'she's kook fuckin' royalty, man.'
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄♔⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
a lot of things go unnoticed in the outer banks. things like missing millions in gold, underage drinking, and the bruises that litter the skin of the kook princess.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄♔⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
( lose control )
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄♔⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
LUCY'S HOUSE HAD ALWAYS FELT EMPTY.
Where the Camerons had always tried to mirror the plantation-style architecture that dominated the rest of the Figure Eight, Lucy's parents and their parents before them had leaned into old-money opulence. Perfect for throwing end-of-summer parties, yet not so perfect for actually making the house feel like a home.
Columns of white marble and paintings with dead eyes that watched you as you moved, accentuated by tiled floors which made your footsteps echo around the room.
Lucy had learned how to move silently long ago.
Bare white walls hardly made for good company. When she was younger, she had been so desperate for companionship that she had tried to talk to those same dead-eyed portraits. Alone in her house now, she almost felt like that little girl once more. Lost.
Sarah had dropped her off at her house earlier with an apologetic look in her eye, a sort of unspoken understanding that the two of them had always shared. Sarah knew just how much Lucy hated this house, knew that there was a reason even Rafe's wrath had never been enough to drive her away from Tannyhill for more than a few nights at a time.
Absentmindedly, she rubbed at her shoulder, the pain there the only evidence that anything had happened to her in the past few days. Her memories, too, but she was good at hiding those.
She was rather abruptly startled from her reverie by the shrill ring of her doorbell. The sound pierced the air, high-pitched and awful. With a groan, Lucy moved towards the door, her hand winding around the cold, shaped metal of the handle. The hinges clicked as it swung open with a pull of her arm, the humid warmth of the Outer Banks pouring into the air conditioned frigid room.
The heat wasn't the only startling thing Lucy found on her doorstep, though.
"JJ?" Lucy knew that both her voice and face betrayed her surprise. The incredulity in her tone mirrored the slight widening of her eyes. If there was anywhere she had never expected to encounter JJ Maybank, it would be the front porch of her house. Her mind was racing, running through any number of scenarios that could've brought him to her door, a furrow forming deeper and deeper in her brow as she worked over the problem in her head. There was something else, buried under all the confusion — something which felt suspiciously like relief at seeing him again — but Lucy was well practiced at burying emotions she had no desire to feel, and so she swiftly pushed the feeling right out of her mind.
Either way, the question of why he was stood in front of her, hand still resting on the doorframe, remained. By the look in his eyes, he seemed equally surprised to see her. The only sign of their last run-in with each other was the slight discolouration of his nose. It had turned a sickly sort of yellow, and Lucy grimaced slightly upon seeing the mark. Bruises may have been familiar to her by now, but she couldn't help but feel guilty for the harsh reminder of Rafe that adorned JJ's face.
