Chris Sturniolo’s wife

It always went the same way. You’d arrive to the camp, endure the awkward introductions, play a few forced team-bonding games before retreating to the wooden cabin that would house you for the next five weeks. 

Then dinner. Conversations melting into laughter, smoke, and the pop of firewood. And finally, slouching grumpily into the rock-hard mattress, listening to the soft breathing of half-strangers as the night swallowed the camp whole.

It was a good way to get to know people from school, to make friends— or at least people who felt like friends for a short while. Because when the summer ended, so did the closeness. 

The promises to “hang out soon” faded into forgotten calls and distant waves in crowded hallways. But for those five weeks, it was enough.

At least, it used to be.

This year, you told yourself you weren’t going back. You’d said it before, muttered it under your breath when the first flyer appeared on the bulletin board at school. But this time, you meant it. Because five weeks was a long time to spend pretending you didn’t care.

It wasn’t the bus ride that made your stomach twist, or the mosquitoes, or the sleepless nights on lumpy mattresses. It was him.

Steve Harrington.

You could still hear the echo of laughter that wasn’t yours bouncing off the cabin walls, see the way everyone’s eyes turned when he said your name. 

The heat of humiliation burned brighter than the bonfire that night, and no amount of pretending could scrub it clean. He’d smiled, that sharp, smug curve that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and you’d laughed too, because what else could you do?

You’d spent the rest of the summer trying to disappear. Keeping your head down at meals, skipping out on games, pretending you had a headache just to stay in the cabin when everyone else went swimming. And when camp ended, you’d promised yourself you’d never go back.

But now, begrudgingly, your head rests against the cool glass of the bus window. The walkman by your side hums a mix of Crowded House songs— your only ally for the next five weeks. The soft crackle of tape between tracks feels almost comforting, a small, private sound in the chaos.

The bus reeks of sweat and the damp cling of summer heat. The unmistakable scent of too many teenagers packed into one space, loud and restless.

You’ve claimed a seat near the front, far from the noise, far from them. You don’t want to submit yourself to the constant laughter, the inside jokes, the hollers echoing from the back. 

But even here, their voices bleed through the music, cutting over “Don’t Dream It’s Over.”

Steve’s laugh is unmistakable. It’s sharp, confident, infuriating. You tense before you even realize it, jaw tightening as another burst of noise ripples through the bus.

All you want to do is slam your head against the glass a few times. Just enough to drown out the sound, to knock loose the dread sitting in your stomach. Anything to make this trip end faster, to skip the part where the real misery begins.

Four and a half hours on the bus, and you’re finally there.

Everyone spills out hazily, legs stiff, voices rising, busy trying to yank their bags from the compartments underneath. No one’s really paying attention. But you notice.

The usual bright faces and over-enthusiastic greetings aren’t there. Tom and Sheila—  the youth counsellors who always waited by the wooden sign that read Camp Haven in crackly, hand-painted letters are missing. No welcome smiles. No cheesy clipboard check-ins.

Just the creak of trees and the low hum of the bus engine still idling behind you.

Before the thought can settle, there’s a sharp thump. A heavy slam against your back.

You turn to see your bag lying at your feet, a smear of dirt staining the fabric. Standing behind it, smirk in place, is none other than King Steve himself.

You flip him off without hesitation, turning away. But of course, he takes that as an invitation.

“You know, most people would say thank you.”

His voice has that same smug lilt that makes your skin crawl.

“I didn’t ask you to get my bag for me, I don’t need your help.”

Your tone is flat, eyes fixed anywhere but his.

“It’s a kind gesture— what can I say? I’m just a kind guy.”

You look at him then, one brow raised.

“Didn’t you punch Braeden in the face last year? Doesn’t sound kind to me.”

He opens his mouth, fumbling.

“He was— he was, uh— being a dick.”

That makes you laugh, short and sharp.

“Right.”

A beat passes. The sound of cicadas hums faintly through the trees, the kind of sound that would usually mean summer. Now it just feels… too loud.

Steve glances around, frowning.

“Huh. That’s weird. Where’s Tom and Sheila?”

You snort.

“Wow, Harrington. Great attention to detail! Another gold star to your name.”

“I’m serious. Where are they?”

“Why are you asking me like I’d know? I don’t run this camp. Can you not talk to me?”

He raises his hands in mock surrender, but his gaze lingers a moment longer before he steps back, walking toward his friends. The friends who are now loudly betting on who can hold a handstand the longest.

You exhale, unclenching your fists before you even realize you’d been holding them tight.

It pisses you off. The way he can just exist like that. How he can ruin an entire summer and still act like it never happened.

You adjust the strap on your bag and glance around again. The parking lot feels wrong, too still, too empty. No counselors shouting names, no clipboards, no chatter of organization. Just the sound of sneakers scuffing gravel and the occasional thud of luggage being dropped.

Then, without warning, the bus engines rev.

The drivers exchange a few glances, and before anyone can ask why, they begin to pull away. Wheels crunching over dirt, exhaust clouding the air.

A few campers shout after them, half-laughing like it’s a joke. But the laughter fades as the taillights vanish down the road, swallowed by trees.

Now it’s just you.

And forty-something kids standing in front of an empty camp.

The wind shifts through the pines, carrying the faint creak of a loose sign swinging overhead: Welcome to Camp Haven.

But for some reason, it doesn’t feel welcoming at all.

For a moment no one says anything The air feels thick, humid and sticky, like it always does when you first step off the bus.

Someone in the crowd pipes up, half-laughing,

“Where are the babysitters? Thought they’d be yelling at us to line up by now.”

A few others chuckle, grateful for something to break the stillness.

Steve glances around and shrugs, slipping easily back into his usual confidence.

“Maybe they decided to give us some freedom this year. Y’know, trust the seniors to handle ourselves for once.”

There’s a lightness to his tone— forced maybe, but no one seems to notice. A couple of kids nod like that makes perfect sense, and someone even whistles low, muttering about how finally the counselors are easing up.

You just roll your eyes. Typical. Leave it to Steve to make being unsupervised sound like some kind of privilege.

Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you start trudging down the path toward the main area, the cabins, the firepit, the dining hall. The gravel crunches under your sneakers, the same sound you’ve heard every summer since you were thirteen.

Behind you, the rest of the group follows, still talking, still laughing. The noise swelling back to its usual chaos.

It almost feels like every other year.

Almost.

Five weeks of this. You tell yourself you’ll survive it.

You always do.

The main area feels even starker than the entrance. A few papers flutter in the wind. Birds call from the treetops, leaves rustle.

Other than that, there’s no one. Just you.

You turn, eyes scanning every corner, every log building— empty.

“Freaky.”

A voice, barely above a whisper. Avery.

Another ‘outcast’ like you. She’s in your math class, sits near the back, and always falls asleep during lessons.

“Maybe they’re just late?”

You force a small smile, glancing toward the crowd behind you. For some reason, they’ve all stopped before catching up, leaving you standing alone at the front, like you’re about to give a speech.

Maybe, in this moment, that’s exactly what needs to happen.

“Uh, guys—” 

Your voice is small, almost swallowed by the chatter.

“Guys!” 

You try again, louder. Nothing.

“Everyone shut up!”

Steve roars, and of course, the group immediately obeys. You glare at him, nodding slightly in acknowledgment of his effortless command.

“I think they might just be late,” 

You say. 

“Maybe we should all just group up and go to a cabin.”

“Who appointed you leader, princess?” Steve calls, making the others laugh.

“Don’t you think maybe setting our stuff down and getting a bit of rest is better than waiting for Rod”— the main counselor “-to get here?”

Steve smirks. 

“Just because you’re student council president doesn’t mean you can boss us around.”

You bite back a retort, exhale, and try again. 

“If you want to look for Rod or Tom or Sheila be my guest. I think it’s a better use of our time to wind down and wait for them. That’s what I’ll be doing.”

You drop your bag to the ground, huffing quietly, watching the others trickle toward cabins, half-listening, half-following Steve’s lead.

↟ 𓆱 ⛰︎ ོ 🂭 ᯓ 𐂂 

Cabin 4 has always been your favorite, so considering this year no one’s been assigned cabins, you opt for it without hesitation.

You drop your bag with a sigh, letting the temporary relief from the bus and the crowd wash over you. The floorboards creak faintly beneath your feet.

As you unpack, your eyes keep flicking to your watch. Routine, almost ritual. Waiting for Rod’s voice to boom across the camp, calling everyone to meet at the fire pit.

One hour passes. Nothing.

Two hours. Still nothing.

By the third, the unease starts to creep in, but you shove it down, telling yourself it’s fine. You change clothes, the simple act marking time, until you don’t even notice the door opening.

“Oh—fuck! Sorry.”

The voice is familiar, smugly oblivious, and it makes your stomach drop.

You spin around, half-undressed, shirt dangling from one shoulder.

“Harrington? What the fuck!”

You cover yourself, scowling, glaring daggers at the fumbling boy now frozen in the doorway.

“I— uh, I just—”

“Get out!” 

You scream, shoving him toward the door with one hand, chest burning.

After a few moments of embarrassment, you flop onto your bed, groaning, hands dragging down your face in frustration. A knock follows.

“Are you—…”

“Yes, I’m decent, what the fuck is it?”

“I’m… uh, sorry. I just wanted to say we’re gonna start a fire, so, y’know, if you want to come…”

“Where’s Rod?”

“We couldn’t find him. Figured they might get here tomorrow.”

You scoff.

“So hopeful, Harrington. And what exactly are we going to eat for dinner?”

His expression falters, just a little, and your eyes narrow.

“What? You didn’t think about that? God Steve you’re getting dumber by the minute.”

You pull a coat around your shoulders, standing, and gesture toward the cafeteria.

“Come on.”

He follows without a word, smirking faintly, clearly enjoying every second of your annoyance.

The cafeteria is surprisingly intact. Stacks of ingredients still sitting on shelves, fresh enough to work with. You glance over the possibilities and immediately decide on stew. Easy, hearty, and enough to feed everyone.

“Go get some people to help” 

You bark at Steve, who tilts his head with an amused grin.

He rolls his eyes but starts calling out to a few of his friends, who come reluctantly, suspiciously curious why they’re cooking under your orders. You assign tasks, chopping vegetables, stirring the pot, making sure no one screws it up.

After what feels like too long, the stew bubbles on the stove, the smell filling the room and spilling out into the air. You ladle it into bowls, serving the group as everyone gravitates toward the fire pit outside.

Night falls, stars cutting through the canopy above. Everyone eats, the stew disappearing quickly, murmurs of surprise at how decent it tastes.

Then the cheering starts.

Booming from nowhere, loud music rattles through the trees. A boombox blaring “Footloose” or something equally absurd. Laughter erupts.

You glance toward the cafeteria, where two of Steve’s friends are passing around bottles of something strong, stolen from the pantry.

“What the fuck?” 

You hiss, eyes narrowing.

Steve strolls up beside you, that same lazy grin plastered on his face.

“It is the first night— and there are no adults around. We should enjoy it while it lasts.”

Before you can tell him how bad of an idea this is, he’s already running up to Jack and Ruthie grabbing a can of beer out of their hands.

The campsite, quiet just seconds ago except for murmurs and the crackle of the fire, is now a riot. Yelling, cheering, and music blare above everything else.

Every space seems to be flooded with campers, vodka in hand, flopping and stumbling over one another as if gravity had become optional.

“Oh my god.”

You mutter under your breath, sidestepping a boy who nearly trips over your foot. You scurry away from the noise, thinking you’ve found a patch of calm, until a mop of curls suddenly startles you.

You jump, heart in your throat, before realizing the boy has his hands raised, grinning.

“Shit—sorry. Didn’t realize anyone would be this far out.”

He drops onto a log overlooking the lake, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small baggie. You notice immediately that he’s the only sober one here. He rolls a blunt with careful, deliberate movements that make you laugh despite yourself.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, it’s fine.”

You drop down beside him, letting the smoke curl up into the night sky.

“I’m Eddie”

He says, you already know. Eddie, who has a reputation despite himself for failing senior year three times.

You rattle off your own name before he lights the blunt and takes a slow hit, offering it to you. You take it. Something to calm you down, you tell yourself.

After a long drag and a moment of silence, he speaks

“You don’t think they’re coming.”

Not a question. A statement. Like he can read you, even though this is the first time you’ve met.

“I know they’re not coming”

You admit, rambling before he can respond.

“And everyone here is acting normal, like it’s not really fucking weird that we were dropped off with no supervision— don’t you think that’s off?”

“No, I do. I just don’t like to speak up”

He says, taking another hit.

“I’ve noticed.”

He gives you a look that makes your cheeks heat.

“Not in like a— it’s just… you don’t talk much. Off topic.”

He chuckles softly at your nervous rambling before he speaks, smoke curling around his words.

“So… what are we going to do?”

“We need to find a phone” 

You say, exhaling slowly. 

“There’s one in the office, I think. Tomorrow, we can call… uh, I don’t know who we should call yet.”

“The school?”

You shrug.

“Maybe. Or a parent. Whoever.”

Eddie turns his head to meet your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You want to go get a drink? It’s a good way to pass time.”

He winks, eyebrows wiggling. You groan before giving in. You can’t tell if it’s the haze of being slightly high, or the fact that his smirk is just that infuriatingly charming.

The two of you weave through the cluster of campers. Ruthie— who is still doling out drinks pauses when you step up, giving you a questioning look.

“If I give you this, you have to promise not to narc on us tomorrow”

“Give me the fucking glass, Ruthie.”

“Okay— okay, jeez.”

Eddie chuckles at your exchange. You both take a swig at the same time, gagging at the bitter mix of juice and alcohol. Still, you keep drinking.

The night swells around you: cheers, smoke curling into the midnight air, the smell of fire, and the soft thumps of music from someone’s boombox. 

The drinks get stronger, shifting from fruity to fiery. Soon, you and Eddie are staggering in a loose circle, laughter echoing like some chaotic ritual.

A familiar, infuriating voice cuts through the haze.

“Hey!”

You glance up. Steve. Of course. Two girls cling to either side of him, and he’s grinning like he owns the night. You groan, stumbling toward the fire pit anyway.

“Didn’t know you liked to have fun, princess”

He says, brushing a hand against the blonde’s thigh.

“Stop calling me that” 

You snap, rolling your eyes.

“Come join us, we’re playing truth or dare.”

“What are we in middle school?”

“Don’t be boring.”

For some reason, despite yourself, you find yourself sitting down. Squashed between Eddie and a girl with a shaggy bob and blunt bangs. Robin you think her name is.

The game starts with stupid, half-silly truths and dares. People shout over the music and laughter:

“Truth: who was your first crush?”

“Dare: chug that can of beer”

“Truth: who here would you never date?”

You sink a little lower in your seat, keeping one eye on Steve, one on Eddie, as the questions and dares fly. The alcohol buzz makes it harder to care, harder to resist laughing at some of the ridiculous dares.

“Your turn princess.”

Steve’s voice calls out

“Truth.”

Everyone in the circle boos, steve included

“You’re so boring— do you ever pick dare?”

He says

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Good one.”

He smirks back at you, under his gaze it feels like you almost snap

“Fine, give me a dare Harrington.”

“I dare you to go swim in the lake.”

You chuckle because that is stupid and definitely not serious. But his gaze tightens on you

“Dude— it’s like pitch black out there.”

“She’s right, cold water shock too.”

Robin next to you calls out backing you up, but Steve’s eyebrow only raises, he’s only egging you on more, and it’s working.

“Thought you didn’t like losing princess.”

“If you’re referencing me losing my life from drowning then yeah pretty much.”

 He scoffs, his gaze unraveling you even more. You feel like you’re about to burst. And maybe you do because before you can even think your standing up and marching towards the dock.

The group around the campfire shifts.  Following you with a mix of concerned mutters and cheers.

Eddie fumbles next to you, voice breaking through the noise. Pleading to kick some sense into you.

“I- I really don’t think you should do that— the forfeit won’t be too bad. Definitely not worse than this”

“I’m not letting that dickhead win.”

Everything with Harrington is a competition, and once again, your determined to win

You shrug off your jacket before fumbling to slide out of your jeans. A few whistles break the air at the sight of you in only your t-shirt and underwear. 

Steve’s face goes flushed, and something unreadable flickers in his eyes. But you only smirk at him, just to twist the knife before turning back to the water.

It’s pitch black beneath you, a mirror of the midnight sky.

Two minutes, you tell yourself

Jump in, jump out. Easy

You take a big deep breath, steadying yourself before launching your body into the water. There’s a splash, a chorus of gasps, Eddie yelling something. But all of it drowns under the sound of water swallowing you whole.

Oh fuck it’s cold. Colder than you expected, colder than anything you’ve ever felt

You kick, pushing toward what you think is the surface, but everything blurs into one endless shadow. It’s darker now— too dark and it feels like every time you move, you’re only sinking deeper.

And when you realize that, panic hits.

Your arms flail, desperate for something, anything. But there’s only water, pressing in from all sides.

Outside the group emerges into chatter, a couple of ‘What the fucks’ and ‘I can’t believe she did that’. But then the footsteps fade. People loose interest

But not Steve.

He shrugs off the girls that are by his side to go and peer over the edge where Eddie is standing. Where Robin is standing too. And even though you don’t know the girl, she felt like it was common decency to be standing there to help get you out.

But when you don’t get out, they exchange concerned glances.

“Is she..?”

Robin mutters, eyeing eddie who only shrugs, too high to process the situation that is now unfolding. But Steve notices it immediately. 

He dives.

Cold water swallows him, but he doesn’t stop. He spots you, still, sinking and grabs your waist, pulling you up toward the surface, toward air, toward shore.

“I’ve got you— you’re okay princess.”

His voice cuts through your coughing and gasping. The world tilts and spins as he drags you onto the rocky ground.

“Hey, your okay.”

Eddie and Robin appear, wrapping your jacket around you as you shake and tremble. You turn away just in time to throw up, a mix of lake water, alcohol, and regret.

The next couple of moments are a blur. Steve handing you over to Robin and Eddie, the two of them leading you back to your cabin. And your confused thoughts circling around one single question:

Why the hell is Steve being nice to you?

↟ 𓆱 ⛰︎ ོ 🂭 ᯓ 𐂂 

The next thing you know, you’re in your cabin bed. The morning sunlight cutting through the cabin blinds. Your head pounds, your throat feels dry and your body aches.  The memory of the night before all blended into one. 

You groan, hand pressed to your forehead. Beside you a body stirs. Eddie, his faced buried into the pillow

Okay what the fuck happened last night.

“Eddie?”

You groan out, voice still harsh and dry

“Hi”

He hums, ducking his face into the pillow in front of him, you just blink confused

“Uh— we didn’t”

You gesture to the air— clearly meaning ‘we didn’t hookup did we?’

“-Did we?”

Even though his eyes are shut, he gets the memo immediately darting up

“What no!— princess I’m— I’m gay.”

That also has you darting up, because this is news to you. Eddie is a decently good looking guy, and personally— you would do it so you wouldn’t have been surprised if drunk and almost-died you wanted to get him into your bed.  

“Really?”

You’re smiling now because how didn’t you catch onto that. He nods

“Me too”

Says another voice. Robins head hangs over the top bunk, hair a mess, grin lazy

“You guys are open with that huh?”

They both nod, you groan

“What time is it?”

You ask, your watch is stuck in place from your almost time of death yesterday— water damage or something you think

“Eleven thirty two”

“So Rod isn’t here.”

“Rod isn’t here.”

Eddie repeats, sitting up

Your already pulling on a hoodie and lacing up your boots

“Wait where are you going?”

Eddie is now scrambling up, along with Robin who fumbles off of the bunkbed with not so much ease. 

“To the office. We need to call someone to come and get us.”

“I second that.”

Robin hums in agreement, slipping into her slides. Eddie scrambles after you just to avoid being left alone

The campsite is a complete disaster when you exit your cabin. Logs posed as benches flipped over, beer cans and smashed glass everywhere. Empty bags of candy stuck to the dirt. The air still reeks of smoke and booze.

The office is empty— which isn’t surprising considering you didn’t think you would see Sheila or Tom in there anyways. 

You grab the phone, dial your mom’s number. It rings.

No answer.

Robin tries next.

“It’s still ringing” 

She says, voice dropping. 

“No one’s picking up.”

“Should we call 911 or do you think that’s a step too far ahead.”

Eddie calls out from the corner, where he’s  anxiously snooping through the drawers

You reach for the phone, dialling the very simple 911 buttons. Nothing.

No one answers. It’s like the lines been cut

“Okay so what do we do now?”

Robin starts to hyperventilate

“Hey, chill out or I swear I’ll throw up,” 

Eddie mutters, voice shaky.

You force yourself to breathe.

“There’s gotta be SOS phones on the road. Or maybe a gas station. We can walk until we find one.”

You speak, trying to regulate your rising breaths. Trying to tell yourself that’s it’s fine and it will be okay

“How far do you think that is?”

“Thirty minutes, tops”

You say, hoping you sound more confident than you feel.

Robin groans.

“Can’t wait.”

“I’m gonna go get Steve.”

They both exchange a look

“What? I hate to admit it but people listen to him.”

“So have you guys fucked yet or no?”

Robin teases, which elicits a gasp out of you

“Ew what? How low do you think of me.”

“I’m just saying— he did save your life yesterday, and your first thought when everything might very may well be going to shit is ‘Wait! let me find Harrington’”

You roll your eyes and storm off before she can say anything else. You didn’t want to hook up with Harrington, that was actually the furthest thing you wanted to do. You wanted to thank him for saving your life but fucking him? You would rather die.

You knock on cabin eight. Once. Twice. No answer. So you fling open the door.

Steve’s sprawled in bed, half-naked, with a girl with auburn hair beside him.

“Harrington get the fuck up,”

You jostle his body around before roughly slapping him on the arm which still doesn’t work. He only groans, rolling over.

“Ruthie? Fuck off—“

He’s clearly still delirious and hanging on the very loose threads of sleep

“It’s me. Steve get up. It’s important.”

His eyes fly open, and he’s quickly yanking the blanket to covers his bare chest

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

“Steve, get changed. It’s important— like really.”

“Okay, okay, I’m just— kinda naked, so—”

You step outside. It takes him two minutes to stumble out in a wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants.

When he exits the cabin, you chuckle at his bed head, completely forgetting the situation you’re in, savouring these small moments of laughter you have left

“What?” 

He says, rubbing his eyes and running through his hair with his hand one. 

“You woke me up like four minutes ago.”

“Follow me”

You ignore what he last said, bringing your focus to the situation ahead. 

Robin and Eddie wait for you at the entrance of the camp, you and steve trudge across the dirt before meeting them there.

“Okay, here’s the thing, Harrington,” 

You start, hands on your hips. 

“Rod’s not here. Sheila, Tom, Jenny, Aila, Quinn— none of them are. And the phones? They keep on ringing No one’s answering.”

“Did you try 911?”

Steve asks, still somewhat unbelieving 

“Yes Steve and still no one answered. Not even on fucking 911”

“Okay”

Steve blinks, the sleep fading from his face. Robin cuts in

“We’re going to try and find a gas station… hitch hike maybe? If cars come by.

The hitchhiking part was news to you, but sounded somewhat promising.

The four of you all agreed on walking maximum for an hour. 

The road winds endlessly ahead. The four of you walk single file, hugging the edge in case a car appears. But thirty minutes pass, and there’s nothing. Not a single car.

Which could just be a coincidence considering the camp was slightly in the middle of nowhere. But still was slightly odd

“Wait do you guys see that?”

Robin calls out

“Don’t mess with me” 

Eddie groans. 

“What’s it called when you see stuff in the desert—a moge?”

“-Mirage.” Steve says

“And that’s definitely a gas station.”

Hope sparks into your body, it feels like a new wave of energy hits you and your practically speed walking

“Are you serious.”

You say, grinning when you finally catch sight of the small building

When you reach it, you don’t immediately see anyone. The doors are open— so it’s clearly not closed

“Hello?”

You call out as you step inside.

No one answers. The shelves are full. The register’s untouched. It’s not abandoned but it’s empty.

You even check the back. Nothing

Steve cracks open a Sprite from the fridge and takes a long, loud gulp.

“Do you want to be any louder than that?”

You hiss, the noise of Steve’s obnoxious swallowing growing louder and louder at the fact that he knows it’s pissing you off

He takes one last gulp before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand

“Oh sorry was I bothering you?”

He says smirking, before you can snap back you hear Robins voice from outside

“Guys you might want to see this.”

You and Steve step out of the deserted building.  And your knees nearly buckle at the sight.

The road ahead is cut off.

Completely blocked by a wall of trees and boulders that definitely weren’t there before.

No road.

No exit.

No way out.