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MONDAYS.
THEY HAVE TOBE the very worst day of the week — the weekend of relaxation and separation from school, the availability to make plans with spare friends, the option to sleep in for however long you please.
Well, Evelynn didn't count today as Monday apparently (maybe she knew, or maybe she genuinely forgot what day it was). But when she peeled open her eyes from sleeping for nearly eleven hours, she didn't mind the sun warming her skin through the patched and entirely scratched glass window. Sure, she was supposed to be currently in her second period, but it didn't matter.
And for a glimpse of a moment, probably a second and a half at most — there was peace. Before Lynn's mind would be bumbling with a million thoughts, of how the love of her life had broken up with her, how she was flunking practically every single one of her classes, the stress of the second treasure hunt spinning on the horizon.
There was nothing but calm seas, at least for a second there.
But whatever small smile that had grown in her sleep, it was replaced with a tugged downwards frown as she was reminded — how JJ didn't love her anymore. How every pipe in her eyes had been sucked dry, her swollen eyes could show that much, they felt heavy.
Lynn wasn't sure what time it was — since there was no type of clock inside of the makeshift shed, and she had forgotten her phone at the Chateau. She brought up her fingertips to trace her temples, a slightly ring echoing in her skull as she rubbed her forehead.
Her blonde strands of hair were pointing in every direction, probably from a mix of how she had slept against the wood and how wicked the wind had grown in the last thirty minutes of her aimless walking. There was probably mascara stained under her eyes, purple bags that could be spotted a mile away, she felt uncomfortable in the oversized tee-shirt that was hugging her skin in the heat — it was JJ's.
Lynn would've shed it in a second if she could've, but the only thing she had underneath the shirt was her bra — and that clearly wasn't an option. The boys smell flooded her nostrils, and a sad smile crossed her face as she squeezed her eyelids shut, beer and saltwater. She missed him. Did he miss her? Not by the way he reacted last night, it was like she meant nothing to him — she didn't even see a single tear slide down his cheek.
She brushed any hair annoying her by sticking to her forehead as she rose up from her somewhat (in reality, she had slept in worse places) comfortable position in the corner. Lynn yawned as exhaustion was still clearing running in her veins, and a part of her wondered if she deserved to just slip back into the heavy and peaceful sleep.
While she zipped on the pillow and trudged that same drawer of the workplace bench to stuff away her sleepware, she had managed to swing a few items straight off the top. She pathetically cringed up her face as the loud noise echoed throughout the air, and while peaking her head into the second window of the wall — she was much pleased to know her fathers car in the driveway was no where to be seen.
"Shit," Lynn grumbled as she bent down in order to pick up after the mess she had just made, pinching the pillow under her arm. The last thing she wanted was for her father to know she slept here, that meant it wasn't a safety zone anymore. "This is just my fucking luck."
It wasn't much, just a bowl of nails that had split in multiple directions, a notebook that had an aimless list scribbled on it with unreadable handwriting, and then an old book. A chuckle escaped her lungs when Lynn recognized the book as an older copy of Pride and Prejudice, and a toothy grin crawled onto her face.
It was her favorite book.
Her fingertips brushed the old pages as she flipped through it, but her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she studied the name that had been written onto the first page. The handwriting was neat and clean, so unlike her fathers similar teenage boy handwriting, but it was the words itself that utterly fuzzed her brain.
Her mind floated back to the time where the Pogue teenagers had driven all the way to Charleston after receiving the strange letter from Mrs. Limbrey, the old man in the alleyway as JJ and Lynn went to smoke their leftover blunt. Lynn tried not to allow her heart to hum with sadness at the thought of how happy she and JJ were, but continued on.
The old man had called her Vivienne, although neither of the two Pogues had any clue as to why he would call her such or why he had such venom directed at her for hanging out with JJ.
Her eyes drifted past the book she held so tightly in her hands, and back towards the ground — a sleeve of paper had fallen from the pages. Leaning forward, Lynn gently picked up the frail object, which was revealed to actually be an old picture.
Evelynn's jaw fell slack and her sparkling blue eyes widened tenfold — it was a black and white filter and there were two women standing side by side, arms straddling the other's shoulder. Wide smiles riddled their faces, they appeared to maybe be around twenty, give or take a few years. Both were blonde, both had bright blue eyes, and it was like she was looking into a mirror.
When she flipped the picture to the other side, it was a completely blank white — other than in the bottom right corner. Two words was all that was scribbled in it, that same neat hand writing from the book.
𝒞𝒶𝓇𝓁𝒶 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒱𝒾𝓋, 𝟣𝟫𝟪𝟩
Carla? Who the fuck was Carla?
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a/n: extremely short chapter bcuz BONFIRE PARTY HERE WE COME Y'ALL
