Chapter Text
Heartbreak.
What a fucking joke.
Who dies of fucking heartbreak? Hallmark characters, that's who. Notably not the main couple, no - the elderly bitch that kicks it halfway through to serve as inspiration to the hot, young woman to get it on with the flannel draped lumberjack who has probably never gone down on a woman in his life.
Fatin had stared down at the word, written in her own slanted and curly handwriting along her forearm - scrubbing at the skin viciously, an action she had started in a bid to soothe the sharp burning pain that had pronounced its arrival. She sobbed, heart aching and brain unable to comprehend everything she had been confronted with in the span of a few seconds.
The copious illicit photos and conversations on her father’s tablet had shattered her view of the world and the security her family offered and then, as if that wasn’t enough, her causa mortis chose that fucking moment to reveal itself, scorching her skin and removing any semblance of mental composure.
Was it therefore really surprising, as she stared into the bathroom mirror, breath rattling, ribs heaving and red, puffy face streaked with tears, that she decided to burn it all down?
XXX
Causa mortis.
There was no guaranteed way to predict when the words would appear, research suggests that they appear when understanding is achieved, true comprehension of the fate that is lying in wait. Fatin’s uncle was a doctor and he hadn’t received his causa until he was in his twenties, partway through medical school - his causa revealing itself to be a Myocardial Infarction when most would receive a simple Heart Attack declaration.
It spared the majority of young children from confronting their mortality, their views of life long and unending. Most people received their causa in their teenage years, the arrival marked with a burning pain on the body where the word or words appeared. The burn was a reprieve, a chance to keep the mystery and mitigate the agony that answers can bring.
Most people got tattoos, covering the mark without peeking.
It was a subject of deep discussion, friends talking during recess and at sleepovers, designing the tattoo they would get to cover their mark upon its arrival (though, conversation regarding what the tattoo covered was silent and ignored, shoved in the corner to be forgotten). Pages of notebooks filled with designs were always ready and on hand. Tattoo parlours kept open slots each day to provide urgent causa cover, and there was no age restriction for tattoos for this purpose.
Fatin had gotten a college freshman artist she had slept with a year ago to design a cello (musical notes swirling round its body and dancing away from the bow) ready for when her causa would come in. She’d expected it to appear when her grandmother died six months ago, the loss her first true confrontation with death but her body had remained mark free, instead it was her little brother screaming the day after the funeral, holding tight to his leg.
She had run to him, arriving in time to clamp her hand over his and keep him from rolling up his trouser leg, her other arm wrapping tight around his small body as she murmured soft words in his ear and let him bury his face into her shoulder. Her mother appeared only a moment later (she didn’t consider her father’s absence until months later, crying in a bathroom on her own) and they bundled him into the car - driving straight to the nearest parlour that Rana had vetted in fear of this day.
Kemar got a Charmander tattoo - Rana and Fatin exchanging a look at the choice but neither raising a single objection, and then treating him to ice cream afterwards. He talked non-stop about it, imagining that his causa was something cool like a shark attack or saving the world and so on. Ahmad, meanwhile, sulked for the rest of the day, demanding to know when his causa would come in so he could get a Pikachu tattoo and ice cream.
Fatin grimaced through it all, trying to play along and keep both of them joyous, but she had felt hollow and her Mom kept disappearing to the bathroom to wipe away tears. (It wasn’t until later that she realised she was grieving; she went to sleep in her brothers’ room that night, staying up to watch their favourite films and play their favourite games).
XXX
Fatin didn’t know what hurt more: the still aching betrayal of her father’s actions, her mother’s quietness - support offered to the man that thought so little of loyalty, the sharp slapping rebuke of being accused as the danger to her family or the fact that her parents had seen the chunky bracelet on her forearm (too bulky to be a true fashion statement), knew what it was most likely covering, and neither of them offered a single word of comfort nor care.
She packed aggressively, overloading the expensive suitcase with clothes and toiletries, fully aware that she may not have the opportunity to come home again after the retreat - shipped away to somewhere her parents could forget her existence or forced to run to preserve the parts of herself that her parents detested. Her brothers checked in, curious and sweet, uncertain about what was happening but astute enough to know Fatin was quiet and resigned in a manner that ran counter to her usual self.
She hugged and held them both close, kissing their foreheads and promising to be back soon. Kemar grabbed her covered forearm, his awareness in the last six months increasing far too quickly for Fatin’s liking.
“Shark attack?” Kemar questioned with a hopeful eyebrow raise.
“It’s rude to ask about someone else’s causa .” Fatin said, booping his nose; she was the one that alerted them to social taboos, answered their questions when they were too shy or unsure to go to their parents, saving them from the errors she had made.
Kemar scrunched up his nose but nodded, gaze dropping to the floor and feet shifting uncertainly.
“Are you scared?” Ahmad asked quietly.
“Scared? Of some pretentious retreat?” Fatin snorted. “I’m going to snooze all the way through it.”
“No, of…” Ahmad licked his lips, reaching out and tapping her covered forearm.
“Pfft, hell no.” Fatin declared, even as her heart raced traitorously, “My causa is…” She hesitated, “let’s just say, you’re going to be stuck with me for a very, very long time.”
“Aliens?” Kemar whispered in awe.
“Something even rarer and more impossible than that.”
“Awesome.” The brothers said in unison.
“Now give me another hug.” She ordered, arms wide and pulling her brothers towards her. “Neither of you are allowed to grow whilst I’m away, okay?”
XXX
Knowing what will kill you doesn’t remove the fear. It doesn’t make you not question the very laws of the universe as you know them when faced with something so final and fatalistic that you can’t glimpse a way out of it. As the plane crashed all Fatin could think was this is not how it was meant to end .
Maybe heartbreak was a description, her heart being physically broken or cracked or pierced by shrapnel during the crash.
Maybe heartbreak was the causa in the sense that the emotional destruction of finding out her father was not the man she thought he was led to her being on this fucking plane in the first place.
Maybe the universe had just gotten it wrong; maybe the word on her forearm was a mix-up and some poor romantic fucker out there was falling helplessly in love believing they could live a long, happy life if they simply avoided air travel.
(Fatin couldn’t help but think how much more she would believe Plane Crash over Heartbreak as her end any day of the week before she fell unconscious).
XXX
“Hey, you need to get up and move around.”
Fatin merely clutched her legs tighter to her chest, nails biting into the covered skin of her forearm - her causa a desperate link to life as she shivered, mouth acidic from the vomit she’d spewed in the sand. She was cold, and her muscles kept jumping without her control and the light rain and sea mist made her distinctly feel like she would never know being dry and comfortable ever again.
“You’re in shock-”
“I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t my… This isn’t how…” Fatin whispered to herself, her causa a lie and her only hope and… it made no sense and yet her survival was promised and-
“Yeah, join the club.” The gruff voice, who kept demanding her attention, rebuked as Fatin felt a firm hand on her shoulder.
“No, this is…”
She wanted to say she was all alone in this club. The sole presence, the place dark, the music thumping but the entire space clear of rolling bodies- just her alone. That was her destiny - loneliness, abandonment - she was supposed to die out of having no one - isn’t that what heartbreak is?
No further rejection or argument was offered, only the light touch to her shoulder, something grounding and solid. She leaned towards it without forethought, and slowly her thoughts steadied and her body returned to her control.
“Thanks.” She murmured, quiet enough that it was practically inaudible over the crashing waves as she looked over at the cargo-pants-wearing girl from the plane ( Dorothy, was it? ).
Dorothy shrugged, uncomfortable with gratitude, before pointing at Fatin’s mouth, “You’ve got… uh…”
Fatin’s hand shot to the indicated spot and quickly realised that ‘spot’ was too small a word, the entire topography of her chin smeared with chocolate remnants and sick. “Ugh, gross…”
She shot to her feet, the need to clean and mend her appearance an ingrained part of herself - hereditary or trained in from a young age, she wasn’t sure - and rushed to the sea, splashing the water over skin and wiping it all away.
The scream for help was on her periphery, barely registered but she heard Dorothy yell out ‘fuck’ and then her boots slapping into the wet sand, followed swiftly by another, making her way towards the new calamity. Fatin traipsed after them, more out of fear of being left alone than a desire to actually see and be involved in what was happening.
A girl was staggering to the shore - she seemed small at first glance but Fatin quickly realised her entire body was bent under the weight of supporting another unresponsive girl. Dorothy was there quickly alongside Toni, who appeared out of nowhere, helping take the weight, allowing the first girl to collapse, her entire strength depleted, the waves lapping over her and curling right up to her face as she gasped for air.
Fatin approached recognising the unconscious girl as Jeanette, the preppy girl who Fatin had thought smiled far too much not to be on something. (Fatin winced now at the memory of her thoughts but shoved it aside to check on the panting brunette in the waves).
Leah .
The name came from some deep recess of memory.
They went to the same school, even shared a couple of classes (Biology and Math). Leah sat a couple of rows in front of Fatin, who always claimed the back row to avoid the teacher being able to see the bags under her eyes and smell the sweet alcohol remnants on her breath. Leah was the quiet girl that curled forward over a book to hide her height and keep her gaze from catching on others - a social prude and near loner.
(Fatin had dismissed her from further assessment or interaction almost immediately.)
And now here they were on a remote island awaiting rescue, and all Fatin had done was throw up whilst Leah had swam, who knew how far, carrying another girl.
“You okay?” Fatin called out.
The girl lifted her head and Fatin’s breath caught in surprise - in awe - as she was confronted with the most startling blue eyes she’d ever seen. Leah nodded, holding a thumbs up as she inched further onto the sand out of the water before coming to a rest and flopping onto her back.
Fatin watched her for a second longer, feeling the urge to check on her more closely or tug her further inland - the familiarity of someone from home regardless of how distant or unknown they were was a comfort in this strange place. She kicked the feeling aside and hurried over to join the other girls from the plane that were checking over Jeanette.
XXX
There were 9 of them in total.
9 survivors from a plane crash that… Fatin tried desperately to remember the others that were on the flight. There was the cute flight attendant who served up chocolate cake that Fatin clocked some interest from. There must have been a pilot, maybe two? Wasn’t that a thing? A co-pilot at all times or did they only need one?
And was there another flight attendant?
Potentially two, up to four people, dead.
Did they pick their career knowing it would kill them? They must have covered it up, a tattoo colouring the skin preventing them from knowing that their career paths were also their death.
Knowledge would have saved them, and Fatin rationalised that her own knowledge could still save her…
She shook away the pros and cons of peeking that had been going through her head since her brother received his causa and turned her attention to the girls with her.
There was Dorothy, no nonsense and brash but also the first to run and check on all the girls, giving practical advice and guidance.
Leah was asleep or unconscious (Fatin wasn’t sure which but Dorothy didn’t seem too worried) after her swim to safety, and who Fatin had dismissed as unremarkable. Jeanette, fully awake and back to her typical perky self was sat by Leah’s side, a comforting and far too intense sentinel.
The twins were day and night in corporeal form - Rachel’s physical presence imposing and commanding, Nora was shyer and tucked herself away; however, it was Nora’s words that could bring Rachel up short far more than any physical restraint ever could.
Toni and Martha, who Fatin initially thought were the sisters as opposed to the Reid twins, were synced up and reacting to one another with an ease that Fatin had never seen between two people. Toni was aggressive and sharp but she stood protectively in front of Martha and tended to her ankle with a care that made Fatin’s teeth ache with the sweetness.
Little Miss Sunshine, Shelby, was a strange mix of positivity and practicality that Fatin wanted to hate but its effectiveness was hard to do so. (Fatin couldn’t help but notice the tattoo of two butterflies on her side, barely hidden by her jacket).
All Fatin could think as she observed them flit about was how grateful she was that rescue would be here any minute now, because she couldn’t stand to deal with all of them for more than an hour.
XXX
Leah was sitting motionless next to Jeanette’s body, her hand lifted slightly to hold up the bottom part of Jeanette’s shirt revealing the ugly, swollen bruise that marred her rapidly cooling skin. It wasn’t the bruise that really cut through the rage and frustration of only a few moments ago as they all ringed round her body, shifting in place; it was the dark - almost printed - letters barely visible against the blue / purple kaleidoscope.
Internal Bleeding .
Fatin wondered if Jeanette knew when she woke up on the island for that short hour, if she saw the bruise and felt the pain and simply knew that this was it. She wondered if it was comforting, the unknown vanishing and heading towards a certainty. She wondered if Jeanette belligerently chose to ignore it, pretend it wasn’t her causa, merely a large bruise and there was some nebulous event in her future yet to come where it would be truly enacted.
“She must have known.” Leah murmured, voicing similar thoughts to Fatin or intuiting and answering Fatin’s inner workings without realising.
“Huh, she peeked.” Rachel frowned, head tilting to the side; Leah lowered Jeanette’s shirt back into place before tenderly reaching out and closing her eyes. “Didn’t take her for the type.”
(Fatin wondered if she would be considered the type by Rachel. She glanced round, unable to reign in her curiosity for the girls around her. She wondered how many of them had tattoos - butterflies or other ridiculous choices that reflect their young, innocent age -, blank spaces yet to be filled or words hidden away for only their own eyes to see. She tugged the sleeve of her jacket further down unconsciously.)
Martha and Shelby were openly weeping, Toni was crying too, though she was bitterly trying to hide it - jaw clenched tight and arms crossed as if to seal away the bubble of despair and grief for a girl they didn’t really know.
“We… we… wh- what do we do with her?” Martha asked, choking on the words.
“We should bury her.” Dorothy determined, hands curling into fists at her sides, her gaze unable to stay on Jeanette’s lifeless form for longer than a beat at a time.
“Away from wherever we plan to camp.” Nora clarified quietly, kneeling down next to Leah - not touching her in any way but offering physical closeness as comfort.
“Camp? Bury her?” Fatin asked, the incredulity of her voice causing the girls to look over at her; drawing them away from the embodiment of death. “We were on a fucking plane with a route, a destination and- and- that… box-thing.”
“Box-thing?” Rachel questioned, brow furrowing.
“I think she means black box.” Nora said.
“What’s that?” Rachel prompted; Nora turned on her heel, looking up at her sister, ready to answer only for Fatin to seize back the conversation.
“Rescue helicopters will be here any fucking minute now.” Fatin declared, pointing towards the horizon as if she could conjure them on sight. “We don’t need to give her a fucking grave in this fucking hell hole. No one else is fucking dying here.”
“You don’t know that.” Leah whispered, holding Jeanette’s hand.
Fatin’s mouth twisted into a snarl; she had never wanted to hit someone as much as she did in that moment.
“They’ll need time to find us.” Nora cut in gently, and Fatin swallowed the fury that she was steadily growing used to since her father’s affairs were revealed. “Look back over the route, and if the black box is with the plane wreck it might have drifted further away. They might have to search an area before we’re found.”
“So we should keep ourselves safe until they do. And…” Dorothy hesitated, grimacing at the body at her feet, “Jeanette shouldn’t be out exposed like this… it’s…”
“We should bury her.” Shelby said, providing the words that Dorothy couldn’t, “We’ll make her a grave so that when… when we’re found they can… They’ll know where she is too.”
Fatin bit her tongue but didn’t argue the point further - she knew that they would all be okay, and back home sooner than later - her causa had promised her a different fate to anything this island could give her.
XXX
Leah Rilke slept with Jeffrey Galanis.
(It was like a popcorn kernel stuck between the teeth, her tongue prodding it incessantly to get it free to no avail.)
She simply didn’t get it.
Fatin had never seen someone who looked as bland as white bread as Jeff did in his author’s picture. She appreciated the utterly generic good looks which white-washed television leads women to believe is the epitome of handsome that would make for a singular good fuck but beyond that…? What the fuck prompted such devotion?
Leah was whip-smart, her humour acerbic - a quick complement to Fatin’s. She was fearless - even though no one seemed to notice it - and she was dedicated and loyal. She swam a girl to safety, dived for the mirror to keep their chances of rescue alive and she exhausted herself to dive for the black box too. But Leah hid it all, obscured it with insecurities and a darkness in her mind and gaze that kept people from seeing the light that shone inside her.
Leah was complex and complicated and three-dimensional and… She made Fatin’s head spin, made her constantly re-assess and re-evaluate whilst Jeff from his crappily written notes throughout Leah’s book revealed a hollow, empty man with nothing to match the hidden ferocity within the girl he had trampled over for the sake of a quick-fuck.
It didn’t help that Leah thought so little of Fatin in return, that all the simplicity so obviously present in Jeff was all Leah saw in Fatin.
She reduced Fatin to a sex-addict, self-destructive bitch with no care for anyone else on the island. And maybe Fatin had done nothing to disprove that theory with how she spilled Leah’s secrets and poked her nose into her vulnerabilities, but it cut deep in a way she hadn’t expected.
(She wanted Leah to like her, which annoyed her which made her a bitch which made Leah dislike her more and so on and so forth…)
So Fatin pushed because that’s what she knew how to do. Push and shove and break and burn.
But then Leah pushed back in return, a fierce press of palms - their first contact - that sent her spiralling backwards and down. Crimson marked her thigh and Leah positively withered at the damage caused, accepting the pressing of palms against her face with a detachment that hurt Fatin far worse than the cut - feel something, she wanted to scream, see me , she wanted to whisper.
The fallout of their fight was radioactive and prevented the shelter they gathered in later, and to which Fatin had contributed nothing to, from feeling like any sort of safe haven.
“A fucking sip.” Fatin requested, throwing her arms wide, glancing between the girls. All of them avoided eye-contact (including Dorothy which stung) except for Leah who glared back at her with a cold rage that felt all-consuming - a blizzard to run in opposition to her house-fire inferno obsession for Jeff.
“We’re not fucking sacrificing our rations for someone who did jack-shit.” Leah spat.
“You’re seriously going to blank me? Who’s fucking clothes are you all wearing?” Fatin demanded. “I’m the fucking reason you don’t all have ‘Exposure’ stamped on your bodies.”
The girls all flinched at the remark, except for Leah who’s features turned sharper and dangerous. “At the rate you’re going we’ll probably all simply have your name instead.”
Everyone inhaled sharply but Leah didn’t falter, continuing to stare Fatin down who couldn’t help but blink first. With Leah’s accusation ringing in the air and the way Martha turned her head to hide her scared expression, Fatin stormed out into the night.
XXX
She stole the cans of drink.
She told herself it was for her survival, or payment for resources shared; the justifications turned sour the second the liquid flooded her mouth and she had to swallow down a rush of bile that threatened to bring it back up. She imagined the girls one-by-one yelping with pain as they were branded with their causa - Fatin’s name printed in the same way Internal Bleeding had marked Jeanette.
Out here there would be no way to hide the mark, other than crudely burn or cut it away, and curiosity can only be resisted for so long. It was why tattoo parlours would drop everything for a causa covering - the longer it was there, a temptation beyond imagining, the more likely it was that a person would peek and completely alter the course of their future, ensure every decision they made was clouded by the burden of knowledge.
Fatin sometimes imagined that if her causa had come in on any other day, any other moment, than when she’d found out the truth of her father, she might have resisted. Her forearm simply bearing that image of a cello she had stashed in her purse instead.
(The brutally honest part of herself knew she would have peeked no matter what, unable to deny a secret about herself when offered.)
She wandered into the forest and curled up against a tree, taking off her jacket and revealing her causa, tracing the word with her fingertip.
Her brother had asked if it scared her, and the truth was it did. Not just the concept of dying, but the manner itself terrified her. The loneliness and helplessness Heartbreak invoked.
She was used to being lonely; convincing herself it was independence . The intense schedule, pressures and expectations of her life alongside her less-than-healthy coping mechanisms kept her from forming friendships, but she had managed with closeness with her family. Her father was her best friend and her brothers the source of greatest joy, whilst her mother, who actually acted like a parent, tended to her when she was ill and always spoke of her proudly.
Now she had no family, and after only six days had managed to destroy any hope of budding friendships.
She was already lonely and she couldn’t argue that their current state, stranded on an island with rapidly depleting resources, made her helpless .
No one deserved that fate, and the girls especially didn’t deserve to have someone hasten them towards it with their selfishness.
She smoothed over her causa once more with her thumb before pulling her jacket back on, and getting to her feet. This wasn’t going to be her end, she knew that despite the dark whispers in her head trying to convince her otherwise, however more importantly she refused to let it be the end for any of the girls either.
XXX
She found the waterfall as the sun started to hit its zenith; sweat pouring down her face and limbs aching from being put to work all night, following a systematic search through the forest. She soaked in the water, the relief and hope clearing her mind as the water sluiced away the dirt. She dried off in the sun before getting up to reapply the marks on the nearby trees - she was confident she could find it again but she didn’t want to take any chances.
It was then that she heard her name, yelled by a voice so hoarse and desperate it wasn’t even recognisable, and she stumbled into the girls, all of them messes - mud-caked and defeated - Leah the worst, her entire expression distraught.
She watched Leah’s face soften with a relief greater than what Fatin had felt upon finding the waterfall - she didn’t know what to make of it and quickly pushed the feelings it evoked to the side, rushing to show them her find.
The girls all basked in the discovery; Rachel gave her a curt, appreciative nod, Dorothy slapped her heartily on the back and Leah… stared up at her, blue eyes brighter than the sapphire water she swam in and smile so grateful that Fatin’s heart beat a little faster in her chest.
“This is amazing, Fatin. Thank you.” Leah said, coming towards the rock that Fatin sat upon, her chin hooking over the rounded edges as she blinked away the droplets of water on her eyelashes from diving under - ridding her hair of the salt that coated it.
“Yeah, well… I stumbled upon it, it’s whatever.” Fatin shrugged.
Leah’s mouth slanted then, gaze scrutinising and finally Fatin felt herself being re-assessed, being seen with a depth no one else had ever tried to view her with. (It was something she’d always wanted and yet it scared the shit out of her).
“ Stumbled upon it …” Leah repeated carefully, “I don’t think you stumble into anything, Fatin.”
“I’ve stumbled into many hot guys.” Fatin winked, trying to duck back into one-dimension, “It’s a super effective way to get their hands on you.”
Leah shook her head, her smile returning wry and knowing, “Sounds like a carefully thought out ploy…”
“Picking up guys is not fucking science,” Fatin said, rolling her eyes, “flash some leg, pucker your lips and bat your eyelashes and you’ll be on your back before you know it.”
Leah hummed, “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, I… I definitely didn’t and I wanted to say, I’m sor-”
Toni took that opportunity to yell out, “CANNON-BALL!”
An almighty splash left Leah spluttering and Fatin pulling back to avoid the wave of water - breaking the moment and reuniting the girls with outraged shouts of ‘be careful’ and ‘what the fuck do you think we will do if you a break a leg!’.
Fatin snorted, watching the chaos that played out, voicing her own jeers and cheers from the side as the girls glanced towards her to make sure she felt included. She kept looking over to Leah most, pleased to see that the insecurities and heavy thoughts that were her constant companion seemed to have vanished for the time being.
She promised herself that she would apologise to her the very next chance they got a moment alone, for breaking Leah’s trust and hurting a vulnerable part of her regardless of her own thoughts towards Jeff.
She knew that Leah would apologise too, for assuming the worst and cutting back with a harshness that veered towards cruelty. It was strange to realise that she was with a group of people that could forgive, could grow and give second chances after a family that believed in none of that, and she felt fondness for all of them blossom and strengthen into something new.
XXX
“You seem confident that we’re not going to be here very long.” Dorothy said without preamble, sitting down on the rotting log next to Fatin.
“Well, duh…” Fatin shrugged, shoulders hunching up against the evening chill; she hadn't realised how much warmth the fire actually provided until she sat apart from it. She could see the girls sitting round it on the beach, still celebrating her water discovery from the edge of the forest she had receded to, needing some space to process everything that had happened. “People don't die on deserted islands anymore, that's like a depressing thing that only happens to sailors from the eighteenth century…”
“Don’t watch the Discovery channel much, huh?”
“Fuck you, I watch Attenborough.” Fatin scoffed.
“Everyone fucking watches that.”
“What's your point?”
“There's still unknown places in the world, Fatin.”
“This place is practically an island oasis;” She countered, “it's definitely on a billionaire’s spreadsheet. Bezos is probs finalising the design of his holiday getaway as we speak before having the materials shipped over for building.”
“Maybe…” Dorothy said, though the slant to her mouth revealed she was not convinced. “Doesn't mean they start building anytime soon. Could be awhile.”
“I guess…” Fatin frowned.
“And yet you still don’t seem phased.”
“I'm not dying on this island.” Fatin murmured forcefully, and she could feel Dorothy side-eyeing her.
“You peeked.”
“Of course, I fucking peeked.” Fatin laughed harshly, rounding to face Dorothy. “Are you seriously telling me you wouldn’t?”
“Covered it up without looking as soon as it came in.”
Fatin deflated, “Okay, well… How very restrained of you.”
“Wish I looked now.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“No. Just trying to perk you back up.” Dorothy admitted.
“You failed.” Fatin grumbled, rolling her eyes.
“Eh, I wasn't trying that hard; your normal self is headache inducing.”
“Fuck off.” Fatin laughed, jabbing Dorothy in the side with her elbow.
“God, your bones are knife-sharp.” Dorothy winced, mouth tilting upwards into a genuine smile.
“I'm weaponised.”
“More like a walking-talking tool. If you do happen to impossibly die out here, we’re repurposing your bones into something useful.”
“You might as well carve up the rest of me and have me for dinner at the same time.”
“Nah,” Dorothy shook her head, pinching Fatin’s side, “there's no fucking meat on you. We’d waste more energy trying to chew through your gristle than we’d get from eating you.”
“My ass is juicy-”
“What ass?”
“FUCK YOU-”
“Uh, everything okay over here?”
Dorothy and Fatin both jumped in place, looking over to see that Leah had approached them in near silence, and was shifting her weight from foot to foot.
“Leah,” Fatin breathed, her name coming out softer than expected, the warmth from the hug they shared earlier still with her. She sat up straighter and put on her most flirtatious smile, burying the gentle affection with the overt show expected of her, “Settle an argument would you?”
“Actually, I just came to check that you had enough water and-” Leah held out a water bottle at this point to underline her declaration.
“You would get something out of eating me, wouldn't you?” Fatin questioned, peering intensely up at Leah who was standing in an almost incandescent ray of moonlight that made her blue eyes appear ghostly pale, running counter to the bright red Leah’s entire face turned at the question.
“Yeah, I mean…” Leah replied, voice strangled, “I would hope so but… you… I… Umm… What's the context of-”
“Dead. Dead is the context.” Dorothy interjected bluntly.
“Oh, you meant eat , not eat- I… Uh…” Leah croaked, practically throwing the water bottle at Fatin’s feet before jerking her thumb over her shoulder back towards the fire and the rest of the girls. “So, you have your water, and my dignity ,” Leah whispered the last part under her breath, “I’m going to go.”
And with that Leah turned on the spot and marched away at a speed that could only barely be justified as not a sprint.
“Did Leah…” Fatin murmured, not quite believing what had happened, her heart fluttering in her chest and her hands shaky.
“That girl is an unmitigated social disaster.”
XXX
“And here we have the teenage girl fishermen, who stand against the tide with no expertise and a single sharpened stick, with the sole purpose of skewering the marine life that passes by. Watch as they initially try to be still - lulling the fish closer and closer - only to miss and nearly stab their own feet. This prompts the fishermen to attempt a more aggressive version of fishing with battle-cries and a frenzy of attacks and-”
“Are you narrating again?” Shelby asked, brow furrowed as she approached with Nora, the two of them carrying the latest haul of water.
Fatin was lying down, her head on Leah’s lap, the two of them on fire-watch duty, though they were mostly making fun of Rachel and Toni’s attempts to fish in the sea - Leah had taken to nature documentary style narrating whatever was happening to make Fatin laugh.
“No.” The two of them said far too quickly.
Shelby raised an unconvinced eyebrow, “I think I preferred when you two didn’t get along.”
“Aw, you don’t mean that, babe.” Fatin pouted, tilting her head but not lifting it - Leah was slowly combing her fingers through her hair and she would not be moved for anything less than a rescue boat.
Shelby hummed unconvinced, lightly tugging Nora’s sleeve and gesturing for them to go check on the unsuccessful fishermen.
“Hey, what happened to my nature documentary?” Fatin asked, poking Leah’s thigh.
“So demanding.”
“I like what I like and I’m not afraid to ask for it.” Fatin shrugged, eyes slipping closed.
“Does that mean you like my voice?” Leah questioned shyly.
“Don’t let it go to your head.” Fatin smirked, shifting as if Leah’s legs were a pillow that she was plumping.
“I won’t.” Leah murmured - the rapidness of her reply causing Fatin to frown, as if Leah was saying it to appease her, the humour lost to a girl afraid of damaging their friendship, a girl who was used to affection being dangled as a reward by a man who should have known better.
“Hey…” Fatin said softly; Leah’s hand pausing its soothing motions.
“Hmm?”
Fatin pressed her turned away face against Leah’s jean-covered leg and, not fully consciously, puckered her lips to press a kiss to the fabric, hoping the contact and the fondness that it represented would burn through to skin and flesh and bone and soul until Leah had something solid to believe in her own value, even if she didn’t see or feel it.
“I like your voice and I like your company, okay?” Fatin confessed, cheeks burning, and heart racing at a speed that made it feel like she’d gotten away with a crime.
“Oh… I… I like your company too.” Leah replied.
“Good…” Fatin cleared her throat and snapped her fingers, “Now, narrate.”
Leah laughed, the sound bright and colourful, “At once, your majesty.”
Leah’s voice filled the air again, and Fatin chuckled as she listened, interjecting every now and again to keep their banter alive. The other girls slowly congregated back around the fire; her and Leah slowly separated, drawn into conversation and jokes and interactions with the other girls. Fatin sat with Martha, doing her make-up whilst Dorothy good-naturedly rolled her eyes nearby.
“Got something to say, Dorothy?” Fatin teased, raising an eyebrow in her direction.
“Trapped on a deserted island, and the thing we have fucking loads of is make-up…” Dorothy sighed, “Like we could starve but at least we’ll look fucking gorgeous doing it.”
Fatin shrugged, “Sounds good to me.”
Dorothy hummed in reply, falling silent as Fatin concentrated on finishing Martha’s eyeliner, considerate enough only to speak once the delicate part was done. “You know, that’s going to be a fucking nightmare to take off, right?”
“I know, but it’s still nice.” Martha smiled, and Fatin couldn’t help but smile back in return - there was something about Martha’s joy that was infectious in a way no one else’s was. “Thanks for doing this, Fatin.”
“It’s no problem.” Fatin dismissed, lightly booping Martha’s nose with the end of a make-up brush prompting a giggle. “I used to do this to my brothers before they grew up and wanted to be macho and cool. It’s nice to have a model who wears it so well.”
“Really?” Martha checked in disbelief.
“Really.” Fatin insisted, reaching for a small compact mirror and holding it out for Martha. “Look for yourself.”
Martha tilted her head to the side, admiring Fatin’s handiwork. “Wow…”
“You look beautiful Martha.” Shelby commented sincerely from nearby.
“Thanks, Shelby.” Martha said.
“You always look good Marty,” Toni asserted, casting a dark glare towards Shelby, who didn’t react to the jab - Fatin even noted that Shelby’s mouth twitched into something almost resembling a pleased smirk, as if attracting Toni’s attention was a reward regardless of the words she received. “You don’t need that gunk.”
“Oh…” Martha slightly deflated at the remark from her best friend, clearly wanting approval and compliments.
Fatin retaliated by directing haughty outrage towards Toni, “This gunk is two grand of high-end cosmetics-”
“TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS?!” Dorothy shouted, falling off the log she had been balanced atop of, “Are you fucking serious?”
“Interested now, Dorothy?” Fatin inquired, waving the brush towards her.
“I mean…” Dorothy exhaled, “fuck it… yeah… I’ll have a two grand makeover.”
“Yes!” Fatin cheered, looking around the rest of the group, “Anyone else?”
Shelby and Nora both raised their hands eagerly, Toni shuffled over to Martha and spoke softly to her making up for the mis-step, Rachel was pacing the beach restless as always, whilst Leah was quiet, withdrawn and clearly weighed down with thoughts yet her gaze wasn’t dark in a way that gave a red-flag.
Fatin was getting used to having friends, of having people in her life who actively sought out her company and her thoughts and her opinions. People who trusted her and depended on her. It was strange but also… everything she never knew she’d missed out on growing up.
It was an evolving realisation, it felt like it snuck up on her despite the fact that in actual time she hadn’t known these girls long, that she would do anything for them, to keep them safe and protected. It’s why when they all fell sick with food-poisoning that she dragged herself to each of them, gave them water and ensured their bodies were cared for even as her own body rebelled against her controls.
It was the first time she truly lost sight of Leah, focusing on the Unsinkables who felt like they were teetering on an edge instead of sparing any attention to Leah, who was up and about, appearing to be physically capable yet spiralling unknowingly to Fatin, her mistakes putting Martha’s life in danger and sending her into an even deeper darkness in her own mind.
It was the next morning after the worst had passed that Fatin saw the tattoo of cutesy, cartoon bunny rabbits on Martha’s shoulder blade as she and Dorothy worked together to wash Martha in the waves. Fatin and Dorothy exchanged an apprehensive look, the tattoo and what it inevitably covered serving as a horrifying reminder of what could have happened.
Fatin only allowed herself to rest and settle once Martha and Toni were up and moving, capable enough to take care of themselves without over-exertion. Leah was sitting as far away from camp as possible, nearly at the line where the forest began, Fatin approached - not bothering to wait for an invitation or welcome - and flopped next to Leah on the ground, letting out an almighty groan as she did so.
“Don’t look at me. I’m gross.” Fatin ordered, feeling Leah’s heavy stare studying her closely.
“Fatin, you look a thousand times better than you did earlier.” Leah mumbled.
“Please don’t tell me you saw-”
“I… well… I…”
Fatin groaned, slumping down into the sand, arm thrown dramatically over her own face. “You saw me shit myself.”
There was a long pause in which Fatin was wishing for a different causa purely in the hope that it would bring about her end all the sooner.
“I didn’t see… uh…” Leah stuttered; Fatin peeked around her arm to see Leah scratching her neck, entire face a blazing and uncomfortable crimson, “you know… things … I only saw hunkering down ?”
“Ugh, that’s worse.”
“How is that worse?”
“Your imagination is a fucked up, over-powered nightmare machine.” Fatin declared, pushing herself up into a sitting position and rocking to the side ever so slightly to nudge Leah’s shoulder - softening the surface harshness of her words. “You probably filled in the gaps and unseen things with like something… grotesque.”
“Fatin,” Leah murmured, voice so achingly gentle that Fatin couldn’t help but meet piercing blue eyes, “my imagination could never make you grotesque.”
“Really?” Fatin asked, head tilting to the side thoughtfully, “Sick and shit included?”
“Yeah… sick and shit included.”
“Huh…” Fatin breathed, looking away, heart thrumming at a hummingbird speed.
Leah shifted in place, clearing her throat, “Did you see-”
“You hurling up all over your ankles?” Fatin guessed with a smirk, “In full 3D effect.”
“Right, great… perfect…”
“Really fucking gross.”
“Fuck you.” Leah laughed, the sound bright and contrasting to the darkness that still swirled around her.
“Maybe later,” Fatin teased, “once you wipe off that vomit you missed.”
Leah shook her head fondly, “Why am I friends with you?”
“Because I’m hot and…” She hesitated, before adding, “I think you’re awesome despite the record-worthy vom-fest you put on earlier.”
“Yeah… that sounds about right.” Leah murmured, though her expression turned sombre a beat later as she looked towards camp - the girls, led by Toni, fussing over Martha - , the guilt of her mistake from earlier returning despite Fatin’s efforts to distract her.
“Hey, Martha’s fine.” Fatin reminded. “We all make mistakes.”
“I seem to make a lot more than everyone else, though.” Leah said despondently.
“That’s not true.”
Leah didn’t show any sign that she had heard her, gaze turning that faraway which meant she was lost to her own recriminations.
Fatin was about to reach out for her, hand literally hovering in the air on its journey to Leah’s wrist when Leah asked, “Did you hear anything about me from school?”
“Like what?” Fatin queried, casting her mind back as her hand retreated to her side - the sad and now relatively horrifying truth was that she hadn’t heard anything about Leah, she had been nothing to Fatin, barely on her radar.
“Like…” Leah began before scoffing and turning her head away, “it doesn’t matter.”
“Leah-”
“I think I’m going to go for a walk.” Leah said, pushing herself up to her feet suddenly.
Fatin’s stomach plummeted, and her heart skipped a beat in the way a record scratches, missing a crucial lyric or chord, jarred and discordant, denied something fundamental to itself. It was the feeling of loss that made her ask, eager to stem the ache, regardless of how her prior self would have sooner died than reveal a need . “Do you want company?”
Leah froze, taken by surprise at the question, she didn’t reply immediately as she obviously considered her own needs before answering, “I… I’m okay, thank you.”
XXX
Leah was most definitely not okay.
She was spiralling, latching onto theories and suspects, anything but the cold, hard truth that they were alone and could merely wait. Fatin knew Leah was a person of action, of control, of holding things together with bloody fingernails, she was sensitive to failure in a different way to Rachel and Fatin. They were driven by goals and achievements, wanting to be seen as the best above all else whereas Leah merely didn’t want to be seen as a failure. Embarrassment, shame and guilt were the sticks that beat her splintering mind, and Leah saw their current status and her wild accusations as yet another failure to chip away at herself with.
Fatin tried to hold onto Leah, keep her real and tangible, prevent her from slipping into a terrible fantasy. She tried to make her laugh, engage her in conversation, hold her hand - and her attempts would sometimes work, would tug Leah from her thoughts and get a choked laugh, a poorly suppressed smile or hand squeeze in return. Often though, Leah’s eyes would go darker and the proffered hand Fatin held out was seen as a slap or a rebuke, a judgement on her view of the world rather than a simple request to be here with her .
When Leah ran into the ocean, Fatin’s legs collapsed out from under her, she couldn’t muster the energy - the burst of adrenaline too short to be effective - deprived of food and substance. She could merely curl forward, waves batting against her chest, the sea water inseparable to tears streaming down her cheeks, her heart racing yet weak.
She could merely watch, alone and helpless as Leah got further and further away. She could feel something inside herself strain, bending towards a breaking point when she saw Rachel dive into the water, powerful and heroic, chasing after Leah - technique and skill mitigating the distance and the lack of strength.
Dorothy came and stood by her, grounding hand on Fatin’s shoulder, the contact familiar and something Fatin would forever associate with thoughts of it’s all okay after a crucible.
XXX
“I’m sorry.” Leah murmured; the two of them were curled close to the fire, Leah’s head in Fatin’s lap - the medication slowly taking effect and lulling her to somewhere hopefully less restless.
Fatin shook her head, fingers twitching with the desire to stroke Leah’s cheek, to re-confirm she was really there but managing to resist, fingertips staying on Leah’s shoulder. “You don't need to apologise-”
“Yeah, I do, I don't like upsetting you anymore.”
“Anymore, huh?” Fatin hummed.
The corner of Leah’s mouth ticked upwards, a near smile that soothed the tension running through Fatin, “Hey, our arguments earlier were good entertainment at least. Not like there's Netflix out here.”
“I mean fair.” Fatin agreed with a light chuckle that drifted away on the wind. She dragged her gaze away from Leah, wanting to occupy her senses with something less all-consuming but her eyes landed on the sea. The thing inside of her that had bent towards a breaking point twinged once more. “You scared me, I thought… I didn't think you were going to make it back and I wasn't… I wasn't strong enough to save you and…” She bit her lip, still not looking at Leah, “Your Attenborough impressions are like the highlight of my day. I would be so much more shit-stirry if it wasn't for you and then the girls would inevitably kill me so… I need you to stick around to keep me entertained.”
“High praise.” Leah’s rough voice teased, assurance that she was awake and present.
“Yeah… I… I don't need a lot of people, do you understand?”
There was a long pause and Fatin was about to look back when Leah spoke again, voice stronger and harbouring a clarity that Fatin hadn’t realised was missing from Leah over the last few days, “I understand. And I want you to know that… I never meant to scare you. I didn't even consider the risks because I wasn't in any danger-”
“Leah-” Fatin sighed, eyes slipping closed.
“I… The ocean…” Leah continued slowly, dropping to a whisper as if sharing a secret. “Water isn't the end for me…”
“You peeked?” Fatin realised, finally looking back to Leah to find those startling blue eyes watching her intently.
“Yeah, I mean considering what you know of me, are you really surprised?”
“I guess not.” Fatin acknowledged, taking a deep breath, “I peeked too.”
“Hmm…” Leah’s head nodded, accepting the information even as her expression remained unchanged - no reaction provoked.
“Surprised?” Fatin inquired.
“No.” Leah answered simply. “You don't hide away from the ugly parts of life. You face it head on. It's what I admire most about you.”
Fatin’s cheeks grew warm at the compliment, and her heart skyrocketed at the far more vulnerable realisation that someone was seeing the best in her and admiring it. (Not merely liking . Admiring.) A concept she had never encountered before. She was hot to boys her age. Bitchy to girls. But admirable wasn’t a moniker she had received previously.
“Do you want to see?” Fatin offered, wanting to deepen the connection between the two of them, deepen the way Leah viewed her.
“Only if you want to show me.” Leah said, even as her expression barely hid the flash of eagerness and interest - her insatiable curiosity re-whetted, hopefully in something more grounding than conspiracy theories.
“I do.” Fatin affirmed, knowing better than to hesitate and quickly rolled up the sleeve of her jacket revealing the singular word that haunted her every breath.
Pale, trembling fingers reached out - pausing an inch away, awaiting permission that Fatin gave by nudging closer - and brushed along the word once before an index finger carefully traced each letter with a tenderness that made Fatin want to pull Leah close and shield her from the rest of the world.
“Can you fucking believe it?” Fatin asked, forcing a snarky jovial tone. “ I mean it's melodramatic A-F which I do like. But it's so fucking sappy. My current theory is that I buy like the most fucking ridiculously gorgeous one-of-a-kind handbag and it gets like dramatically run over and I just fucking expire then and there. Seriously, can you see me being that fucking ridiculous about another person?”
“Yeah, I can.” Leah replied breathlessly.
“Huh, wait… What?”
“You love really deeply, Fatin. I’ve seen it.” Leah explained, she’d finished tracing the word and she was now gently holding Fatin’s wrist, thumb stroking over her causa with her thumb. “The way you act with your brothers, you just glow with pride whenever you talk about them. And I know you went to all of their soccer games-”
“How did you know that?”
“Ian’s little brother goes and I would sometimes go with Ian to pick him up, and you were always there in the stands for the whole thing. Even obsessive sports Dads aren't that committed, but you are. You go because they want you there.”
“That's not-”
“And the way you stood up for your Mom,” Leah continued, “you've told me that you don't get along but you loved her so fiercely despite all that that you were willing to go to war for her. She failed you, yet you never failed her .”
Fatin swallowed back the lump in her throat.
“And then there's how you look after all of us; girls you barely know and got stranded with. You care and protect us and… It's beautiful, Fatin. I'm just sorry that the depth of your love will one day hurt you.”
Leah’s thumb came to a stop, her hand releasing Fatin’s wrist, leaving behind a fleeting heat that Fatin wanted to cover and entrap.
“I…” Fatin’s voice came out scratchy and raw, “Can I ask what yours says?”
Leah’s head tilted to the side, eyebrow raising in surprise at the forthrightness of the question.
“What?” Fatin grumbled, shoulders hunching up defensively, “We can see each other shit ourselves but this social taboo is-”
Leah’s hand curled round the edge of her own shirt lifting it up to reveal her bikini top. Fatin fell quiet, rendered mute by the offering of skin laid out before her; Leah then carefully nudged her bikini top up, hinting at the underside of her breast but not fully revealing anything that would etch itself eternal in Fatin’s memory, merely uncovering the spot over her heart in its fullest sense.
There was one word written in Leah’s rough, chaotic handwriting, letters different shaped and not quite curling: ‘OVERDOSE’.
“It suits my sad girl energy, don't you think?” Leah whispered, a dark chuckle following it that made Fatin nauseous.
Fatin blinked and looked away, unable to comprehend what she was seeing and what it meant, “Leah-”
“At least, it means I'm likely to make it off the island, right?” Leah responded, clearing her throat shyly, “It might not be what you think… or what I think, I guess… It could be a hospital error when I’m old or something… Shit like that happens.”
Fatin nodded, lips pressed tight together to prevent the wobbliness she now felt from appearing on her expression as she returned to looking at Leah through watery eyes.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Leah said somewhat harshly.
Fatin faltered, “Like what?”
“Like I’m already dead.”
“That's not… I’m just really glad you're alive.”
XXX
“How’s she holding up?” Dorothy asked the next morning, coming to sit next to Fatin by the fire, the two of them the first ones awake.
“Okay, I think…” Fatin murmured, gaze barely straying away from Leah’s slumbering form.
Dorothy hummed unconvinced.
“This place isn’t good for her.” Fatin said.
“It’s not good for any of us.”
“It’s worse for her, she can’t…”
“Can’t what?” Dorothy prompted after a beat, expression curious.
“She doesn’t…” Fatin bit her lip, knowing she would fuck up what she was trying to say and hating that about herself - especially when it would sound disparaging about Leah, “ think the way we do.”
“Duh.” Dorothy agreed with a shrug.
“She can’t let things go and… she’s carrying too many heavy things already and she keeps… adding the weight of things that don’t even exist and I….” Fatin slumped further down. “I have no fucking clue how to help, none of us do.”
“Yeah, I know…” Dorothy agreed; she didn’t offer any hollow solutions or empty platitudes which made Fatin like her even more than she already did. “You need to look after yourself too, Fatin.”
“I’m fine.” Fatin dismissed with a hand wave. “Other than hangrier than I ever been. When do we start discussing cannibalism? Is there like an etiquette?”
“Draw straws?” Dorothy suggested.
“We don’t have any straws…”
“You don’t have to use literal straws. It’s a general concept. We can use twigs.”
“Or the sticks up yours and Rachels’ asses.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m fantastic.”
Dorothy sighed, yet offered no counter-argument, “Seriously, you doing okay?”
Fatin’s brow furrowed at the seriousness of the question, “Fine… is there a reason I wouldn’t be?”
“You act like you’re immortal and you run into things as if it doesn't matter what happens to you but it does…” Dorothy said. “Just because you know your causa doesn’t mean you understand it. Doesn’t mean you really know what will… you know.”
“Dorothy-”
“My Dad had mercy on his neck.” Dorothy revealed, voice rough and scratchy. “He didn’t know what it meant, no one did, but he thought he did. He ignored the symptoms of his illness for so much longer than he should because he believed it would just… fix itself . He never worried about being sick or driving or… anything because he believed nothing like that could hurt him. It wouldn't have saved him - going to the Doctor’s earlier - but it would have meant… it would have meant more years… more time… and we lost that.”
“I’m sorry, Dorothy.” Fatin whispered, taking Dorothy’s hand in her own.
Dorothy shrugged, jaw clenched tight against a wave of emotion, “It is what it is. He made sure I didn’t make the same mistake.” Dorothy’s free hand rubbed her own thigh - a nervous gesture that Fatin had seen before and now understood was her rubbing over her covered causa . “You don’t know, Fatin, you don’t.”
“Are you seriously ‘you know nothing Jon Snow’-ing me?”
Dorothry rolled her eyes, the tension lessening, “You talk a big game, but you’re a fucking dork.”
“There’s some really sexy scenes-”
“Incest scenes-”
“Ugh, don’t twist my words.”
“What, like you do all the time?”
“Yeah. It’s my thing, get your own.” Fatin ordered haughtily, Dorothy sighed and then fell silent allowing the presence of the loose conversation thread to reappear. “Thank you for worrying about me, though you don’t need to.”
“Fatin-”
“Here.” Fatin released Dorothy’s hand and pulled up her sleeve, revealing the single word on her forearm. She wasn’t really sure where the confidence and ease to do so came from, maybe it was simply a desire to provide comfort to a girl who she was rapidly realising was the closest she’d ever had to a best friend. Or maybe it was because sharing it with Leah was far more intimidating - an extra level of vulnerability she couldn’t comprehend that wasn’t present with anyone else - and therefore this was easier.
Dorothy studied the word for a long time, face blank.
“See, I’m all good.” Fatin insisted.
Dorothy looked up at her with melancholy marking her expression, “Just… remember what I said, please.”
Fatin opened her mouth to argue once more, when Leah made a snuffling sound in her sleep which instantly pulled Fatin’s focus away. And it wasn’t until later she realised that the melancholy she saw on Dorothy’s face was an echo of the grief she had felt when her brother’s causa had arrived.
XXX
There are days where absolutely nothing happens, days that are a singular paint stroke in the background on the canvas of a sole hue. Then there are days that are so much, so bursting with colour and immensity that you could stare at that solitary paint stroke for hours and never be able to pick out the details that its individual bristles imparted.
There was Martha, scared and sweet and utterly bloodsoaked - providing salvation and hope with food that sacrificed a young girl’s soul.
There was Shelby and Toni, expressions heated towards each other, and countenances’ relaxed in a way that revealed all their secrets to Fatin.
There was Rachel reclaiming the water, not as a task or a goal or an enemy but as a place of peace only to be ripped apart, water crimson, screams carried on the waves.
There was Nora, the devoted sister, body not made for war but thrown into it to save her sister, a hero carried away on the waves - lost forever.
There was Dorothy, so young yet taking burdens that adults would run from, the burning blade held in steady hand as she did what must be done to preserve Rachel’s life.
There was Leah, battered and bruised, mind even more broken and no physical reason for the toil that she had endured.
Fatin tried to be there for all of them. To give Martha pride and gratitude. To give Shelby and Toni privacy despite the overwhelming urge to share and smirk. To give Rachel aid and care. To give Nora solemnity and grief. To give Dorothy a shoulder to lean on. To give Leah something solid by not indulging her paranoia.
(It would be later, much later - years later -, when Fatin was sleeping alone without the comforting sounds of the girls around her; torturing herself with dark thoughts and memories that endlessly haunted her that she acknowledged that the person she consistently failed the most was Leah and it was this moment that started it all. She was always focusing on the wrong parts of the paint stroke.)
XXX
Responsibility was not something Fatin thought she would be associated with, something that others would expect and hope from her. It was surreal, being a leader, having people seek her opinion and giving direction without anyone doubting that the request wasn’t for a selfish reason. She liked it, which was the most shocking part, liked being depended upon, liked the trust and the feeling of belonging it gave her.
The more she grew, the more she grew away from Leah, who seemed to be rooted to the spot - digging down rather than looking up.
Fatin tried to bring her with her, tried to tug and pull and yank but she just didn’t know how to keep Leah’s attention anymore, and that hurt far worse than she expected. Leah was obsessive and dark, focusing on conspiracy theories and throwing the blame at a girl who had died saving her sister and Fatin couldn’t indulge it anymore - point-blank refused to. The girls looked to her and she couldn’t turn her back on them to give Leah a comforting fantasy.
She tried and tried and tried.
Reached for her every night, offered jokes and check-ins; Leah’s glazed over expression and stormy eyes in response the equivalent of a thousand cuts. Fatin felt each sting of rejection, convincing herself it was merely skin-deep rather than the beginning of a fissure to cleave her heart.
And maybe it was the building ache and a hurt she had never had to contend with that meant when provoked - her love for the girls placed in opposition against the girl that kept pushing her away when she wanted closer - she shoved back with a venom and fury that she no longer recognised in herself.
“What is wrong with you? You take your delusions, and you take your theoriesand you fucking bury them, now. And if you ever take themwithin 100 feet of Rachel again, I’ll fucking kill you .”
The threat was hollow, truly hollow.
She knew what was written on Leah’s chest.
And yet, it was vicious and cruel because she didn’t know then - but she would later - that Leah had recognised her attempts to keep close, had been desperately trying to hold on in return even if it didn’t show, and Fatin in a single move cut that tie and left her floundering on the ground.
She returned to the girls and took over caring for Rachel, helping her steady her shaking body and ease up through her gasping sobs. The girls gathered round the fire later in their new camp, Rachel asleep with her back to them.
Fatin noticed Leah’s lack of presence immediately, acutely aware of every second that Leah had been out of sight.
She’d been on edge since their confrontation, the causa on her forearm feeling like it was burning from where it had pressed against Leah’s neck. She kept rubbing a thumb over it to ease it or scrub away the contact that she would forever associate with failure, resentment and frustration.
It was dark and the girls were considering settling down to sleep, yet there was an iceberg in Fatin’s stomach - cold, deadly and drowning everything inside her it collided with. But she didn’t speak, didn’t voice the fear or regret because then she would be acknowledging something she wasn’t ready to contend with.
Something she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
So she pretended. Pretended that she wasn’t counting the seconds, wasn’t watching the trees for a flash of Leah’s pale skin, wasn’t slowly dying with the memory of pushing Leah down rather than lifting her up.
It was Shelby that raised concerns about Leah not returning, Dorothy agreeing and calling for the girls to make a search party (and Fatin was so relieved that they were doing something without her having to reveal how much she cared).
XXX
“If she dies, I’ll die.”
Dorothy’s head snapped up, eyes wide and mouth agape and it was then Fatin registered what she’d said out loud. What it meant.
It was the first thing she’d said other than LEAH! LEAH, PLEASE, PLEASE…
Toni was sticking her fingers down Leah’s throat, desperately working to get Leah to throw up after shoving Fatin aside - she’d been clinging to Leah’s too still form, utterly useless, her stint of responsibility and leadership decimated at seeing an empty pill bottle in Leah’s limp hand.
“Fuck… no… it… I…” Fatin hiccuped out, hands jumping to her own chest, covering the spot where the organ in her chest was beating at a speed that adrenaline alone could not account for. “I meant… she… she needs to be okay… please be okay… please…”
She was the only one speaking, her voice barely above a whisper and practically inaudible above the crunching of leaves and twigs under their feet.
There was a long pause, and the fissure that ran along Fatin’s heart deepened into a crevasse when-
A hacking, ugly cough followed by the wet slap of stomach contents hitting the ground. The smell was sharp, acidic and repellent but it pulled Fatin irresistibly closer because it heralded life and hope.
She wrapped her arms around Leah’s barely conscious but stirring form and cried and cried and cried.