𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 - kiara carrera¹

𝒙𝒍𝒊𝒗. 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍

"MAYBANK, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU."

The moment JJ Maybank got cocky and loosened his grip on the rope, causing him to trip, everything went to shit. His legs went into Thomas' chins, making him fall, who then grabbed onto Pope for support, taking him down with him, which made Tatum go head-first down the well, colliding into John B on her way down. Within seconds, the two teens were trapped at the very bottom, coughing up the dirty water that had been mixed with blood, skin and bones.

John B emerged from the water first with a deep, spluttering, breathy cough, holding up a limp Tatum in his arms. She'd fallen down that deep, rocky well too many times, broken many bones over it, but she had always been fine in the end - she had always landed on her back, her legs, her ribs, or her knees. Not once had she ever landed on her head.

But the moment her skull collided with the hard floor, red painted the mossy water, and the excruciating pain sent her to straight to sleep.

"Come on, Tate," whispered John B, shaking her in his arms.

"Is she okay?!" Pope called in panic, looking over the edge, but unable to see the two of them under the thick coat of shadow that blanketed the bottom of the well, hiding the secrets and the crimes that rested there.

Thomas and JJ quickly joined him, fury and guilt masking their faces. "Maybank, this really is your last fucking straw."

The blonde boy didn't have a snarky answer to his statement this time. He just hoped Tatum was okay. And not because he feared the wrath of her brother, but because he feared a life without that girl.

John B let go of the hand supporting her neck, causing it to fall back, limp. Desperate for her to begin giggling and telling them it was all a joke, he slapped her cheek lightly. "Tate." His croaky voice bounced off the well's walls, loud enough for the three boys standing at the top to hear.

"John B, is she awake?!" asked Thomas stressfully. He couldn't lose the last person he was living for. First Joe, then Ian, Tate couldn't be taken from him, too.

Rather than answering, the boy shook his head, a tear sliding down his cheek. But the boys couldn't see him.

"Routledge?!"

This time, when John B shook her, it was hard. Demanding. A sob broke free from his throat when there was no response. But he didn't give up.

Repeating her name, the boy was doing everything he could to wake her. To hear her breath. Her giggle. Her voice. He needed something. Anything.

But nothing came.

"Tate," he sobbed again, resting his head on her. He didn't care about the blood; he didn't care about the bones that sunk under the water. "Tate."

Nothing. Still, nothing came.

Lifeless. Tatum Quinn was utterly lifeless.

A/n: my shortest chapter so far :) i love short chapters, don't you? yeah, probably not.