#arc two.

“whatcha readin’?” he walks into the room with the typical bounce to his step, always keeping energy high around camp. he doesn’t have much choice on that, has to be the best version of himself that he possibly can be. he peers over their shoulder, a moment too long taken to realize what he’s looking at. he leaves camp paperwork everywhere, it’s not a surprise that someone’s reading it. but he can see ‘conrad horton’ written out on the page in what feels like obnoxiously large letters, as if they’d made his name a million times bigger than the rest of the paperwork just to fuck with him. of course, to the average viewer it looks no bigger than anything else. with a quick panicked noise he yanks the paper out of their hand, as if it’s confidential, as if they’re not allowed to see it. but he can already see in their eyes that the damage has been done, his real name revealed.

  ‘  I have. ’    they offer no further explanation as they wipe some blood from their face ( the effectiveness of which is questionable considering there had already been blood on their hands ). they'll never forget all the blood they've seen, their own and otherwise. they'll never forget when empathy saved their life, how he'd been drenched in blood as he carried them through the enemies base and they couldn't work out why. it wasn't until he got them outside that they became aware — the entire gang, dead. piles of bodies outside, so many people that they assumed empathy brought the gang with him. he didn't. it was all him. that was the day they realized that everyone was capable of the worst, that people could do terrible things with ease. they'd always known their boyfriend was dangerous, but that will always be the moment they realized just how dangerous he was. nothing would ever top how much blood they saw that day, even if they had been a little out of it with a head wound. they'd always remember that. they look over to mabel with little emotion visible on their face, taking in how the girl looks, what emotions she’s dealing with.  ‘   y'get used to it. ’    they hope she won't have to.  ‘   are... ’    oh, they hate this. they're far too awkward for this.  ‘   y'alright ? ’

THEY’RE HESITANT. despite it all, despite the fact that their father is gone, they still feel his lingering presence. they can hear him in their head, chastising every decision they make - especially when it comes to food. they spend a little too long staring at the sandwich, mind working overtime to figure out what to do. they haven’t eaten in a while, it might’ve even been more than a day, and they can feel a gentle pang of hunger in their stomach. slowly, nervously, they reach out for the sandwich, gentle tremble to their hand. it would be a long time before they overcame their father’s torment, a long time before they move past the horrors he’d inflicted on them. they stare at the food in their hand, silent as they inspect it, looking at it like it could hurt them.   “   ’s there sugar in this?   ”   they know they shouldn’t care, that they should be able to eat whatever they want without practically having a panic attack, but it’s not that simple. it never will be.   “   no, i’s fine. i can do it.   ”   they’re afraid, but they know that eventually they need to eat. and one sandwich won’t do anything that drastic. but still their father’s voice is in their head, pushing them towards the unhealthy option, making them afraid.   “   i can eat. i—i can eat whatever i want.   ”

she  takes  a  small  step  forward,  hands  held  in  front  of  her  to  show  they're  empty.  all  those  years  of  drama  classes  better  start  paying  off.    ❝   julie—   ❞    voice  is  hushed  slightly,  as  if  afraid  of  julie  hearing.    ❝   julie  jenkins,  she—  she  tried  to  kill  me.   ❞    and  she  thinks  the  evidence  looks  clear:  covered  in  dirt  and  blood,  hair  messy,  crying  and  full  of  fear.  but  its  a  lot  of  blood  covering  the  hands  and  dress  of  a  girl  with  no  visible  injuries.    ❝   she  killed  the  other  girls!  please!  she's  totally  obsessed  with  prom  queen,  you  have  to  help  me!    ❞

               ❛ there’s things i wish i knew ... ❜ pav could only suppose the latter is a desire of which most harbor. it is an insatiable hunger for knowledge. despite the years worth of erudition this being has acquired, it seems this state is commonplace. such expressed yearning can be downplayed by the latter thought, but this voiced need ? it is the need of a woman who has LOST ALL. all she knows ( or , knew ? ) now seems but a distant memory, & these days, she can’t quite keep her head on straight. pavka is aware of this shift sometimes, & overlooks it others. ... ———  right now, she finds solace in  OBLIVION. ❛ there’s ... no thing i keep from you.  ❜

ㅤㅤ❛ your code of morals? ❜ the skepticism is clear in his tone, mocking hint to the curve of his smile. ❛ and what would that be, love? far be it for me to judge, but your morality seems to be on shaky ground as of late, @little-elena. ❜ not that he's personally complaining of course ⸻ rather, he quite enjoys it. picking at the frayed edges of the moral superiority she clings to, and forcing her to face her own hypocrisies. thread by thread, he pulls and pulls with the goal of seeing her come completely undone.

her   words   catch   his   attention,   gaze   rising   to   be   met   with   her   naked   body,   standing   there   acting   oh   so   innocent.   he   knows   for   a   fact   that   she’s   doing   this   on   purpose,   knows   that   he   probably   has   spare   towels   in   there,   that   she   could   easily   cover   up   if   she   really   wanted   to.   but   of   course   she   doesn’t.   not   with   the   way   he   reacts   to   any   hint   of   her.   it’s   obvious   that   there’s   only   one   thing   on   his   mind;   made   clear   by   the   way   he   so   quickly   gets   hard,   the   way   his   gaze   lingers   everywhere   except   her   face.   he’s   quiet   for   a   while,   blinking   as   he   tries   to   think   of   something   to   say.   “   i   uh—   i   like   it   without   the   towel.   ”