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When the paramedics arrive, you’re sitting on the porch.
You guide them to Chad in the backyard, and wait for the rush of relief to flood your veins when you catch word about a pulse.
Nothing comes.
Red and blue touch everything in its reach when the police show. You hear them more than you see them initially as you step back in through the side door. With an unlucky catch of her nametag, you watch as Liv’s corpse gets wheeled out in a bodybag, knot heavy in your throat.
Officers usher you outside, taking statements, taking names. It’s as though you’re watching everything through a skewed lens. This is the end of the horror flick with front-row seats, still trying to cope with the fact that it’s really over, that it ever began at all.
Just a few nights ago Samantha called you for the first time in nearly half a decade, practically begging you to check on Tara. Tara, in the hospital. Tara, attacked by a myth. Tara, who should've died.
Now all that's left are the broken pieces.
Paramedics force you to sit down so they can bandage your torso and hand. You still don’t feel clean after wiping away the blood.
Autumn air has never felt more suffocating. You made it. That's supposed to be a positive. You made it. You made it. You made it. You made it.
You survived.
You're right here.
Why does that sound so conflicting?
Pins and needles run up your arms as you watch them wheel out Amber and Richie in bodybags.
This entire night seems like a bad dream. But you can't escape any of this. Your lives will be irreversibly changed now. The rest of your life— your entire way of living is over because of a self-proclaimed matyr and twin maniacal obsessions. Everything would completely change.
It would be a miracle to even get a wink of sleep tonight.
When they wheel Mindy out, the house is half-memorialized in bright yellow caution tape. Her lashes flutter in the wash of lights. You stand and try to put on a brave face. There's no way to know if she's really seeing you. It's likely she won't remember this.
Everyone moves in droves, preparing to rush the injured to the hospital, trying to save those you thought you’d lost.
There's an unusual stillness to Sam beside Tara’s ambulance car. She looks so much worse than you remember ; the sleepless circles around her eyes, bare arms cradling her bandaged torso. You can still hear the shot she took. Tara’s cries of betrayal as Sam’s shaking hands pulled her closer and closer. You patiently bled on the steps and pretended not to hear the sounds of grief. How blood bubbles in the throat. How the silence remains but never quite settles.
Samantha notices you approaching before you even get halfway, and you watch her dark eyes soften under the world’s glow.
“Are you okay?” It's the first thing she thinks to say. Before you can even process her concern, she flinches into a grimace and shakes her head. “Sorry,” she runs a hand through her messy hair, blood-speckled shoulders naked under the moonlight. “Dumb, reflex question.”
You smile at her awkwardness. It's almost like she hasn't changed at all. Everything feels cottony warm all over as you take in all of her soft edges. It’s second nature when you drape your jacket over her shoulders. Though it shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t. But you know it’s the right thing to do as you watch her slowly relax into the haze of everything.
With your torso now exposed, she immediately catches the gauze around your abdomen. She steps forward with a frown, gaze flicking from yours to the blood soaked into your shirt. “When-?”
“Richie, he uh, found me hiding in the bathroom.”
Her hand hovers midair as if wanting to reach out. She retracts her forming fist when you notice, face hardening thoughtfully.
“Not the best hiding spot when the locks are shitty, I guess,” you joke. It lands like stone in a pond.
Sam nods and purses her lips in the way she does when trying not to cry; all of her tells feel the same all these years later.
“I’m sorry,” her voice comes out shaky, her guilt palpable.
You manage a smile to the best of your ability, though you have no clue if it is convincing as it feels. It’s hard to pick out a thought in the chaos of your split mind, but the next words come too easily. “Don’t be. I’m glad you called… despite the circumstances."
You pause, just taking in the idea of her before you, after all that's happened in the past week. "I missed you.”
You watch her remember. Not just tonight, but everything.
It's like watching another skin crawl over her own. That stillness. Her eyes flash. Her mouth quivers. Searching for something.
You turn away from the searing slant of the moon. There she goes again. Honey-brown. Just the perfect color of her eyes in just the right light. You had almost forgotten. It gives you pause at the way her eyes bore into you.
It's like staring into the bottom of a well.
How could you have forgotten something like that?
Nights by her side. Endless bottles. Endless laughter. Endless roads to nowhere. Empty liquor cabinets. Eyes sharp as glass on pavement. You can still feel the phantom buzz along your neck. Air leaving your lungs from the rush. Everything blurring around you. How she cried for forgiveness. Her palms bled faster than her tears.
You would've never let her go on like that. Chasing after her shadow into dead ends. You couldn't let it go on like that. You’ve always bled the same.
And you promised that you would never let something like this happen. How much you have forgotten.
It's a shame. The timing is wrong, even now, but you can’t help but think she still looks beautiful.
The quiet whisper in the back of your mind repeating enabler dares to break your rose-tinted memory, but the squaring of Sam’s shoulders pulls you right back.
It’s like she’s bracing for rejection before she even speaks. You blissfully ignore the thought of when she last looked at you so tenderly.
“Stay with us in the hospital.”
You hear her unspoken I missed you too. I care too. Let’s make up for lost time, while we still have it.
Just like that, you’re pulled back into her orbit. Maybe you never left. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest just the same way it used to. It’s familiar for all the wrong reasons, but you raise your eyebrows, still grinning hopelessly as you answer.
“I hope you didn't expect anything less.”