#infear

One of the few things Katrina has appreciated about the fog is that here, there's no one who knows anything about her that she didn't tell someone herself. None of those old rumors or stories or gossip from childhood or overheard by a friend of a friend or however people heard something or other about her. None of those people who remember things she'd rather they not. She gets to decide what to share and what to keep to herself.

Except, apparently, for this fucking guy.

And there's only one other person here he could get any of this from. The thought of that - the thought that after everything, after all this, the boy she loves has betrayed her again to a person he knows will hurt her - makes her feel sick. It makes her want to cry. She doesn't know it's true. She keeps telling herself that.

"Hm." Katrina's sat on the floor of her room, house empty while the summer air flows through the windows. Mom and dad both at work, school out, for once she's able to stay in her room and talk to him instead of having to go wander around the forest or some trail on the edge of town. A little rubber ball bounces off her wall and to her hand.

For a long time, she's suspected - known, mostly - that her parents aren't good people. Her brother is closer, but can't stand up for anything. Never stood up for her. Most people in town are close to her parents, beliefs wise. Her grandpa's gone. Maybe Ariane is, but Ariane is a lot like her. Katrina knows she isn't a good person.

There's a part of her that feels the reflex to tell Jett he is. It's stopped by the fact that she's not sure it's true. If she isn't a good person, he probably isn't either. Good thing she doesn't need him to be. How he is is enough.

"You don't have to tell me that." Not really, she knows the world isn't fair, life isn't fair, she's been aware of that her whole damn life and won't hesitate to say so. If life was fair, she would have had better parents. Grown up somewhere better. There would have been a million things that wouldn't have happened and a million things that would. To her, to everyone. Fairness doesn't matter - it's not realistic.

But isn't there still a part of her that wishes it was? Isn't there still a part of her that wonders if it is, if she's just simply done so bad that this is fair? That dread and ache that eats away in the dark corners of her mind?

IT'S A PLACE THEY KNOW ALL TOO WELL; an eerie sense of calm as survivor is ripped apart, comfort found in the familiarity of suffering. the body expects it: impact as weight is thrown to the ground, blade plunging through flesh, hook piercing through muscle. you know exactly what will happen, exactly how it feels. if you hold your breath, you feel next to nothing at all.

There are some killers here more tolerable than others, she's learning. Some more aggressive, some more the draw-it-out type, some who try to talk about philosophical bullshit, some who keep silent.

Some who are just fucking annoying.

Ducking through a door and shoving a pallet down behind her, brows furrow in an expression that's not unlike disgust. "What the fuck?" It would be louder if she wasn't panting, glancing back behind her to try and ensure her assailant remains no closer than a few steps behind. What kind of fucked up thing to say is that? Like she fucking wanted to be trapped in a neverending death loop? Wanted her best friend to try and kill her? Wanted to be stuck with an asshole like him currently chasing her down? Like he would fucking know that anyways? Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

"Oh, no, it's great. There's so many options and I'm making tons of friends. We're all going to have a sleepover tomorrow night." If it wasn't almost too clear from her voice alone, Katrina's face is nothing but deadpan, almost a slight edge behind it, frustration and emotion and upset all balled up and throwing off sparks at whatever bumps against it. She should probably get a better hold on that, she knows. She's being rude. Rebecca is nice. She doesn't deserve that.

On the forest floor, the two of them grapple, hands grasping, nails and teeth pressing into skin. Dirt on clothes and leaves and twigs in hair are completely forgotten about, for the moment, this moment with nothing but that overwhelming urge, nothing but the push and pull of bodies flooding with adrenaline.

Their meetings are the most alive she's felt in months, they always are. Nothing to get the blood pumping, to remind you of your heart beating, like a fight. The risk of pain, death. The vulnerability. It's like feeling wanted, in a way. It is feeling wanted. Right now, there is nothing she wants more than this.

She just catches his eyes, as he says it, words warm against skin, both nearly breathless. Green and mixed with pain and need and thrill. It pulls a heavy breath from her lips as they curve into a smile.