Not a Stalker, Just Your Friend, Misty | A Yellowjackets Story

Pilot

Lottie's scream rips through the cold, windless morning, the day of our rescue. Unsurprisingly, she is the last to get on the plane home, walking up slowly like she fears the ground below her. Now she is in a state of shock, standing there at the very top of the staircase before the mechanical doors, refusing to step inside. She almost can't believe where she is; neither can any of us. It's not 1996 anymore. The world had changed since last we saw it. Nationals feels like a fever dream that exists only in an alternate version of our minds, or within the us that never had the chance to live.

We were naive. For months, we scavenged and fought each other, for what? What did we really have to win? To live for?

Here's what actually happened out there, or at least what I think. The wilderness isn't real. It's an opening, a narnia of all the things we couldn't do. Exhibit A: Taissa Turner and Vanessa Palmer—no further explanation needed. But of course, it was much more serious than that. I, for one, know exactly what I did and take full responsibility for my actions. However, would it be crazy to assume we would have all descended to madness and gone to hell anyway?

I'm sure Laura Lee would agree. Not that she's around to ask; she exploded and fell into a lake. I'm going to miss going to her church events, or church at all, for that matter. Not a single one of us is eligible to even look at one anymore. She was kind of our ticket in. I know for a fact Laura Lee would have disapproved of the group's raging porn addiction and ways of coping with the harsh cards the universe dealt us through the use of questionable substances (or lack thereof, leading to the establishment of a cult), knives, and mouths. Take that last part as you will, because there are multiple explanations for it.

And let's get the main tidbit out of the way. Yes, we ate each other. Jackie? A long-awaited dinner. Javi? The Chosen One. Ben? Our bridge. And Mari, a decoy. The sacrifice that derailed a mad Antler Queen and paved the way for a determined Hunter's revolution. The revolution that landed us back here.

Those are the words we liked to use. Chosen, sacrifice, revolution, like it was all necessary. You would think we were fighting for our rights, weirdly. It did feel like that sometimes. Nevertheless, I'm positive that some time after the cabin burned down, survival became a sick game of power. I would say it was absolutely our fault, though you couldn't blame us for what we turned into. We live, and we learn. Not many people can let their inner animal out for nineteen months and then reappear in society as if nothing had happened.

I think our time in the Canadian wilderness was great exposure therapy, far away from the people who have normalized shaming others without knowing the full story. Throw in a little cannabalism speculation here and drugged-out orgy rumors there. Oh, the horror! Imagine if we weren't, if we were perfect little saints who couldn't ever get angry. Weird girls or burnouts who stayed out of the way and did as they were expected. Jealous best friends who repeated affirmations to their reflection and took accountability. If only mirrors didn't crack under pressure, and knives didn't spark bad thoughts. I could go on. If only we were overachievers who knew when to stop. Lovers who thought of anyone but themselves. If only, if only. Then the whole plane crash would've made for a pretty pathetic campfire story. Something you'd laugh about with your kids over s'mores.

Though it was just one of us, in an ideal world the Yellowjackets were all sick girls who took their meds and accepted who they were. We thought rationally under the spell of the cold, bad meat, and love. We made decisions under a fucking democracy and sang songs about teamwork. We weren't scarred for life. We didn't spend the rest of it hiding what we did from our loved ones and the public.

Because we would've died out there, silenced forever. Kindness and utilitarianism simply couldn't work for people like us. We ate our coach just so we could continue to be our radical selves, unconstrained.

There should've been no going back from what we did. From what I did. But Nat let me be the hero. It was nice of her. I was finally taken seriously, and maybe, just maybe, I've made a friend. For a second, when she saw me with the flight recorder, I was considering getting rid of her. But she has these big, sad eyes and this sense of understanding and grace I've yet to see with anyone else. She's been through a lot herself.

I just couldn't do it. Not again.

Nat hid under her hood the whole way here, like most of us. I could tell she was shaking. It didn't feel like she was hiding the same way Tai or Shauna did. Neither of them wanted to be rescued. Shauna shoved the first reporter who touched her. Tai skillfully avoided all of them, her steps quick but careful, and her eyes eerily focused on the ground ahead of her. It was clear she wasn't planning on talking to anybody, let alone looking at them. No one can know.

Me, on the other hand, I flashed those reporters a few smiles because I'm so glad to be back. Leave it to me to think about our reputation, not like these other idiots who look like a bunch of guilty teenage girls. Nat is on the verge of tears.

Nat punched me when she found out what I did. She can really hit. I think she might slightly dislike me, but who doesn't? Nothing a little quality time and opening up can't fix.

So here's Lottie, standing before dozens of reporters screaming her head off like she could will it all away with a single syllable. Too many are the flashes, the microphones, the memories, and the voices. She's already at the ward. I can see it in her owl eyes. This is probably the most hopeless cry for help I've ever heard. It's as if every second that goes by, the cries sound more and more dejected.  We're all shaken, watching her. Trying to feel for her. Taking pictures. Asking questions. Some of us want her to shut the fuck up. Dragging her inside the plane, Nat tells her softly, You won't be alone. I promise, and now they're both crying together. The police assure the screaming girl that she'll be safe at home soon.

Then they glance at each other, knowing where she's really going.
___________________________________________

anddddd that was the first chapter! lmk if yall think I should continue this and I will try my best to keep consistent. im also open to feedback :))

also love this pic of sophie thatcher omg