𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 - kiara carrera¹

𝒙𝒙𝒗. 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒓

"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU?"

The pouges had split up for nothing but two hours, and Tatum came back looking worse than she ever had before. She knew the rules, and she still missed her curfew - Tatum knew it was all of her own fault. But when she joined Kiara, JJ and Pope this afternoon at Heyward's shop, they immediately felt sick with worry. Her burn blisters looked infected, there was a deep gash that went through her left eye and halfway up her forehead, she was painted in a thick coat of brown, yellow and green bruises - but however concerning these things were, they weren't what made Kiara Carrera grab a trashcan in anxiety of throwing up. One fresh, deep cut on her arm appeared that wasn't there earlier. And though they were once too blind to notice, her friends knew what that meant now.

Tatum shook her head at their reactions. "It's fine," she said confidently. "I'm...fine. Let's just go get some food; I'm starving."

Her three friends looked at her with a mixture of concern and uncertainty. She let out an exaggerated groan. "Seriously?" she asked, throwing her arms out. "It's sick, yeah, but it's just one of those things I'll have to put up with for the rest of my life, okay? So don't look at me like that, because I'm fine, and I just really want some fucking food before I throw up with an empty stomach, and lose my tits."

Kiara lifted her hand and tried reaching for Tatum's forearm. She was breathing heavily now. They didn't want her to break down again. "Tate -"

"I'm fine!" she snapped, pushing Kiara off her. "Seriously. Jeez. I'm going to get my fucking coat, and meet you guys at the field later instead."

Nobody was able to say anything before the hysterical girl was storming away. She went from being emotionless to an emotional wreck. Was there ever going to be anything in between from that girl?

It was unbelievable. She had finally been able to take that stupid thing off, that once belonged to her deadbeat mother. Ever since she could remember, Tatum had been wearing the coat like a second skin, a suit of armour. Then she was finally able to come out and take it off. Now, all she wanted to do was wrap herself around the thing, as if nothing could hurt her while it was attached to her body.

She understood that her friends were just trying to be supportive, but she wasn't going to sit and cry about something that was never going to change. It had been going on for years - and while it was the most horrible, sickening thing anybody could endure - there was nothing she or anybody else could do to stop it. And she had never cried about it before - she had never broke down or properly even spoken about it - and she was so used to staying silent now, that no matter how hard she could try, she knew there'd always be invisible tape covering her mouth when it came to that subject.

Tatum's home was her largest enemy - it had been like that ever since the day she was born. She could never be happy in those walls. Even if it changed - even if the people living there somehow managed to redeem themselves - she could never be happy so long as she was trapped behind that door. Because of the memories. The memories of that house would haunt her forever. She would be a fifty year old woman, still waking up in the middle of the night screaming because of the things that happened there. All because she was born into the most feared family of Outerbanks. And they were feared for a reason.

When she returned home today, the only person inside was Leroy. She held her fear at the back of her throat. He grinned, almost as if he sensed her unease around him. "You know, you become a pussy everytime you start hanging out with those kids."

"I set a fire at the Camerons' yesterday," she stated, searching the room for her mother's old coat.

Leroy rolled his eyes, flipping a knife through his fingers. "And after, you cried and wanted to die," he said simply. As if that was the most ordinary, basic thing in the world. As if any normal family would be okay with their baby sister setting someone's house on fire and wanting to kill herself.

At his words, she foze. Alarmed. Then she was fucking pissed. "Thomas told you?"

Leroy chucked, standing up and throwing her the puffy, white coat. "No you're just predictable," he said. She looked down at the coat and furrowed her eyebrows. She didn't say anything about the coat. How did he guess that she needed it? Everybody else had the hardest time figuring her out, but Leroy didn't have to think before knowing. Maybe it was a psychopath thing. "But don't be surprised if Thomas does rat your out your overly-dramatic breakdowns . Kid's greedy for Dad's attention these days."

"I didn't want to die," she told him, squeezing the coat in comfort. She really thought she'd never have to put it on again. But here she was, scared once again. "I just didn't want to live."

Leroy laughed and shook his head. "Pussy. Like I said before, sis, emotions get in the way of everything."