045 !! GRIEF
Life in the Outer Banks has never felt so disconnected before. The streets feel quieter, the murmurings louder and the pain never-ending because in spite of the residents housed on the upper streets of the island, a member of the homely Southside has been lost.
No amount of words, no amount of news, no amount of curses spat relentlessly at the ones labouring to survive are enough to extinguish the ache of a fellow survivor's loss.
The Kooks throw daggers at them wherever they go — Sarah Cameron, the beautiful blooming flower of the Cameron pride lost to the hands of a dirty Pogue, oh dear heavens — for something that was completely out of their control.
For something they were never even guilty of.
There is no one to console them but each other, some wallow silently while some have actively turned into a walking shadow of the once bright gem they used to be.
Each resembles one or the other five stages of grief.
Kiara has taken to disobeying every demand of her parents' for the sole purpose of displaying her anger, her resentment towards every pretentious little snob housed in one of the million dollar houses — her anger the only coping mechanism.
JJ, for his part, is stuck somewhere between constantly losing sight of himself and forgetting that his friend over at the Chateau is never coming back. He blows up out of the blue at anyone who tries to paint John Booker Routledge as 'Public Enemy #1' for that is the only way he can fathom to survive — his denial and anger, a true reflection of his tempered and exhausted personality.
Pope has decided that drowning himself in literary texts and worries about his future as the brightest of all Heywards is better than resorting to contemplate about a situation that cannot be reversed. "No use crying over spilled milk", he chants like a mantra to himself throughout the day — his acceptance of the truth a pitiful yet realistic way to survive.
And then there's Georgie.
She's been . . . . adjusting, stuck devastatingly inside her head ever since that fated night.
She's gotten quieter, choosing to keep her words to herself as frequently as possible for she feels drained of all her energy, all her will to continue without any real promise of what the future might bring — her slight depression, a toxic yet inevitable force bearing down on her with each passing day.
She moves through her days delivering on only what is required of her. She's still a terrific employee but the change in her is evident in every step she takes over the mopped wooden floors of The Wreck.
"Do you want some time off?", Anna had called her into her office one evening and enquired.
The question had taken her by surprise but she furiously shook her head fiddling with her fingers as she stood opposite to the desk where Mrs. Carrera was sat looking up at her with sad eyes.
"I'm fine", she'd said plastering on a forced smile and straightening her back as if that was enough to prove that she was, indeed, "fine".
"I'll still pay you, if that's what you're worried about", Anna had leaned forward folding her hands together.
Still smiling and stiff as a cemented wall, Georgie had shook her head for the second time.
"I really am okay, I promise. You don't need to worry about me".
Considering the blonde girl, Anna had settled back sighing, "You sure?".
With a wide duplicitous smile she had replied, "Absolutely".
Nodding, Anna had dismissed her but her words stayed with Georgie the entire day. She recalled them even as she laid under the thin covers of her bed that night fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt.
She had turned her head to look out at the half moon shining through the window, a small tear involuntarily escaping her eyes and landing on her pillow case.
Her eyes blinked to keep her from breaking down for the fourth time that week, the cruelty of life heavily weighing down on her.
She missed John B. It wasn't just that she'd once fancied herself in love with him but it was that . . . he was a member of the pack, their family. She'd known him since forever.
She missed Rafe Cameron too, ironically. He'd turned into a malicious copy of what Kooks represent but those few moments, those little reprieves from real life, those clandestine meetings . . . . they remained with her.
She knew what his lips tasted like, she knew what his touch felt like, even more so she knew what he was capable of being if only he tried and left his Cameron name behind.
He'd been a normal person with her. He'd made her feel better about everything if only for a few hours.
He had showed her colours she now cannot bear to see with anyone else.
He'd made her feel wanted. Desired. Loved too if she was foolish enough to believe it.
And now that was all gone.
John B was lost and Rafe . . . Rafe was lost too, in a sense.
On some days, when she's not thinking clearly she finds herself guiding her bicycle up the streets of Figure Eight only to stop midway and realise that there was no one waiting for her there anymore.
He had sent her a simple 'hey' once and she had wanted to reply too because . . . despite everything, he still owned a part of her burning heart. But she'd thought better of it, obviously.
She couldn't text him. No matter how much she wanted. That would be so wrong on so many levels.
It would be disastrous in every way possible. She couldn't do that, not to her friends. Not to her brother.
Not when they'd lost John B because of him. Not when she was hurting every day because he wasn't brave enough to own up to his actions and suffer the consequences.
He'd killed someone.
Then why did her stinging heart still yearn for him?
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this was so fun to write and would you believe it, i wrote it in just 30 minutes too 🕺🕺