right. Juliette has vowed to wash the taint of her father off her skin, time and again. And yet, what has she done? What act of defiance has she committed, other than opening all the windows ⎯ each one stabbing at her heart, piece by agonizing piece?" 

Her solitude has made her dreams hauntingly seductive, and she forgets that reality has teeth. The soft breeze kisses her cheeks, and Juliette opens her eyes, hungrily watching the waves crash against the rocky shores. They gleam and glitter, so inviting that she almost jumps in. 

Juliette rises and crosses the room, walking into her closet where a sea of carefully curated outfits stare back at her. Each piece has been meticulously chosen to ensure she looks every bit the Laurent people expect from her. 

Kenneth Laurent will lose his mind if he learns of what she's about to do, but Juliette has made up her mind already. She slips into a beige corset top and a silky, asymmetrical blue skirt; she takes nothing but her phone and wallet before she approaches the open windows. 

With a sharp intake, she grips the stone ledge and climbs over it. She takes a moment to steady herself before reaching for the trellis just to the side, its lattice intertwined with fragrant wisteria. The leaves and petals brush against her skin as she begins her descent towards the ground. 

It's easy enough. The trellis takes her to a balcony on the second floor, which has stairs leading to the back gardens. The moment her feet hit the mosaic tiles, Juliette breaks into a run. Her heart hammers so quickly that she feels like it might burst from her chest. The towering hedges loom over her as she bolts, and the winding paths seem longer than usual. But she knows this garden ⎯ knows every twist and turn like the back of her hand. 

And then she reaches the garden gate. Her hand brushes over the cold wrought iron. For a moment, Juliette hesitates. But the night is still young and alive, tempting her forward. She pushes it open and steps out onto the quiet street, the hinges softly creaking through the quiet. 

Just before the gate slams shut and locks behind her, Juliette takes a small branch and wedges it into the latch, keeping a slight crack open for her to sneak back in later. The wood splinters slightly under the pressure, but it holds firm. She casts a glance back towards the house before she seals her fate, slipping away. 

𝕱rom the desk of Ariadne .ᐟ

i'm about to go insane with the cruel summer references.
this was a very short chapter so lmk your thoughts!!!