𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 - kiara carrera¹

𝒙𝒗𝒊𝒊. 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒉

"PLEASE, TATE, WAKE UP."

Feeling something heavy on her chest, Tatum's ears slowly began to buzz back into the real world. She was dreaming. It was a peaceful dream. Kiara was there; they were married. Her dad was gone - so were her brothers. It was just Tatum, Kie, John B, JJ and Pope. Alone. On a beach. They were so happy. They had the gold. Nothing in their pasts mattered.

There was a shaky sob. She could tell the person it belonged to didn't want to cry. He tried to hold it in. But he couldn't. Seeing her like this was too hard. Her eyes began to open. Everything was blurry. Paralysed. She couldn't move. A mixture of water, blood and vomit fell out the corner of her lips. She choked.

The person crying looked up in an instant. She recognised him through the blurr. "Thomas?" she asked slowly. Everything was coming back to her now. The man. He stabbed her. She killed his friend. She was a murderer. She murdered somebody's best friend. Shit. Her friends. She shot up from where she was laid. "John B. JJ. Pope. Kie. Where are they? Are they safe?"

Thomas looked at his sister incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about, you stupid fuck?" She was on the verge of death a moment ago, and he didn't even get a thank you. That was the last time he was ever saving her life.

"My friends - the man - he didn't get them, did he?" She was horrified. The thought of her friends dying broke her. She stood up. A screaming pain broke into her stomach.

"Lay the fuck down," Thomas hissed at the stupid girl. "You were stabbed, you fucking idiot."

Determined to save her friends, Tatum shook her head. It was only now that she began to take in her surroundings. She was at Heyward's deck, drowning in a pool of crimson. "I need to get to the château," she told her brother. She wasn't asking for how permission. She wasn't asking for his help. She was going to get to her friends, whether it killed her or not.

Then she began running like a lunatic on LSD. Seriously, she was tripping all over the place, shouting for people that weren't there, and clutching her stomach in pain. Thomas shook his head, struggling between the decision to stay back and laugh at her, to shoot her in the head and become their father's favourite, or follow her and help. In the end, he chose to go with the latter. Yeah, he was not worthy of his last name in the slightest. "Hey, fucktard, wait up!"

Her brother's hand holding her up, Tatum finally reached John B's home. She sighed in relief and held onto the porch's railing to take a moment to finally breathe.

The front door opened and her best friend came out. He looked pretty glum, but that didn't stop the cry of joy escaping Tatum's mouth. "Oh, my God, you're safe," she gasped in delight, throwing her arms around him, smearing her blood on his body.

"Yeah, we got away," he assured her, pulling back from the hug with furrowed eyebrows. He scanned her body. She was a mess. Blood everywhere. Wonky, infected stitches over her stomach. And her coat - her iconic,, thick, white coat - it was off. He could see her arms. Purple. Purple marks everywhere. His lips parted slowly. "Tate -"

"Why didn't you come back for her, then?" The words left Thomas' mouth before he realised it. He suddenly felt protective over his twin sister, in a way he had never been before. She was fighting for her life, and her friends just bailed.

The moment he said it, Tatum frowned. She didn't even think of that. She was just glad they were safe. But now...

"We assumed she got away," said John B, guilt bubbling in his insides.

Thomas chuckled humourlessly. "You assumed, huh?" Before his sister's friend had a chance to answer, he threw him back. "You don't assume that type of thing, man!" Emotion took over his voice. Tatum was in too much shock to react. He pushed John B back again. "She was dying! She was about to die! If I didn't find her in the fucking lake, she would've been dead!" He threw John B off the floor this time, and Tatum could've sworn she heard the back of his head crack. "If she died, I would've killed you!" Thomas pointed to the photo of the group of pouges - which disincluded his sister. "Every fucking one you!"

Tatum pulled her twin back, allowing her friend to get up before he really did kill him. John B stared at the girl for a moment. He realised why she wore that coat all the time. Without it, the Quinn girl was completely vulnerable. Everything she had been through was out in the open. Those scars - where did she get those scars? He needed to know. He needed to know what happened to her. Why she didn't tell anyone. "Tate, I'm -"

She shrugged sadly, taking the photo of her friends in her hand. She wasn't in it. She wasn't in any pictures. She was always the one behind the camera. "He's right, you know," she said finally. "You guys take me for granted every day, but you have no idea the lengths I'd go for you. I mean, look at this -" She gestured to the slimy wound on her stomach. "I wouldn't have this if I didn't care about all of you more than myself."

She shrugged, not caring for his guit-striken face anymore. "But I'm sick of it now. I'm sick of you, of Pope, of JJ - even of Kie - treating me like I'm just some dumb bitch who can take care of herself. I would go to the end of the world to protect you guys, but none of you even came back to glance at me when I was dying. My brother -" She pointed her finger at the angry boy standing behind her." My brother, who doesn't even talk to me unless we're throwing knives at each other, was the one to save me." She shook her head, a cold tear falling down her face. "And you didn't even care enough to call and ask where I was. You didn't even stop to think about me. And you're only looking at me like this -" She pointed to his face, guilty and heartbroken. "- because I'm not wearing my mom's fucking coat. My Mom - who, by the way - abandoned me and Thomas when we were six years old, and left us to live with an abusive asshole, who has assaulted me every night since, at exactly seven o'clock."

She scoffed at his pathetic face, shaking her head in disgust. She didn't even care anymore. She didn't care about hiding it. What was the point? She was finally letting it all out. "Yeah, I bet you didn't know that, did you? Well, it wouldn't have been that hard to tell if you paid more attention to me. And these marks you keep gawking at -" She gestured to her bare arms. Red, purple, white; not a single piece of her skin was showing. "- I did that. Every single night, after my own dad has finished hurting me, I strike myself once. For the adrenaline, for the thrill - because I'm nothing but a junkie from the cut!"

She threw her arms out in frustration as fresh tears streamed down her friends face. She was finally breaking down, and he hated himself for it. "And nobody cares because I'm a Quinn. I'm supposed to be some big and scary little bitch. But none us are! We're fucking terrified, every single day of our fucking lives! Because of our own father! So don't you start crying, John Booker Routledge, because you never gave a shit until now!"

With one last glance at her friend, she stormed off without a word. Thomas stayed for a moment. He glared at John B with serious threat. "Tate doesn't break," he said, pointing an accusing finger at the boy. "Put her in that state again, and I'll slit your fucking throat."

A/n: I feel like this is way too dramatic, and y'all are going to hate Tatum now. But everyone has their moments.