Chapter Text
15/12/1999
WISKAYOK, NJ.
“You know, the weird part is I don’t even think about him as much, not compared to her,” Lucille began, shifting uncomfortably in the plush leather chair in Dr. Dixon’s office. The middle-aged man glanced up at her now and then, almost like she was a ticking bomb—one wrong move away from going off.
“I keep wondering if the other girls feel the same way, you know? I’m pretty sure they do. But Travis? He’s probably thinking about Javi every single minute. Me? I just can’t get her out of my head,” Lucille admitted, swallowing hard against the lump rising in her throat. “I mean… what's wrong with me? To think more about a friend than my own brother who died.”
Dr Dixon looked up from his notebook, glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he squinted at her. He set the notebook down on the armrest, where it wobbled precariously. He always took his time before answering—Lucille hated that she had no idea why.
Then again, she wasn’t supposed to know, he was her therapist after all. Plus, he was only one she’d actually gotten along with so far. “You don’t mention her much, were you two close before the crash?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
Lucille leaned back into the chair, eyes drifting to the walls lined with family photos and a diploma with a bold gold frame. “Miss Zohar?”
Lucille’s head turned back to him slowly, fighting the urge to pick at her nails. “We were friends. We never fought, never really disagreed. I guess we weren’t all that different—that’s probably why we got on so well. But then... she died out there, and I didn’t.” She trailed off, eyes fixed on the window as a helicopter’s distant whir made her flinch instinctively.
“She passed in the crash, right?”
Lucille nodded, the lie had grown easier with time. “Am I... wrong for thinking about her more than... him?”
Dr. Dixon picked up his notepad again, scribbling something down. Lucille flexed her fingers, staring down at her stump, the missing digit still took her by surprise even though it'd been over a year. “You’ve mentioned your brother’s name, but never hers. Can I ask why?”
Lucille looked up at him and shrugged. “Doesn’t feel like I have the right.” It was hard to explain to Dr Dixon why, not without spilling everything they did out there, how she’d let the girls off scot-free after what they did to her.
“Lucille, my professional opinion is that you went through a terrible, horrible thing no one should ever have to face. Trauma comes in so many different…” He droned on, the same rehearsed speech she’d heard a dozen times before.
“But why can’t I stop thinking about her? I want to stop thinking about her.” She cut him off firmly. The man took a deep breath, and adjusted his glasses, grimacing beneath a tight smile.
“Look… I just need you to fix me, okay? I need you to fix this because I don’t know how. I need to stop thinking about her.”
“What about the girl you were with in the wilderness?” Dr. Dixon asked, shifting the subject so abruptly it caught Lucille off guard. “Last session, you said you might try reaching out. You mentioned you hadn’t seen her since the hospital... and that you felt abandoned.”
How could she forget? Last time, Dr. Dixon had flipped it on her, told her she was the one doing the abandoning. “I didn’t,” Lucille admitted, masking her frown behind an unreadable look. “Don’t want to talk to her. It won’t do either of us any good. Plus, I didn't have the time.”
A lie, and they both knew it.
Lucille had nothing but time.
She had Nat’s number saved in her phone, though she wasn’t even sure it still worked. Most days, she barely left her hotel room. She hardly ate, and when she did sleep, it never lasted long. She’d wake in the dead of night, reaching out blindly for someone who wasn’t there.
“I don’t think I can,” Lucille confessed. “Talk to her, you know? I feel too guilty about them, Javi…” She cut herself off, eyes fixed on the ceiling light, staring right through it. Her throat tightened, and after a long pause, she forced the name out. “Jackie.” She whispered, the edges of her vision blurring. “I don’t deserve to be happy. None of us do.” She shook her head, and Dr. Dixon raised an eyebrow. “You can’t help me. No one can.” Lucille muttered, suddenly standing up. Dr. Dixon did the same, panic flickering across his face as she grabbed her jacket and headed for the door.
“Thanks for your time.” Her voice was cold as she opened the door and slammed it shut behind her.
She sprinted past the receptionist, wiping furiously at her eyes, stumbling out into the snow-covered parking lot. She took a sharp breath, scanning for her car. It was her first winter out of the wilderness, but she kept seeing Jackie’s frozen corpse in the corners of her vision. Every time she tried to push the image away, it crept closer and closer—until finally, she found a brief moment of relief.
By the time she got back to her hotel, she was a wreck. She bought a bottle of vodka and made her way up to her room, sinking silently onto the bed. The flicker of an old western played on the television as she took slow sips from the bottle, the alcohol numbing her until she finally passed out.
2021
Lucille almost felt like she was nineteen again, sitting alone in her hotel room with a bottle of vodka. Less than two hours ago, she’d agreed to basically murder Shauna Shipman in cold blood—right there in some dingy diner.
Murder. Shauna.
Kill her in cold blood, watch the life drain from her just like Shauna had done so many times before to others. It felt wrong. Sure, she’d done bad things, but Lucille still couldn’t stomach killing her. It was Shauna, Shauna Shipman—her friend, though the word felt meaningless at this point.
Shauna had tormented people, borderline tortured them, but it was still Shauna. The same girl who held her dead baby in the wilderness, the same girl who lost her best friend and child all those years ago. For some reason, Lucille couldn’t separate that broken girl from the Shauna they had now.
She’d always had that problem, even when Shauna had tied her to Natalie’s shelter in the wilderness, starved her nearly to death, and outed her to the others, Lucille still couldn’t hate her the way the other girls did. Maybe it was the lingering shadow of Jackie's ghost, even twenty years later, blurring the lines between Jackie’s memory and Shauna as a person.
Lucille sighed, rolling onto her side to grab her bag. She dug to the bottom until her fingers closed around a small pouch. Inside were memories, different ones from different years. She pulled out a stack of papers and keepsakes, finding Shauna’s wedding picture. She’d taken several Polaroids that day, but the only one where Shauna actually looked happy was when they’d snuck away for a cigarette at the end of it all.
She’d thought about visiting graves, the Martinez lot, but decided against it.
She was already seeing enough death these days, no need to jinx anymore deaths.
She flicked through the papers until something slipped out—white, fragile, with her name scribbled on it. It was her hospital bracelet from when she was first rescued. Lucille’s fingers traced its edges, recalling how the IV drips had dug into her skin, the beeping of the heart monitor, and the pain it took just to breathe.
1998
Lucille stared up at the ceiling of her hospital room, her back pressed uncomfortably against the stiff mattress springs. The distant sounds of the hospital, the phones ringing, footsteps echoing, carts rolling down linoleum floors made it nearly impossible to sleep. She’d grown used to the sounds of the wilderness: rustling leaves, distant howls, the wind. Not this constant hum of the real world.
Her arms were still bruised, and her legs were slowly regaining strength. Walking was a struggle; even the trip to the bathroom left her exhausted. Most days, she did little but sleep and pick at the hospital food they gave her.
It was the middle of the night. A movie played softly on the small TV, barely holding her attention as the monitor beside her bed beeped in a regular rhythm. Then the door creaked open, just a crack at first—before opening just wide enough for someone to slip through.
Was it Shauna, coming to finish her off? Was she too much of a risk now? Lucille had already sworn to keep her mouth shut, but maybe that wasn’t enough. She sat up quickly, hand hovering over the red call button for the nurses. Maybe they’d get there in time to stop the slaughter.
But the moment the figure stepped into the light, she froze.
“Natalie?”
Natalie let out a long breath, relief flashing on her face as their eyes met. A faint smile tugged at her lips. “You know how many rooms I had to go through to find you? They really don’t like giving out patient info.” A nervous laugh escaped her lips as she took two cautious steps forward—just as Lucille’s hand moved toward the call button again.
Natalie stiffened, brows knitting together. “Get out,” Lucille hissed, her finger hovering over the button. She couldn’t hold back the rage that surged at seeing her after everything. She’d left her there, left her for Shauna to torture. Natalie laughed nervously, clearly not expecting such hostility at their reunion.
When Natalie didn’t move, Lucille grabbed a water bottle and hurled it with all her strength. It missed and clattered to the floor at Natalie’s feet. The brunette took a moment before she reached down, picked it up, and placed it gently beside Lucille before pulling over a chair and sitting silently.
Silence stretched between them. Lucille clicked off the television, and Natalie wrung her hands, her boot tapping nervously on the floor. “Did they tell you what she did to me?” Lucille finally asked, unable to look at her any longer. “What? You didn’t trust me enough to take me with you?” Her voice cracked—an unwanted side effect of losing it halfway through her stay.
Natalie didn’t reply. Lucille looked back at her, taking in how tired and fragile she looked.
“Sorry,” Lucille whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “I didn’t mean to… snap at you.” She tried to apologize properly, but her throat was too raw to say much more. She reached for the water bottle again with shaky hands, taking a small sip, and cleared her throat. “How are you?” She asked, eyes fixed on the bottle, twisting the cap between her fingers.
Natalie finally tore her gaze away from her own trembling hands, stopping the nervous wringing, and shrugged weakly.
“Stupid question,” Lucille muttered, and this time, a small, genuine laugh escaped Natalie’s lips.
There was so much Lucille wanted—needed—to say. How she’d missed her, how she never wanted to leave her side again, how she’d tortured herself over the thought that Natalie might have died out there. But the words never came. Instead, what slipped out were tears, completely uncontrollable.
“You did the right thing, Natalie,” Lucille murmured, reaching out to touch her hand. She used what little strength she had to tug at her fingers, trying to squeeze them. It was more of a limp gesture, but Natalie’s fingers laced gently around hers. Lucille could feel the guilt in her touch, heavy and unspoken. And even though part of her still wanted to scream at her for leaving her behind, she couldn’t. “You look like shit,” Lucille blurted out, the words escaping her before she could stop them.
Natalie’s head snapped up, surprised, then laughed, and a genuine smile tugged at her lips. “Jesus, what did they give you?” She said, shaking her head. “I haven’t been sleeping. I…” Her voice trailed off as she looked away. “Haven’t really been doing well. Clearly neither have you.” She gestured vaguely at Lucille and the hospital room.
“I didn’t want to leave you there, Lucille. It killed me. But I thought—” She hesitated, “I thought you’d tell Shauna.”
Lucille gave a weak nod. “I get why you would’ve thought that.” There was a pause before she added, “Can we just… I know it sounds stupid, but isn’t it better if we just forget everything that happened out there?”
Natalie’s smile faded, her grip loosening as her pupils widened. She cleared her throat, fingers twitching slightly against Lucille’s palm. “Everything, including…?” She asked, her voice cracking halfway through before she bit it back.
Lucille couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her lips. She sat up fully, eyes wide, shaking her head in a sudden panic. “No—no, no! Not that. Not… that, I still want you. Us. I want us. I just—” She faltered, “I meant everything else. The rest of it. It’d be easier if we just pretended.”
Natalie scoffed. She'd never been one to pretend—they both knew that. “How the fuck are we supposed to do that, Lucille?” She snapped. “Nineteen months. Do you think we can just forget all of that? Just like that?”
Lucille winced at Natalie’s tone, she’d clearly hit a nerve. “I’m sorry, I just… I know I’ll have to carry most of it with me for the rest of my life. But I want to forget the parts I don’t have to. I’ll never forget everyone who died. But I don’t want to remember what it felt like to starve, to hunt, to kill. I don’t want to remember what it was like to see Jackie’s remains, or what it tasted like to eat my brother or the sound of Mari being impaled... but I will.”
She swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… want to forget the other parts. I don’t think I can handle it all. I’m not strong enough for that, Nat.”
Natalie didn’t look angry anymore. She looked defeated. “Am I a reminder?” She asked quietly.
Lucille didn’t want to lie to Natalie, even if it was going to spare her feelings. After all, of course she was a reminder, how couldn't she be?
“Yeah, you are.”
She didn’t sugarcoat it. There was a pause, and then a tear slipped down Natalie’s cheek. She wiped it away quickly, like it hadn’t happened at all, clearly embarrassed. Lucille didn't mention it, instead, she shifted on the bed, wincing slightly, and patted the space beside her.
Natalie hesitated, then sat down. Lucille reached out, trying to touch her cheek clumsily, almost poking her in the eye. “I want you to stay, Nat,” She whispered. “It was really… really shitty without you. I don’t ever want to forget you.”
Her free arm reached around Natalie’s waist, awkward and trembling. The tug of her IVs made her wince, but she didn’t pull away, determined to touch her skin. Natalie let out a nervous laugh and leaned in, returning the hug carefully, like she was afraid Lucille might break.
That’s when Lucille saw it—a small tattoo inked into Natalie’s arm. “Oh my god,” She gasped, pulling back suddenly, her fingers grabbing Natalie’s wrist with more strength than she thought she had. “Natalie!”
Natalie flinched, instinctively pulling her arm back, glancing around like she’d forgotten the tattoo was even there. It looked fresh—maybe only a week or two old. Lucille squinted at it, brows furrowed as she tried to make out the design. “What… is it?” She questioned, glancing up at Natalie.
Natalie stared at her, one brow raised. “Are you serious?” She said, then looked down at her arm. “Bastard. He said it’d look better by now.” She muttered the last part under her breath, gently poking the ink, clearly annoyed.
Lucille grabbed her hand gently. “Stop it, you’ll mess it up even more.” She said, leaning back on the bed and glancing at the black screen of the television. “Hand me the controller,” Lucille motioned, watching as Natalie groaned but reached over to grab it, rolling her eyes as she handed it over.
“You know,” Natalie teased, shifting to pull her knees up to her chest, “you’d think after all this time apart, you’d want to actually talk to me.”
Lucille flicked through the channels, unfazed. “Well, we can still talk while we watch.” But then the screen landed on a news channel and her breath caught, her fingers twitched on the remote as their faces appeared plastered across the screen. Natalie noticed immediately, just as Lucille began to read the text. She took the controller gently from Lucille and switched it off, flipping to a reality show, forcing a small smile and pulling Lucille closer.
“How is everyone?” Lucille asked after a moment, her voice barely rising over the television. She thought about her brother, wondered if he was okay, if he was even alive. She didn’t even know who had made it out and part of her didn’t want to.
Natalie heard her, but chose to look away, and that silence spoke volumes.
Meaning the death toll hadn’t ended with Mari, there had been more. That thought alone was enough to make her want to vomit, her throat going completely dry.
The rest of the night stretched on in heavy silence between them, Lucille fighting back the urge to cry at the thought of losing the only family she had left.
She had to see Travis, make sure he was alive.
He had to be alive.
21/12/1993
THE MARTINEZ HOUSEHOLD.
Lucille sat quietly at the dinner table, across from her siblings—or half-siblings, as Travis liked to remind her. She lifted the glass of water in front of her, fingers trembling slightly against the cool drink.
Dinner at her father’s house always made her anxious. Her foot tapped nervously beneath the table; her fingers twitched. She usually found an excuse to skip these meals, but tonight was different. It was his birthday dinner, there was no other way around it. Malia began serving the paella, first to Javi, then Travis, then their father, followed by herself, and finally, as always, Lucille.
“Thank you,” Lucille murmured, trying to force a polite smile despite Malia’s scowl as the plate was roughly set before her. She waited for Malia to take her seat, and the family bowed their heads for the prayer. Lucille linked her hand with her father’s, who held hands with his wife.
The prayer dragged on for a good five minutes before they finally began to eat. It was dead silent for a while, forks agaisnt plates, silent motions to pass the salad, or the pepper, clearing of throats, until Malia fianlly spoke. “How was work?” Malia asked, eyes on her husband.
Bill paused, setting down his fork. “Well, the girls played well…” He started, Travis and Javi still eating beside him. “Christmas bonus coming up soon.”
Lucille tuned out the rest, quietly chewing her food. She hated Malia with every fiber of her being, but god, the woman could cook. Malia cleared her throat, and Bill nudged her. Lucille looked toward him, confused, and then it happened.
“How’s school?” Malia asked, her face unreadable—clearly forced to ask. Lucille swallowed the bite in her mouth and plastered on a smile. Malia tried to mirror it but only managed a scowl.
“Good, good. I… got an A in English?” Lucille answered, confusion clear in her voice no matter how hard she tried to hide it. She wasn’t used to being asked questions, especially by Malia. "I also... got an A in maths?" She added after a moment, her father attempted to give her a reassuring smile for her to continue, but she retreated, making herself smaller in the chair as she continued to eat.
Dinner didn’t last long, it never did. She left early and started walking, knowing she couldn’t go home yet. Her mom expected her back by at least nine, and it was barely six. She bit the inside of her cheek as she passed a familiar trailer park and paused.
Nat.
She headed toward where Natalie’s trailer should be—near the edge of the lot, she was pretty sure. After a few awkward knocks on doors that definitely weren’t Natalie’s, she finally found the right one.
She knocked twice, shifting nervously on the step. The door swung open, revealing an angry-looking man, thin hair, mean eyes. He stared at her, eyebrows knitting together. “Hi,” Lucille squeaked, shrinking under his gaze. “Is… Natalie in?”
He sighed, glancing back inside. “Natalie!” Natalie's father called out. “Get out here, now!”
Lucille flinched at the yelling, and how casually it came to him. Inside, she heard a door open and footsteps approaching. The man disappeared from the doorway just as Natalie appeared, stopping cold the moment she saw who was there. “Hi,” Lucille repeated.
Natalie took two steps out, and Lucille stepped down the stairs as Natalie slammed the door behind her. “How—” Natalie started, then stopped, glancing around nervously. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging herself tightly. “What are you doing here?”
Lucille frowned, caught off guard by the coldness. She’d expected something warmer—sure, Natalie hadn’t exactly told her where she lived, but she’d assumed that was laziness, not… whatever this was. “I was in the area,” Lucille said, letting out a nervous laugh. “I mean, I thought we could… hang out?”
Natalie stared at her like she’d grown a second head, then glanced back at the door. “Give me a minute, okay? Stay there.” Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared inside.
Five minutes later, Natalie reappeared, shoes on, a jumper pulled over her hoodie, and without a word, she hauled Lucille away from the trailer. The park hadn’t seemed scary before, but now? Now, it felt different. It felt dangerous. Natalie led her to the playground in the centre and sat down on a swing. Lucille took the one beside her.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Natalie finally said, eyes fixed on the cracked rocks beneath their feet. “Why’d you come here?”
Lucille picked at her nail, pulling at the skin on the side nervously. “I wanted to see you,” Lucille admitted hesitantly. “I was in the area—really, I was. You told me once you lived here, and I knew what part, so… I knocked on doors until I found you.”
Natalie didn’t look at her, just kicked at the dirt with the toe of her shoe. “Why’d you want to see me?” She asked.
Lucille swallowed, tracing a circle in the cracked paint on the swing’s chain. “I don’t know. I guess… I had a bad day and you were the only person I wanted to see." Natalie didn't reply to that, just kept swinging. "I'm sorry Nat. I... didn't know I wasn't supposed to." Lucille mumbled.
Natalie stilled, the swing’s gentle motion halting beneath her. “Just don’t do it again—”
She was cut off by a sudden shout. Lucille turned, squinting. A flash of ginger hair came into view, running toward them. “Is that...?” Lucille tilted her head.
Vanessa.
She recognized the girl from middle school and high school—semi-familiar from assemblies and classes. She was on the Yellowjackets too, which only added to the recognition. Lucille’s dad coached them, after all. Still, she hadn’t expected to see her here, definitely not running full speed toward them.
Vanessa nearly missed the third swing but caught herself, plopping down beside them and catching her breath between grins. “Did you run here?” Lucille asked, eyebrows raised.
Vanessa just nodded, still breathing heavily, eyes darting between the two of them.
Lucille looked back at Natalie, then cautiously to Vanessa. “Do you… live here?” She asked, half-expecting to get snapped at again.
Vanessa looked at her, then snorted—trying to hold it in, but completely failing. Within seconds, she was full-on laughing, and Lucille noticed Natalie’s shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter too. Vanessa wiped a tear from her eye and, with mock seriousness, said, “Yes, Lucille. I live here.” She slowed the words like she was speaking to a toddler.
Lucille frowned, unimpressed, while Natalie attempted to hide her grin behind a weak cough. “You guys are assholes!” Lucille threw her hands up, exasperated.
That only made Vanessa double over, laughing even louder now, and Natalie let out a short bark of laughter that she didn’t even bother to hide. “God forbid I ask a question,” Lucille muttered, crossing her arms, stung by being the butt of whatever inside joke was going on between them.
When the laughter didn’t die down, Lucille stood up. She didn’t bother saying she was leaving—just turned and started walking, her arms stiff at her sides. “Lucille!” Vanessa called after her, still laughing. “I’m sorry!”
But it was too late, the damage was already done. She didn’t look back, just kept walking, shoulders squared, chin up. But something stirred in her gut, something unfamiliar.
Was it… jealousy?
No, it couldn't be that. She was just butthurt, that was all. Being laughed at always got under her skin, especially when she wasn’t in on the joke. Jealousy was something she felt watching her brothers sit around a dinner table with a real family, not over a dumb joke in some shitty run-down playground.
And jealous wasn’t a word she ever used to describe herself.
18/01/1996
WISKAYOK HIGHSCHOOL, NJ.
Lucille fiddled with her lighter, waiting patiently for Natalie, who was late to their usual smoke session. Abandoned bathrooms, every fourth period on a Friday when they were supposed to be in gym.
Late for the third week straight, all because of Bobby Farleigh. Lucille wouldn’t deny she was annoyed. Yeah, maybe a little jealous too. Who wouldn’t be? Their best friend blowing them off for the third week in a row, just for some guy.
She was just about to call it quits when the bathroom stall door creaked open, and Natalie stepped inside, dropping her bag with a heavy thud, and then collapsing herself. Lucille didn’t even look her way. She had nothing good to say, so she just muttered, “Pass it over.”
Natalie scoffed but dug through her bag. “Someone’s in a mood,” She muttered before handing over the joint with a half-smirk.
Lucille snatched it from her, flicking the lighter on. She had half a mind to throw the joint at Natalie and tell her to go fuck herself, or better yet, go fuck Bobby. But instead, she lit the end and took a hit, letting the burn settle in her lungs before exhaling through her nose.
She extended the joint halfway, finally locking eyes with Natalie. Natalie took it, dragging in deep, never breaking eye contact. Lucille tore her gaze away, shaking her head bitterly. That’s when Natalie’s boot nudged her knee, just the tip. “Fine. I’m sorry. Happy?”
Lucille said nothing, staring down at the edge of Natalie’s boot, teeth clenched tight. She heard a sigh, felt Natalie shift beside her, taking another drag. “I’m sorry, Lucille. What else do you want me to say?” Natalie’s voice softened, quieter now.
Lucille looked up, grabbing the joint back. “You ditched me—for him. And he’s not even that good-looking.” She muttered, eyes drifting to the cracked ceiling, counting the lines. “He graduated years ago. Come on, Nat, he’s not exactly a winner. You—” Lucille stopped herself. “Why are you stooping that low?”
You deserve so much better hovered on her tongue, but she swallowed it down.
Natalie didn’t take it the way Lucille meant, not kindly. “Fuck you,” Natalie said after a beat of silence. “Why do you care? It’s none of your business who I sleep with, or who I spend my time with.”
Lucille knew this wasn’t heading anywhere good, but she tried to keep the peace. “I don’t,” She said, watching Natalie’s face fall a little before she squared her shoulders and took a drag from the joint. “I just worry about you. I mean... him? Come on.”
“God, you sound like Jackie,” Natalie shot back. It was meant to sting, but it didn’t quite land as an insult.
“Yeah? Well, maybe Jackie’s right.” Lucille replied without thinking, immediately realizing how bad that sounded.
“That I’m a whore? That I’m a burnout?” Natalie laughed bitterly, pretending she wasn't hurt, even though it was clear on her face. “Christ, Lucille. Pick a side and stick with it for once in your life.”
Lucille swallowed a retort, forcing a smile and shaking her head as she took a deep breath. She swallowed down her anger, the cruel words that could’ve destroyed them. “I don’t think that, Natalie. Neither does Jackie.” Half of that was true. “I just don’t think he’s worth the trouble.”
“Are you jealous?”
Lucille’s head snapped up, and a genuine laugh escaped her. “Of who? You? Jesus, Nat, come on. He’s not my type.” Disgust laced her voice at the thought of… that.
“No. Are you jealous of him?”
Lucille kicked her with her sneaker, forcing a laugh. “You’re high.” She teased, feeling the buzz settling in herself now. Natalie shifted to sit closer, their shoulders brushing. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to… boss you around or whatever,” Lucille said, nudging Natalie’s knee gently with her own. “I just don’t want to lose you.”
Natalie didn't reply to that, she just reached over and took her chin, bringing her into a kiss. Meaning she wasn't going to reply to it. When conversations got hard, one of them usually did this, Lucille secretly hated it, hated she couldn't talk seriously about anything without Natalie cutting her off to kiss her.
But she was just as bad herself.
She kissed her back, hearing the soft sizzle of the joint dropping into the ceramic toilet as their lips met again. Lucille cupped Natalie’s cheek, fingers brushing against her skin. She was cold—then again, it was the middle of winter, neither of them wearing coats, and the windows in the abandoned bathroom had been smashed out last year.
Lucille pulled back, gently pushing Natalie’s shoulder when she tried to kiss her again. Natalie frowned, the hand that had slid to her thigh retreating slowly as she looked down at the cracked tile floor. Lucille wiped her lips with the back of her hand—lip gloss ruined.
“Did I… do something? You don’t want to?” Natalie asked, eyes meeting hers. Lucille wasn’t usually one to turn her down, especially not here—in this stupid fucking stall. After all, this was their routine: smoke and make out. Usually, they didn’t even smoke weed, so maybe that was it, she forced herself to agree that was it.
But right now… Lucille just wasn’t feeling it. "No, not you. I just don't feel too good, think it might be the weed."
Something was off with her lately. Maybe it was jealousy of Bobby. Or maybe it was something deeper—something she refused to admit, shoved so far down she pretended it didn’t exist. Because she knew that after school, she’d probably never see Nat again. Maybe at some reunion in ten years, or twenty—if either of them were still alive.
But she wouldn’t be.
That thought always made her cry when she let herself think too hard, which was rare. Alone at night, when the silence swallowed her, she’d break down. That’s why she refused to sleep alone, almost all the time—because thinking too much meant thinking about Natalie, her mom, her dad, and Travis.
If she let it go too far, everything would come crashing down.
Lucille stood up, holding out her hand. Natalie took it without hesitation. “You wanna come over tonight?” Lucille asked, squeezing her hand—a silent plea not to be left alone.
Natalie nodded. “Yeah, ‘course.”
Lucille stepped forward, pulling her into a hug. Neither of them were big on hugs, but Lucille found herself burying her head against Natalie’s shoulder. Natalie returned it, the two standing silent for a moment before Lucille pulled back.
“So? Off to see Bobby again?” She teased as they stepped out of the stall.
Lucille moved to the cracked bathroom mirror—broken, but still usable in parts. She wiped away the smeared makeup and handed Natalie a tissue to fix the gloss on her lips, because anyone who paid enough attention would spot Lucille's lipgloss on Natalie's lips. “Where are you going?” Natalie asked, shifting in place, eyes narrowing.
“I have free next period, so probably the library. Maybe listen to music, grab something from the vending machines.” Lucille tilted her head, tossing the paper towel into the trash. “You coming?”
A brief smile flickered on Natalie’s face as she followed, the two leaving the bathrooms. They stopped at Lucille’s locker so she could grab her headphones. Natalie had offered to let her use hers, but they had… different music tastes.
The library was quiet, as usual. They found a booth to sit in, Natalie stretching out on one side while Lucille pulled out the snacks she’d grabbed from the vending machines. She slid a can of cola over to Natalie—the full-fat kind, which Lucille couldn’t understand since it tasted horrible to her, but Natalie loved it, had loved it for as long as they'd known each other.
Lucille stuck with the diet version, using her necklace to open the tab.
It reminded her of her father, how he'd often use the front of his wedding ring to open the tab of every beer he'd drink out of.
She made a mental note to call him tonight.
1999
WISKAYOK, NJ.
Her father was dead.
They were lowering his body into the ground. As it happened, she couldn’t help but think—at least there was a body to bury.
Unlike the others who weren’t so lucky. Their family got to bury someone; other families didn’t get that kind of closure. Malia stood in black, sobbing over his grave, while Travis and Lucille stood side by side, dressed in a mix of grey and black.
Lucille was thankful Malia had waited until she’d recovered to hold the funeral, though she suspected it was mostly Travis’s idea, the same boy, now a man, who hadn’t said a word to her since the wilderness.
Lucille looked up at him, he looked just as tired as she felt. The rain poured down, like some cheap movie scene. Family crowded around them, people she barely recognized. She wondered what her mother’s funeral had been like, her grandmother’s, all the moments she’d missed. Some of the girls had the nerve to show up. Most she barely glanced at when they offered their condolences during the earlier service. But no sign of Natalie, the one person she might’ve really been able to look at, really talk to.
The funeral directory was clutched in her hand, damp from the rain and now hidden beneath the umbrella. Her fingers trembled around it, and she forced herself to pretend the water trickling down her cheeks was just rain, not tears.
He didn’t deserve those.
No one did.
She had to keep it together, she couldn’t cry. That wouldn’t be fair. Not after everything she’d done, after Jackie, Javi, Mari, everyone who’d died out there. They’d give anything to be here, and yet here she was, ungrateful, crying. Keeping it together here meant she could save her tears for Javi’s memorial—a compromise with the dead. Just let her cry there, in peace, and she’d hold it together the rest of the time.
But the afterparty was worse.
They sat side by side in the living room of Malia’s house, grieving family walking around, speaking in hushed voices. The fire crackled softly, but neither of them truly looked at the flames. Instead, their eyes were fixed just above it—on the framed photos hung above the mantle. Their father’s face, and beside him, Javi’s smiling, younger face, frozen in time.
Travis sat stiffly, his gaze deliberately avoiding Javi’s photo, as if looking directly at it would break him. Lucille, on the other hand, couldn’t tear her eyes away from the boy.
Lucille glanced over at her brother, the only family she had left and hesitantly reached out, taking his hand and squeezing it.
He didn’t return it.
Instead, he turned his head to look at her, eyes hollow. Then, in what felt like an act of unneeded cruelty, he pulled his hand away, held her gaze for a long, cold moment, and stood up. He left her there, alone on the sofa, holding back tears she wasn’t allowed to shed, as he disappeared into the sea of mourners.
She sat staring at that fireplace for the rest of the day, until finally she left—retreating to her hotel room, utterly defeated. The only family she had left was back to hating her, and once again, she was alone.
2021
She continued looking through her stash, stopping at the stack of funeral directories. Like an invisible hand had taken it, Travis’s slipped out from the pile. She’d shown up to his funeral but never went inside. Instead, she took the directory and left without entering. She didn't regret that choice, she couldn't bring herself to see him in that coffin, still, dead. But she could still see him clear as day in that Italian restaurant all those years ago. A final goodbye that hadn't gone the way she'd planned.
2019
Classical music floated softly through the dimly lit restaurant, the clink of fine china and murmured conversations blending into the elegant atmosphere.
The place was called Ristorante La Serena, which was an upscale Italian spot that she had picked out. Marble floors gleamed under crystal chandeliers, and mahogany tables were set with pristine white linens and sparkling glassware. Lucille sipped water, not wine, waiting patiently for her guest to arrive. She glanced down at the menu, already knowing she probably wouldn’t be here long enough to order.
The chair across from her scraped sharply against the floor, followed by a heavy thud. Travis settled into the seat, beard wild, hair unruly, eyes wide and wary. Lucille straightened, forcing a practised smile. She hadn’t seen him in a long time. She knew he and Natalie were tangled up in god only knew what, but she wasn’t here for Natalie for once.
She was here for him.
To get him to show up, she’d first offered five hundred dollars. He refused. So she doubled down, making it ten grand. That was an offer he couldn’t say no to.
He stared at her, silence hanging between them, until she slid a brown envelope across the table with a smile. He snatched up the envelope, shoving it into his jacket pocket before leaning across the table. That’s when it hit her, his breath reeked of booze.
"How are you?" Lucille asked, as his head looked toward the chair beside them, a third chair, empty. She'd left it there as a reminder of Javi, she was unsure if that was a mistake or not. She wished she'd made this a lunch thing, not enough time for him to get drunk.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifted in his seat, rubbing his face. “I’m here, aren’t I?” He finally muttered, voice rough.
Lucille swallowed the urge to snap back and instead nodded, forcing herself to remain calm. "I'm glad, really, Travis. I missed you." She kept her hands clenched under the table, forcing herself not to try to touch him.
“What do you want from me?” His voice was cold. She couldn’t blame him. It’d been years since they’d even seen eachother, longer since they’d even spoken. “Why am I here?”
“I just wanted to see my brother. Is that so bad?”
“I’m not your brother.” His reply was quick, like he’d been waiting to say it. Lucille flinched, teeth clenched behind a brittle smile. “Why am I really here, Lucille?” He said her name like she was the devil incarnate, like it physically hurt to say.
Her smile faltered, and she felt her composure slip. She could fool millions, take insults on live TV, but with him, her heart cracked open. That was the real reason, she just wanted to see him, to know he was still alive, to see how he was doing. Clearly, he didn’t want the same. Not that she’d expected it after years of dodged calls, clipped conversations, cold silences. She pulled one hand from her lap, reaching halfway toward him. He stared, eyes flicking between her face and her hand. “Come on, please?” She pleaded, voice cracking.
A flash of something close to empathy crossed his face, and slowly, he put his hand out halfway. She didn't miss a beat, she took it, squeezing tight. “I miss you, Travis. You’re the only family I have left. I know I haven’t been... neither of us have been the best siblings to each other, but...” Her head tilted toward the empty seat beside her, the one she’d left just for him.
She wondered if Travis had caught on yet, but she didn’t have to wonder long, he was staring at her, glaring. “Did you bring me here to guilt-trip me? You know, I should’ve listened to Nat. She told me not to come.”
Lucille’s smile faded, and she felt herself go cold at the mention of Natalie. “This isn’t about her,” She said through gritted teeth. “Honestly, Travis? I don’t care about her. She was a waste of space in my life—and clearly in yours too. She brings nothing but pain, hurt, and—” Lucille cut herself off. That always happened when Natalie came up, anger, negative feelings she didn't want to feel. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about her.”
Travis pulled his hand away. Silence stretched between them, the two siblings locked in a stare. “Are you here to turn me against her?”
Lucille let out a bitter laugh, taking a sip of her water. “Christ, Travis. No.” She slammed the glass down. “I don’t care if you fuck her. She’s all yours. Seriously—have her.”
“You’re bitter.” He leaned across the table, teeth clenched. She realized then that he clearly wasn’t just drunk. “You’ve always been bitter, Lucille. Always. A bitter little girl.”
Lucille shifted, sitting up straighter. “And you’re out of your fucking mind on what? What’s she got you hooked on, huh? Let me guess, she’s got you hooked on the ‘good shit’ from Dave, right?” She didn't wait for him to reply, the look on his face said it all. “Listen, Travis, I’m not blaming her for my addiction, for what happened to me—that was on me.” She felt the emotions rising, ready to erupt, and with one glance at the empty chair beside her, she bit out, “But I won’t let her do that to you. I won’t let her take another brother from me.”
A couple nearby were staring now, so she forced a smile and turned back to Travis, who was grinning like she’d lost it, shaking his head as if she were the crazy one. Lucille fought the urge to lose it on him as he stood, brushing himself off. He spared her one last look, like she was some kind of charity case.
Ironic, considering she’d just handed him ten grand, with was probably going straight toward a bender.
He opened the envelope and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, sliding it onto the table with an exaggerated flick of his hand. Lucille looked up, unable to hide the genuine hurt in her eyes. “Goodbye, Lucille,” He said, spinning on his heel and stumbling toward the exit, bumping into other diners on the way out.
She stood, grabbed her bag, and followed. But by the time she stepped outside, he was nowhere in sight. She spun around, searching every direction.
That’s when it happened, a Porsche sped past her. There was no mistaking it, she knew who was inside, she could recognise that fucking car anywhere.
Lucille watched it stop at the red light at the end of the street. She started toward it, paused to pick up a stone from the sidewalk, gripping it tight, letting the rough edge dig into her palm. Then, just before reaching the car, she stepped up behind it and hurled the stone with all her strength into the side mirror, shattering the glass.
Lucille heard the radio inside the car suddenly cut out, and as much as she wanted to dive into a fistfight with her ex right there in the middle of the street, she knew that wouldn’t do her any favors with the press. “Fuck you, Natalie!” Lucille screamed, spinning on her heel and sprinting down the street before she could catch a glimpse of that furious face. Yelling and curses echoed behind her, and despite everything, she couldn’t help but laugh as she ran.
She’d made a promise to never see her face again. And she fully intended to keep it for the rest of her life.
2016
LAS VEGAS, CEASER'S PALACE HOTEL & CASINO.
Lucille lay back on the plush sofa, fingers idly hovering over the TV remote as she flicked through channels lazily. Her gaze drifted beyond the screen to the bright, sprawling cityscape outside the hotel window.
Vegas.
She barely remembered why she was here. It had been a while, weeks, maybe. She wasn’t a gambler, never had been. She hadn’t even set foot inside the casinos inside this hotel, and she had no intention of starting now. The money was there, enough to afford this suite for however long she wanted, but wasting it on a long shot wasn’t in her nature.
Lucille hadn’t touched a drink in days. No pills either, which was a new personal record of hers. She hoped maybe she could make it stick. But that came at a cost, not money or material, but Natalie. She knew Nat wouldn’t walk that road with her, Nat wouldn’t follow her into sobriety. Which was the main reason she was hesitating now, even if it was for her own good.
Lucille groaned into the pillow, banging her head against the sofa’s edge in frustration. There was no way out of this mess—no real solution. Just wasting away in hotel rooms across America, smoking, drinking, lying to herself.
How much longer could she keep this up? No, the question was how much longer could her body take it?
“Hey, you good?”
Lucille hadn’t even noticed Natalie standing over her, brown hair falling loose, one hand gently shaking her shoulder.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, swinging her legs to make room. “Just... thinking,” She mumbled, fingers picking nervously at the sofa’s fabric.
Natalie bumped her bare shoulder against Lucille’s with a small, knowing smile. “Want something to stop you from thinking?” She stood, already pushing herself up from the sofa.
“No, I’m good,” Lucille murmured, tugging Natalie down beside her again. She pulled the brunette close, breathing in the faint, familiar scent of cigarettes that clung to her.
Lucille’s eyes drifted to the television, but she wasn’t really watching. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks before she even realized she was crying. The face staring back at her from the screen was a stranger—someone she barely recognized anymore. She was sure Javi wouldn’t recognize her either. “Do you ever feel like we wasted it?” Lucille’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you ever wish we’d just… died out there?”
Natalie turned toward her, brows knitting as she finally noticed the tears tracing paths down Lucille’s face. “What?” She said, incredulous, head tilting slightly. “Jesus, Lucille. You need to get some sleep.”
Lucille glanced down at herself, thinner than before, barely eating, barely sleeping. She blamed it all: the drugs, the booze, the endless haze. The way her ribs jutted out in the mirror when she undressed, the sharp edge of her shoulder blades digging into the car seat, the blur of days she couldn’t even remember.
Lucille brushed off the hand that had settled on her shoulder without really noticing when it landed. She reached for the remote, clicking the TV off, and caught her reflection in the dark screen. All she could see was how much she looked like her mother. “Oh god,” She whispered, shaking her head. “Oh god, what have I done?”
She stood unsteadily. Natalie tried to follow, still not fully grasping how serious this was—maybe thinking it was just a bad trip, or some kind of meltdown. But Lucille shoved her back onto the sofa, pushing her away like she needed space. “What the fuck, Lucille?” Natalie groaned, rubbing the back of her head.
Lucille didn’t hear her. She was already moving toward the bedroom, spotting the chaos she’d left behind waiting for her. Sheets thrown everywhere, clothes scattered across the floor, pill bottles spilled, cigarette butts burned into the furniture.
Had it really gotten this bad?
She stumbled to her phone, picking it up with trembling hands. This was it, she knew that. She wouldn’t wake up from this haze again and she couldn’t keep doing this. The memory hit right then, the memory of that day after Lottie’s death, back in the wilderness. She’d thought she’d dreamed it, but it was real. And she’d ignored every warning it gave.
Lucille grabbed her bra, clipped it on, then reached for her pants. Natalie had finally caught up, standing in the doorway with arms crossed, brow raised. “What the hell is going on with you?”
Lucille turned slowly, feeling the blood drain from her face. She pulled on a fresh shirt, then some sweatpants. Without another word, she hauled Natalie’s suitcase from under the bed and started packing—not her things, but Natalie’s. Maybe she still had time. Time to fix her mistakes. To get Natalie out, get her away from her.
She stuffed in bras, anything that belonged to Natalie, clutching at them like they were the bane of her existance. Then she froze, fingers tightening around one of Natalie’s shirts. By then, Natalie had sensed something was seriously wrong. She was by her side, watching her, eyes searching her for some kind of explaination to this crazy behaviour.
Lucille knelt down, grabbing her own suitcase. Natalie wasn’t going anywhere, not now. She wasn’t about to kick her out of their Vegas hotel room. Not where she knew no one, and couldn’t afford another place, she'd be in far too much danger.
That meant Lucille had to go.
And that made it all the harder. For eighteen years, she’d never been able to truely leave Natalie, she'd never found the strength. Now, somehow, summoning it here was going to be her biggest fight yet. She packed silently, tuning out every word Natalie said, brushing off every touch. She slipped past her to the bathroom, grabbed her things, moved toward the chest of drawers. Then, when Natalie reached out from behind, desperate to hold her back, Lucille did something she never thought she would again.
She drove her elbow into Natalie’s gut, hard. Natalie gasped, stumbling backward, clutching her stomach as a coughing fit overtook her. Lucille took two steps forward, halfway reaching out to steady her, then stopped herself. Her hands trembled as she zipped up the suitcase. “Hey. Hey, hey, what are you doing, Lucille?” Natalie’s voice was weak, hoarse, probably from the blow. She grabbed at Lucille’s arms, their faces inches apart.
Lucille let out a broken sound, part sob, part bitter laugh.
“I’m leaving you.”
Silence hung heavy between them for a few seconds. It took Natalie a moment to respond, her face crumbling like she’d been punched in the gut all over again. “No... you’re just.." She laughed, shaking her head. "Listen, whatever the fuck this is, we can talk about it tomorrow.”
Lucille shook her head, pulling back. “No. I can’t. I have to go. Now.” She grabbed the suitcase from the bed, hauling it up with all her might.
Natalie lunged, wrestling the suitcase from her hands. The two stood locked in a silent standoff. Lucille yanked back, but Natalie held firm.
“Look at us, Nat!” Lucille shouted, voice cracking as she hysterically gestured between the two of them. “Look at what we’ve become. We went through hell out there, hurt people, survived... all for this?” She sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “I don’t need the suitcase. I’ll leave without it. Let go, don’t let go, but I’m leaving. We’re done.”
Natalie finally loosened her grip, and Lucille didn’t hesitate. She spun on her heel, dragging the suitcase out of the room and snatching her handbag on the way. She made it as far as the living room before the strap was yanked back. Natalie was suddenly there, face to face again.
Her eyes welled up, jaw trembling. Was it anger? Sadness? The grief of watching a relationship unravel right in front of her? The expression on her face was a gut wrenching mix of all three. “Don’t do this. You love me, I love you. We can get through this, whatever the fuck this is.”
Lucille stared at the wall, avoiding her gaze. Natalie’s hand grabbed her chin, cold fingers pressing hard into her skin. "Look at me, Lucille. Look at me!" Her voice cracked again, and finally, Lucille met her eyes. "Don’t go."
Lucille’s hands lifted, cupping Natalie’s face gently, she couldn't help herself from attempting to soothe her. “I’ll always care about you, I’ll always love you. But I’m doing this for you—”
“Don’t start with that bullshit.” Natalie jerked away, scoffing bitterly. “Doing it for me? Fuck you, Lucille.”
Lucille saw the betrayal flicker across Natalie’s face, knew she couldn’t stay much longer. She started toward the door, keycard in hand, when a harsh tug caught her wrist. Natalie stood frozen, waiting for something more, some explanation beyond the half-assed excuse she’d given.
Without thinking, Lucille pulled her into a hug. Probably the last time she’d ever hold her, her best friend, her lover, the one person she loved most in the world. Someone she barely recognized anymore. Maybe even soulmates, if they bought into that kind of crap. She pressed one last kiss to Natalie’s cheek, then got shoved away.
“Fine. Go,” Natalie spat, eyes fixed on the door. “Just fucking go.”
Lucille took her chance, opening the hotel door just enough to slip out. She cast one last look back at Natalie, committing every detail of her to memory.
“I don’t ever want to see your face again,” Natalie said, her voice dripping with bitterness, pure hatred that should’ve broken Lucille, if she didn’t already believe Natalie might be better off. That maybe she’d live a long life without her. Lucille’s grip tightened on the doorknob, and she nodded.
“Good. You won’t.”
She stepped out, shut the door with a soft click, and almost immediately from the other side came the sound of glass smashing and a scream. All she wanted to do was turn around and go back inside, apologize, go on with their lives until one of them finally pushed their bodies to the limit and ended up in an early grave. But she couldn't do that, not to herself, and certainly not to Natalie.
So, she left the hotel that day and never looked back. A few days later, the hotel called the room was apparently completely destroyed, and there was a hefty fine to pay. After that, she vanished. Changed phones, numbers, addresses. Got sober. Erased everything.
Now, a month after Natalie’s death, she sat in a different hotel room in Wiskayok, staring down at the funeral directory. Her eyes drifted to her bag, tempted to pull out the small switchblade she kept around and just end it all. Nothing left now. Nothing but a mission to kill Shauna Shipman, send her off to an early grave. She had no urge to be the last one standing. Not when there was no one left to stand with. But then her eyes returned to the paper in her hands, and for a moment, she almost forgot everything.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and closed the directory. Staring back at her was a photo of Natalie, before the crash, before everything fell apart. Lucille’s thumb traced the black-and-white image, wishing it was real. Then she leaned in, pressing a kiss to the photo.
Whispering the words she wished she could say to her one last time.
“I love you.”