┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

The room was silent. The type that came after a storm. But another one was brewing within Annabelle. The silence was too silent. The air was too thick. It allowed all the shouting, harsh words, and soul-crushing guilt to rise to the surface. It echoed loudly between the walls of their bedroom. Flashing images of JJ's face before he kissed her, his hurt expression when she pulled away and worst of all was the aching satisfaction she felt remembering his lips, his hands...

It was a poison she couldn't spit out, no matter how hard she tried.

Annabelle lay on her side in Rafe's bed, her back facing him, eyes fixed on the shadows cast by the ceiling fan as it turned slowly above them like a metronome to her restless thoughts. Rafe's bare chest rose and sank behind her, his hot breath brushing against her neck in slow, steady intervals. His hand moved in quiet circles along her arm—small, soft gestures that were so unlike the chaos he usually carried in his touch. For once, he was gentle.

And for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to sink into it. Let herself believe that this was comfort. That he was her comfort, the one thing in life that didn't sting.

His soft motions on her skin slowed, turning into lazy circles before his hand rested flat against her skin. His breathing deepened- a telltale that he had fallen asleep.

The girl tried to close her eyes, but every time she did, it allowed the images and memories that she desperately tried to force away, to crawl back carrying the guilt and heaviness that pressed against her chest. She couldn't breathe. Despite the expensive, overpowered AC humming from the vents, her lungs couldn't find the space to expand.

Annabelle shifted carefully, not to wake the sleeping boy behind her. She sat up slowly, her hair falling around her shoulders, the sheets slipping down to her waist. Her feet touched the cold floor and, without quite knowing why, she stood and her body moved with a familiarity her mind didn't question.

She felt a mix of confusion and determination as she began to walk, as if her legs already knew where they were carrying her but her mind hadn't gotten the memo yet. But deep inside, she already knew the path, despite her many tries to believe that she was clueless.

Across the room, into the bathroom, in the second drawer, under the towels. Her fingers found the hard material beneath and they twitched around it, as if being able to taste the relief already.

She pulled it out slowly, the cardboard edges worn from years of use. She stared at it for a moment, the silence pressing in on her. She hesitated in a moment of wishing that Rafe would open the door and catch her or that her consciousness would win.

It didn't. It never did. She was weak. A slave.

Her fingers hovered over the plastic baggies. Pills. Powder. Names she didn't want to say out loud, like lies and the only truth in the world all at once.

Tiny answers to enormous questions. Comfort in calculated doses.

Everything in her life was falling apart, yet the box didn't yell. It didn't judge or hate. It didn't ask any questions, only provided answers.

Her fingers found one of the bags and in an instant, she held three pills in her palm. And the next second they were gone.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Mistake.

The girl staring back looked like someone she might've once known. Someone who used to smile. Someone who used to be loved. Now, she was a ghost in her own skin. Eyes empty. Mouth tight. A stranger. The person staring back at her was the one who ruined everything. The one who used to be loved, now only provided hurt.

She choked back a sob and fiddled with another bag in the box. She found a dry spot on the sink, spreading out the white powder. Her fingers moved fast, desperate. Like a starving person.

She leaned forward, inhaling it all sharply. Inhaling the silent promise of comfort, relief, and silence. The one that allowed her to breathe again right after it made her think that she was never going to feel oxygen again.

She sank down on the bathroom floor, feeling the sharp edges soften. The voices died out and suddenly the silence was unbearable. She wasn't left with that warming satisfaction of numbness, just the ache of a silence that came when you had no one who cared about you. The kind that reminded her no one was coming.

No one cared enough to hear her fall.

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

Annabelle stared blankly ahead, her eyes fixed on the digital thermostat mounted on the wall. At first, she watched the numbers flicker—the time, the temperature. Small, logical things. But as the minutes stretched, the digits began to melt, their shapes bleeding into one another, dripping in slow motion down the painted surface like wax from a candle left burning too long.

She couldn't seem to relax, that aching, bittersweet lull that usually quieted the screaming in her chest wasn't there. Instead, her heart thundered against her ribs in irregular bursts, sharp and frantic. Her breath came in tight, shallow pulls, as though she were trying to inhale through a straw. The guilt lingered on her tongue like poison—bitter, thick, impossible to swallow. It sat heavy in her chest, pressing down with the weight of all the things she couldn't fix.

Her skin was slick with sweat, though the room was climate-controlled—perfect, curated warmth paid for by someone who thought money could insulate pain. But no amount of comfort could touch the way her body trembled, cold from the inside out.

A vibration tore through the haze of cruel emotions that clawed at her skin. Followed by another one, and another, and another. She blinked and leaned closer to her phone but her arm caved under her and she collapsed, the side of her head hitting the cold floor.

She pushed herself up with uncoordinated limbs, fingers fumbling until they closed around the device. Messages from Kiara and Pope came in like a flood, one after another, lighting up her screen however she couldn't seem to piece together the melting words.

A ringtone.

For a moment she paused before registering where the sound came from and she answered the call.

"Hi—" Her voice came out hoarse and distant, barely recognizable.

"Annabelle, good God. Why do you even own a phone if you don't know how to use it—" Kiara's voice cut sharply through the line, then shifted. "Hey!"

There was a brief pause before the voice on the other side came through. "Annabelle, hi," Pope said.

Annabelle listened in confusion. The voices seemed to enter her head and slowly settle, as if she was processing every syllable. If she listened close enough she could hear Kiara's voice in the background but she couldn't make out what she was saying.

"Where are you?" Pope asked.

On the floor of my bathroom. In my own ruin. Taking everything I shouldn't.

"Home," She answered.

"You're with Rafe?"

"Yeah. Why?" Annabelle asked and glanced at the door, listening to the hum of the ceiling fan for a moment.

"We need you here like right now. JB's in danger." Pope urged. "And if you're with Rafe, you might be too."

The words were important. She knew that. But they floated through her, never landing, never grounding. Still, something inside her flickered—not fear, not panic, but a strange, hollow warmth. They'd called her. They still thought she mattered.

"Annabelle, are you even listening?"

"Yeah," She mumbled. "Where are you guys?"

"Can you make it to the dock by Kiara's house?" Pope asked.

"Yeah,"

"Meet us there in ten."

The pair hung up and Annabelle went back to staring at the floor for a moment —the pale blue and white tiles twisting, shifting, blurring like reflections in water. Thoughts came in fragments, jumbled threads that led nowhere. Her mind felt like a labyrinth with no exit, only walls, dead ends, loops.

She finally forced herself to stand up, but the ground suddenly came rushing back to her. Her body slammed against the tile, but the numbness in her body made it a light fall.

Then came the nausea. It rolled up her throat like fire.

She crawled, dragging herself to the toilet on trembling arms, and retched violently. Her stomach emptied fast—half-digested scraps of the little she'd last eaten mixed with the bitter sting of regret.

Once she was done she lay curled on the cold floor, cheek pressed to the tile, wishing it would open and swallow her whole. The numbness wasn't comforting anymore—it was cavernous. She was sinking into it, into herself, into a silence so vast and suffocating it made her feel less than human.

She never wanted to move ever again. Just dissolve.

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

Annabelle barely remembered how she'd gotten out of the bathroom. The last clear image was the cold tile pressing against her cheek. Everything after that was fragments—blurred streetlights, the hush of water brushing against the dock's edge, the hollow thud of her feet on wood. And now, somehow, she was here.

"That was well over ten minutes," Pope said, reaching to help her into the boat.

She stumbled, her footing clumsy, but quickly straightened in a desperate attempt to seem composed.

"Sorry," She muttered.

JJ sat rigid at the bow of the boat, one leg bouncing rapidly—his knee a tremor of barely-contained frustration. Annabelle's eyes flicked toward him, but only for a moment. She didn't dare hold his gaze. Didn't trust herself to.

Kiara stopped in front of the girl, her brows knitting together as her gaze raked over her.

Annabelle herself looked down to realize she was still in Rafe's hoodie and a pair of shorts that could pass for underwear. She tugged the hoodie down a little, only to see some vomit on the sleeve which she quickly shielded from Kiaras eyes.

"What part of 'John B is in danger, hurry' didn't you understand?" Kiara asked, her tone sharp but not cruel.

"What kind of danger?" Annabelle asked. The boat rumbled to life beneath her. She sank slowly onto the bench, unable to trust her legs with the motion of the water.

"Those psycho Camerons," JJ spoke up without turning around to face them.

"Ward killed Big John," Kiara said.

The words hit Annabelle like a brick to the chest. She jerked her head up too fast—nausea immediately rising in her throat.

"What?" she rasped.

"And he tried to kill John B," Kiara continued, her words clipped. "Now JB's out there—completely unhinged—trying to go after Ward. To kill him. Or God knows what."

Annabelle stared blankly, the details bouncing off her. She was far too high for this. Their voices tangled in the air like tangled wires—sparking, overlapping, sparking again. Nothing landed. Nothing made sense.

Pope steered them toward the dock in front of Tannyhill. The looming mansion looked surreal, like something out of a distorted dream. The water shimmered, too bright. Everything pulsed too loudly. She was pretty sure that she could hear her blood running through her body.

"What now?" JJ asked, trying to peer into the large mansion up ahead. "We just go up to the front door and ask, 'hey, have you seen John B?'"

"Look, he lives at Tannyhill now. It's plausible." Kiara said. "We could play dumb?"

"Play dumb?" Annabelle sounded a little unsure.

Kiara turned to her, more impatient than angry. "Look, I've never seen John B like that. We should honestly be going to the cops."

"The cop--" JJ huffed out. "Yeah, and say what, Kie? We're worried about our friend because he's on a rampage because Ward Cameron killed Big John. They're not gonna believe us!"

Up front, Pope had lifted a pair of binoculars. "Hey—" he whispered. "I see Ward."

Annabelle didn't move. Couldn't. Her world was still spinning, and every tilt of the boat felt like a tidal wave. She stayed silent, her knuckles white against the edge of the seat as Kiara moved to Pope's side, leaving the girl to sit in silence with JJ in the back of the boat.

"Doesn't look dead to me," Pope stated. "Let's go home."

"Wait, what?" JJ stood up.

"Uh.. okay obviously, Mr. Cameron is fine," Pope motioned toward the house. "And even if John B was here, he isn't now, okay?" Seeing the looks on his friends' faces when he said that made Pope grab onto the railing of the boat and exhale deeply. "Look, I have the biggest, most important moment of my life in six hours."

Guilt washed over her in an instant. His scholarship interview. 

She'd spent so many nights with him going over mock questions, helping him polish answers. After her mother died, it had been one of the only things that got her out of bed—watching Pope chase something bright in a world that had gone so dark. It was one of the few things that actually got her out of bed because she enjoyed watching Pope speak so passionately and professionally that it got her mind off things now... she'd forgotten completely. She hadn't even asked if he was nervous.

"Yeah, well our friend is in trouble." Kiara raised her voice a little at Pope.

"I'm in trouble." Pope shot back. "Guys, I haven't been home in three days. My dad's probably put all my shit on the street by now."

"So, that's it?" Kiara raised her brows. "In a time of need, you're just gonna bail. You're just gonna walk away?"

"Okay, yo, guys, can we not do this right now?"JJ muttered, adjusting his hat, eyes darting between his friends like he could hold them together by will alone.

"Hey, I have a scholarship interview in the morning." Pope defended himself.

"Okay, well, what about John B?" Kiara snapped.

Annabelle watched as Pope's fingers curled around the railing and he poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "Why is it always about John B?!" He, too, raised his voice now.

The boat fell silent.

Annabelle felt her heartbeat in her ears.

Kiara blinked, caught off guard. "It's not always about—"Kiara shifted her weight awkwardly. "It's not always about John B. You're so stupid. It could be any of you in this situation."

"Oh, bullshit!" Pope chuckled humourlessly.

"Guys-" JJ tried to intervene.

"This is about friendship!" Kiara ignored JJ, only raising her voice more. "Look this is about Pouges for life."

"What about forensic pathology, huh?" Pope shouted, making Kiara scoff. "It's my life. Everything I've worked for."

"That's your priority?" The girl stepped forward into his space.

"Stop the moral high ground bullshit!" Pope shouted, the kind of anger you rarely saw from the boy.

"Pope-" Annabelle tried weakly.

"No!" The boy looked at her before pointing at Kiara. "She has no room to talk!" He turned back around to look at her, a look of almost disdain passing his features. "Where were you when Big John went missing? You weren't there. You weren't there when Annabelle's mom died!"

Annabelle blinked slowly. The mention of her mother felt like ice in her bloodstream.

"You weren't there for John B, for Annabelle... You weren't there for any of us!" Pope shouted. "Remember your kook year?"

"Dude..." Annabelle spoke up weakly again. She didn't blame Kiara for not being there. She had wished she was but the three pouge boys had been enough. At least that's what she told herself.

"You forgot about us, Kie." Pope continued. "Now you feel guilty-"

"Give me a break!" Kiara shoved Pope, who tried to capture her wrists causing her to flap her arms around frantically, her fists punching against his chest. The boy pushed her off but she hurried back and before Annabelle knew it all she saw was limps and all she heard was grunts. Annabelle stumbled to her feet, her vision swimming. She moved toward them on unsteady legs, just behind JJ, trying to break it up.

"Hey, hey, hey, cut it out!" JJ called out, when Pope shoved Kiara back, making her stumble into JJ whose body collided with Annabelle's. She was already unsteady, her limbs loose and unfocused from the drugs clouding her system. The impact tipped her off balance, and she crumpled to the floor of the boat with a soft thud that sounded louder than it should have in the heavy silence that followed.

"Hey!" Kiara barked, shoving Pope away with a final, angry push before she dropped to her knees beside Annabelle. "Are you okay—?"

The girl lifted her head in her hands, her gaze tracing over her face before landing on her eyes. This was the first good look she had gotten of her friend since she stepped into the boat. Being this close, she saw it. Red-rimmed eyes. Pupils dilated to near black. Skin pale and clammy, hair clinging to her temples.

She didn't have to ask. She already knew.

"Annabelle-"

Annabelle flinched, almost imperceptibly, and turned her face away, slipping out of Kiara's reach. A quiet scoff escaped Kiara as she stood again, hurt flickering in her expression.

"What?" JJ asked her under his breath, his brows pulling together.

"She's high like a fucking skyscraper." Kiara huffed out and sent the girl on the ground a disappointed look. "You've been wasted this entire time?"

Annabelle looked up at met JJ's gaze.

What she saw there made her stomach churn. Not just disappointment—it was deeper than that. Hurt. A quiet, restrained kind of heartbreak. The kind that didn't ask questions or raise its voice, but sat heavy in his chest, breaking him from the inside out.

Pope bent beside her and gently helped her to her feet, his hands careful on her fragile arms.

"Rafe gave you that crap?" Kiara asked, her eyes narrowing as they took in Annabelle's disheveled appearance and hollowed-out stare.

Annabelle's eyes lingered on JJ before she looked at her girl best friend. "Don't bring him into this." She shook her head and brushed off her clothes.

"Well, did he?" Kiara pressed.

Annabelle rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Doesn't matter."

"So he does," Kiara said bitterly. "Does he not know about your mom?"

Annabelle's fists clenched at her sides. The mention sliced through her like glass. What she hated most wasn't that Kiara brought up her mother—it was that she had been asking herself that same question for weeks. She'd begged Rafe for drugs, again and again, hoping each time that he would stop her. That he would pause, talk some sense into her, remind her of what happened to her mother, and then refuse her the drugs. But he never did. He just handed it over, like it meant nothing.

"Kiara, don't-"

"No, Annabelle, can't you see that we're looking out for you?" Kiara stepped closer and Annabelle watched both boys beside her shift, protective instinct flickering in the tension of their shoulders. "I mean, look at you! You've forgotten about your sister, your friends-"

"Kiara, I swear to God, don't bring Tess into this." Annabelle's eyes glistered with tears of fury but Kiara wasn't done yet.

"You're high on a fucking Thursday." Kiara continued. "You promised yourself you'd never touch that shit again after what happened to your mo—"

"What do you know about it?!" Annabelle exploded. "Pope's right! You weren't there! You chose the kook life! But I can't be with Rafe?" Her voice broke entirely now, raw with emotion. "You don't know half of it. You grew up on Figure Eight with your perfect family, and when the kooks got bored of you, you came crawling back to us!"

Annabelle regretted it the moment she said it. She was well aware that Kiaras' family was far from perfect. She was well aware of how broken she had been after her kook year and how she rarely spoke about what happened. She was well aware of just how wrong she was for saying all that, but she was so hurt and angry that she didn't have control of her mouth anymore.

Kiara stared at her with unshed tears, resting on her waterline. The boat rocked gently beneath them, as if even the ocean didn't dare speak. "You're really giving up everything for this boy," Kiara said in a shaky voice after a moment of silence. "I hope he's worth it." She muttered and stepped off the boat and onto the dock. "I'll walk."

Annabelle sank numbly into a seat, eyes fixed on the floor as it shimmered and blurred before her. The drugs weren't enough to stop the ache in her chest. Her stomach twisted with the weight of everything she'd become—how far she'd fallen from who she used to be.

Pope and JJ stood silent for a moment before Pope sank down beside her and JJ marched over to the wheel. Pope carefully brushed back some of her hair to get a good look at her face, and JJ watched in silence, his expression twisting a little at the sight of her broken face.

Pope pressed the back of his fingers against Annabelle's cheek before leaning forward a little to make her look at him. "Anna, you're freezing..."

The girl's glistering red eyes met his.

"How much have you been taking tonight?" Pope asked and Annabelle felt a piece of her break at the question. Six months ago, she could've never pictured herself ever doing so many drugs that her friends had to worry about her. But here she was, skin pale and cold.

Annabelle's silence was enough of an answer for Pope and he looked up at JJ, the pair exchanging a worried look.

"Let's get you back..." Pope said softly.

JJ didn't speak. His eyes stayed on the water, but his heart was firmly with her—aching with everything he couldn't say, and everything she couldn't hear.

𝟑𝟔𝟖𝟒 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬
┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

𝐀/𝐍
a long chapter to make up for being gone for soooo long
I'm so sorry I'll try to be more active.

ya'll if I catch anyyyy Annabelle hate I'm throwing fists. God forbids a girl bagged Rafe Cameron.