Chapter Text
Nat doesn’t find Travis.
She checks the lake, the woodshed, and the plane wreck. She yells his name, screams her throat raw. She circles the forgotten carcass of their Doomcoming party, searching for him in the scraps of clothing and smooshed berries. She comes up empty. Her fingers are stiff with cold by the time she finally gives in, returning to the cabin alone.
So, she doesn’t find Travis.
Instead, she finds Jackie curled up outside, next to the world’s most pathetic looking fire.
Fire might be generous, actually. It’s a bundle of damp sticks. She wonders if this is prom queen’s best effort. Jackie certainly seems depleted, sleeping soundlessly beside her embers.
Christ. There’s even a lighter in her palm.
Sighing, Nat kicks her.
Jackie stirs. “Shauna?”
“Sorry to disappoint.” Nat rolls her eyes. “Would you get your ass inside?”
”But…” Jackie trails off, glancing somewhat forlornly up at the window, where Shauna Shipman is no doubt having a very moody, melodramatic sleep.
Nat gives her a beat before mentally shrugging and dragging her feet forwards through the snow.
After a moment, Jackie follows her.
*
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out something inside the cabin has gone rancid.
They’re all screaming at each other again, because this is just how they are now—civil, one moment, and a starving pack the next. Misty breathes weirdly, and Mari snaps at her for it. Van mutters a prayer before breakfast, and Tai makes it everyone else’s problem. Crystal hums Ding Dong the Witch Is Dead, a little too loudly, and a shoe is thrown.
Anyway.
Nothing’s as bad as whatever Jackie and Shauna have got going on.
Jackie takes sip after furious sip of her stew, chewing loudly, like she’s intent on popping a tooth. Shauna is worse, somehow, with her sulky silence clogging the shadows. Tension permeates the air. It’s not the first time those two have held the whole team hostage over a fight, but it is the first time they’ve done it in a small, enclosed cabin.
Nat hates their strange form of arguing. She wishes they would yell. Scream. Throw things, maybe. That would be more familiar.
She decides to bail after Shauna genuinely starts pouting, steeling out onto the porch where she can get some fresh air. She breathes deep, ice filling her lungs.
Winter had snuck up on them quick. Too quick. The sun left, and all the animals with it.
What now?
The door slides open, saving her from having to think too hard on the question. She glances back, sighs. Damn.
Lottie comes to stand beside her.
Her hair is unkempt, hanging in soft puffs around the whitening scar on her forehead.
The thing is that she actually liked Lottie. Once. Before all of this. They got along well, even off the field, and on it they were something of a unit—always doing drills together, practicing their footwork, nodding at each other during a game. She thought she might’ve found an ally in the other girl, but somewhere around the second week out here, Lottie began to burrow into herself, disappearing behind a veil, where no one could reach her.
Then… she just got progressively weirder. So, now this. Apparently.
”He’s breathing.” Lottie says, vaguely.
”What?”
”Him. Javi. He’s alive.”
Right, okay, because that makes sense.
Still, Nat can’t help but ask. “And Travis? Is he alive, too?”
Lottie looks at her for a long time before answering, cryptically, “You’ll see him again.”
Great. That does fuck all. Nat almost wants to laugh, but instead she stares hard out at the tree line, just hoping Lottie takes the hint.
She doesn’t.
Lottie’s hand lands on her shoulder, squeezing in what is probably supposed to be a soothing gesture. All it does is unfurl some hidden, feral rage inside of her.
Nat shrugs Lottie off, roughly, because she’s like this, too, now. Calm and then rabid—part of the pack.
”Fuck off, Lot.” She spits, before marching into the blistering cold.
*
After a few more days, their problem becomes apparent. They’re down a hunter.
Coach lets her out on her own a couple times, under the condition that she doesn’t stray past the plane wreck, but she can tell even that idea makes him wary. Nat’s fine with being alone. She’s used to it. She doesn’t see why things have to change. There’s no wolves to watch out for anymore, and this gives her a daily excuse to get some space from everyone.
Still, she’s not blind to the sharp glances and the increasing hostility every time she arrives empty handed. It’s like walking into the locker room after a big loss.
Everyone’s a fucking vulture.
”Nat needs help out there.” Coach explains, evenly, in that authoritative tone that’s become so rare. “At least until Travis comes back.”
Nat chews the inside of her cheek. She kind of wants to hit something.
”Yeah, well, don’t look at me. I’d probably take my own foot off.” Shauna says. There’s a murmur of agreement, with most of the girls nodding their heads.
Van shrugs, apologetic. “Sorry. Can’t shoot for shit.”
”That’s great, guys. Very helpful.” Tai mutters, not missing the glance Van gives her.
It’s more likely that Van’s not keen on potentially offering her face up to the wolves again, but Tai has never known tact.
”I could do it!” Misty raises her hand enthusiastically.
”No!” They all chorus at once.
Nat rubs her forehead, sighing. No way is she strolling out there with an armed Misty at her side, but it’s slim pickings from all avenues. She and Tai would bite each other’s heads off after a week. Coach can’t join her, for obvious reasons. Shauna and Van both don’t want to go, and they’ve got other shit on their plates. And since the wolf attack, the rest of the girls seem too spooked to even venture out to the lake, let alone past it.
She can’t blame them, really. They all saw Van’s fucking teeth through her head. She’d be scared, too, if she didn’t already have a slight death wish.
”C’mon, guys.” Coach chides. “Someone needs to step up.”
More silence. Fun.
”What do you think, Lottie?” Mari prompts.
Less fun.
All heads turn towards where Lottie’s sitting in the corner, bundled in a blanket. She blinks at them. Those eyes are more black than brown these days.
But still, it’s Lottie. Soft, sweet Lottie with the dimples tucked in her cheeks and the smile that curls like melting sugar. Lottie, who wore pink every single day of kindergarten and offered Nat sour candies when she scraped her knee on the playground. She’s not the goddamn messiah.
”Um, why are we asking Lottie?” Tai questions sharply, voicing her exact thoughts.
Mari scoffs. ”Maybe because she’s the only one that’s brought back food in weeks, and we don’t want to starve.”
Nat stands up, having heard enough. No one seems to notice her moving until she’s standing right in front of Jackie, setting her palms down loudly on the table. Jackie jumps, dropping her legs from where they’d been lounging, languidly, on the spare chair. Like she expected someone to bring her a magazine and a Coke or something.
”What about you, princess?” Nat asks. “Wanna learn to shoot?”
Jackie opens her mouth, then presses her lips together. Her affronted eyes shift to some far away point behind her—to Shauna. When she looks back, something in them has hardened.
”Sure. I’ll give it a shot.”
That’s how Jackie ends up awake at the ass crack of dawn, with Nat hauling her out and shoving a rifle into her hands.
It’s not the ideal scenario, though she supposes nothing about this is.
Jackie sticks close to Nat as she’s led deeper and deeper into the woods. Honestly, the forest has started to give her the creeps. Something about the trees—how they tip sharply upwards, like jagged teeth. She always has the vague feeling that it’s trying to swallow them up somehow, luring them into its open mouth. She shivers, frowning.
”Did we have to get up this early?”
“Yes.”
”It’s not like the gun can tell time…”
”The sooner you learn, the better.” Nat throws over her shoulder, not slowing her brutal pace. “And we both know you need the practice.”
”Hey!” Even if it’s true, she doesn’t need to hear it. Everyone’s twisting the knife lately.
“Oh, come on. What’s that shit you used to say?” Her voice pitches up into a (rude) imitation of Jackie’s Saturday morning practice voice. “Practice makes perfect? The early bird gets the worm?”
God, that feels like a lifetime ago.
And anyway, it’s not as if Nat ever actually listened to any of that. She always seemed intent on showing up at the last possible minute. Or late. Or drunk. Or not at all—too busy screwing some guy, probably.
Which, well—Jackie didn’t entirely understand. Sex was… underwhelming. Nothing to write home about. Skin against skin. A bit of pain. An ache.
She’d pick soccer over it, if she could.
Though clearly, the world feels differently. Clearly, Nat feels differently.
”Hey, you’re not, like, pissed about the whole Travis thing, are you?” Jackie throws out there. Lightly.
Nat continues charging ahead without a word. Still mad.
Okay, so that’s awesome. Good to know she’s been left alone with someone who probably wants to murder her. At least she’s the one with the gun.
Eventually, they reach a point in the woods that Nat deems satisfactory. Jackie grinds to a halt, fiddling clumsily with the weapon while Nat starts setting out cans on a large log.
”Just like last time, okay?” Nat nods at her, once she’s done. “But—better.”
”Gee, thanks.”
Jackie points the gun, the way she’s seen Nat do multiple times now. Holding it steady. She pulls the trigger and gets nothing but a click in return. Huh.
”You have to turn the safety off.” Nat informs her, not unkindly, coming up behind her to help her readjust. She moves her limbs for her, like a puppet. “And it’s easier if you hold it this way…”
Jackie jerks back, chomping down on a smile. “That tickles.”
Nat stares at her.
”It tickles?”
”Yeah.”
The answer seems to sap the last shred of humor out of Nat. “Look, Jackie, why did you even say yes to this if you’re just gonna fool around?”
Tragic, boring, insecure. Weak.
It’s as if she had turned a page and discovered that the story was flipped—all the villains were heroes, all the heroes were villains. She was a team captain without authority. A best friend without a friendship. Nothing fit anymore. Maybe it never had.
Sure, she’d had it somewhat together back home, but that was back home.
The truth was, Jackie only ever learned to keep herself afloat there through memorization. Practice did indeed make perfect. She learned how to hold herself, how to style her hair. She learned what clothes were trendy, what shoes she should like. She learned to bat her eyelashes at boys (but only the golden ones) and to suck her stomach in after lunch. She learned when she should laugh or smile or twirl her hair and catalogued away every reaction. Her humor was tame for Laura Lee, vulgar for Van, sharp and witty for Shauna. She molded herself. She learned the right blueprint to follow.
There was no blueprint in the wilderness.
Even Shauna had flipped to reveal a dark underbelly, anger and resentment that she couldn’t even begin to grasp at.
And the worst part was that everyone else seemed to already know. What a rug pull.
It was like—like being six years old again, young and unsure, not knowing why everyone was so obsessed with Matt Dillon but knowing, instinctively, that she’d been left out of some sort of secret club.
(And she’d thought she’d left that feeling behind, when Shauna had first hooked their little fingers together. We’ll make our own club, best friends don’t need anybody else.)
Not that she’s going to tell any of this to Natalie, of all people.
”Wanted something to do, I guess.” She sniffs finally, shrugging. “Why’d you even ask me?”
”You looked like you wanted to shoot something.”
It’s not an incorrect assessment.
Taking her second (technically third) chance, Jackie props the gun up the way Nat showed her and aims at the cans. She shoots unsuccessfully at the first four, but on the last one, there’s a little metallic ding! and the can goes flying.
Jackie squeals, pumping her fist in the air.
Take that, Shipman.
”Well.” Nat says, some of the ice in her voice thawing out. “That’s something.”
*
The next day, she manages two cans.
*
They keep practicing, day after day. Sometimes, Nat sees fit to throw out little words of encouragement.
”C’mon, imagine the cans are Jeff.”
Jackie’s not not smiling when she grumbles, “Shut up.”
She takes down half the cans that day.
*
Eventually, both Coach and Nat deem her competent enough for a real hunt. Or—they decide everyone’s too hungry to wait much longer. Whatever. She’ll take the win any way she can get it.
The morning of, she scarfs down breakfast (a bowl of boiled water, herbs, and diseased bear meat) like a mad woman. Unladylike, a voice in her head scolds. She thinks it’s her mother’s… which is something to unpack sometime, but not today. Not tomorrow either, probably. Maybe when there’s less at stake. They get an extra scoop to deal with the long hike ahead. Coach says they’ll need the calories—though that doesn’t stop a few hostile glances from being thrown her way. She’s aware of them, now. But she can’t bring herself to dwell on it. All she can think about is that one time Shauna forgot breakfast, got lightheaded, and had to lay on the bleachers during ninth grade Phys Ed.
(Jackie had held a water bottle to her forehead the entire time and started packing her granola bars after that.)
Fuck. You. Shipman. She thinks to herself, stabbing bits of stringy meat, imagining that it’s sweet and peanut buttery.
Jackie heads upstairs once she’s done, seeking out their tiny inventory of thick jackets. Shauna’s there, frowning familiarly at a point on the wall and brushing her hair. The strands are still as dark and ruffled as they were when they met.
It could all be the same, really, except when Shauna glances at her the air gets sucked out of the room.
”Just getting a jacket.” Jackie says, dumbly, wanting to slap herself.
Shauna just looks at her. “Okay.”
Okay.
Jackie checks out the jackets, ignoring the heavy way her heart thuds in her chest. She decides on a grey, fuzzy one. There’s torn up shirts, too. Pieces of cloth that she’d seen Nat rip and wrap around her mouth like a mask, like armor. Yeah. Armor. Jackie likes that.
She rips a bit for herself.
”You’re not seriously going, are you?” Shauna breaks the silence unexpectedly. There’s disbelief in her voice. And concern. And spite.
Jackie squares her shoulders. ”Yeah. Right now, actually.”
Shauna chews her lip. “You’re going to die out there.”
”Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Jackie continues rooting through things, if only not to look at Shauna. But she doesn’t go back downstairs, either. Pathetic. She picks up the hairbrush, now that Shauna’s done. She’s not really sure why. It calls to her palm like a magnet.
“You can’t even shoot, Jackie.” Shauna goes on, and this time it’s not with a hint of concern. It’s that new voice—the one she uses to hurt people. “You’re not a hunter.”
Her cinnamon sweet best friend, all soft edges, gone hard. Why hadn’t she seen it sooner?
“Funny.” Jackie says, tasting bitterness and cold, yet none of the hot anger Shauna seems to so easily muster. “I thought we didn’t know anything about each other.”
Downstairs, Nat is waiting. So is Lottie.
The whole thing’s really fucking weird, honestly, how Lottie waits by the door like a parent hesitant to send her kids off to school. Like they need her permission. She’s submerged in an oversized coat, tinkering with a candle while Nat watches. Nat’s eyes are dark and skeptical, heated by the flickering light.
Upon closer inspection, Jackie sees that Lottie’s gathering ash in a small bowl, dipping her thumb in it.
Nat allows some to be spread across her forehead, though she coils, tight and angry as a cat, when it happens. “What’s that supposed to do?”
”It’s for protection.”
Nat makes a noise that’s close to a scoff.
”I’m just trying to keep you safe.” Lottie gives her a sad, resigned frown.
Nat’s throat bobs strangely. “Well, don’t.”
…alrighty then.
Jackie complies with Lottie’s wishes, if only to not be the odd man out. It’s not so bad, she reasons. Sort of like Ash Wednesday. (Laura Lee would shit a brick if she were here).
One quick swipe, and then, they’re out.
”You know, this is kind of cool.” Jackie says, bolstering some enthusiasm into her voice. “We’re like our own little badass duo.”
”I guess.”
“Like Bonnie and Clyde.”
”Sure, Jackie.”
*
She keeps the clump of Shauna’s hair hidden in her pocket—for protection. She figures if they’re all going to start doing weird, creeper shit, then it’s better to hop on the train now. Better to not be left behind.
Her first hunt with Jackie is exactly as she expected it to be. Fruitless. Mildly annoying.
They pace the length of the mountain in near-silence, listening out for animals that never rustle or make a sound. There’s nothing out there these days. Nat scans the trees, and they stare unflinchingly back at her, hungry as starved stomachs, waiting to swallow them. Or, at this point, for them to swallow each other.
(The fact that Nat doesn’t even get a tickle out of the innuendo is a testament to how bad it’s gotten.)
”We should head back.” She sighs.
”What?” Jackie sounds surprised. “It’s not even dark yet.”
”But it will be.” Nat’s been doing this long enough to know when the sun sets, and she has no desire to be out here at night. “C’mon.”
Still, Jackie drags her feet.
Nat’s smart enough to put two and two together and guess that Jackie doesn’t want to return to cohabitate with moody, pregnant Shauna.
And Nat is… apparently not smart at all, actually, because she’s somehow managed to feel bad for Jackie Taylor. She supposes that’s why she offered to teach her to hunt in the first place. What Shauna did was really shitty. It’s left Jackie without her usual shine, no longer glossy and cheerful and full of endless pep. She looks more ghostly now than anything, staring off with those big eyes, all hollow and empty and waiting to burn up or shrivel away. Whichever comes first.
Nat knows that. She’s been that.
It’s not nearly as satisfying as she thought it would be to see Jackie taken down a peg.
And she wishes she could say something nice about it, but that’s not really them. Nat usually avoids her, on principle, and Jackie flings the occasional bitchy comment from across a locker room.
So.
”Jackie. Come on.”
That gets her going. Really, really going.
”Did you know she was fucking Jeff?” Jackie asks, randomly enough that Nat gets whiplash.
”Uh.” She says, pushing through the brush. “No. How could I?”
”I don’t know. It feels like everyone else knew. And you’re… more knowledgeable about these things than I am.”
”Watch it.” Nat warns.
”I just mean, like—“ Jackie goes quiet for a second, putting a sizable effort into not calling Nat a slut. “Wouldn’t you know?”
”What? Like I have a sixth sense for every time a dick gets sucked?”
”Well, it sounds stupid when you phrase it like that.”
”If you’re her best friend,” Nat growls. “Shouldn’t you have known?”
So much for nice.
They continue on their way, no longer speaking. It’s silence and discomfort that has Nat sighing. “Look, Shauna’s a bitch, okay? It’s not cool what she did.”
“She’s not…” Jackie begins (and ends), gearing up to defend her out of reflex.
She wonders what that’s like. Having someone engraved into your instincts.
The walk back is quiet.
Jackie cries pretty tears, and Nat pretends not to notice.
*
Nat doesn’t cry pretty.
It’s not in her wiring. She gasps raggedly into her own hand. Makes noises that sound like she’s being stomped on. Produces a great deal of snot. Some hiccuping. She keeps the ugliness of it hidden away, sneaking out onto the porch while everyone sleeps, and silently calling herself pathetic for tearing herself out for a boy. It makes her feel childish, especially when her eyes dart to the trees.
As if someone will show up.
*
”Jackie, the humming has got to stop.” The snow is thicker out here than it was last week. Nat’s feet are damp, despite the boots, and her throat has grown mildly itchy.
”Why? Does it scare the animals away?”
”No, but it makes the urge to shoot myself go up.”
Jackie quits humming.
*
At breakfast, Nat claims a spot by the fire for herself.
Her head is aching too bad for her to feel like making an attempt at conversation with anyone. It’s reminiscent of that time she smoked too much in Kevyn’s van. Everything’s foggy, and if she rests a certain way, it worsens, as if she’s plummeting into the floor. Not a great start to the morning, being all mind fucky.
Still. She has shit to do.
So does Jackie, technically, but princess is upstairs enjoying her ten allotted minutes of dancing around Shauna. No one’s started screaming, so she guesses things are going okay.
Nat sips her stew. It’s more broth than meat this time around. If we could just fucking catch something…
Someone’s getting out of the bath, if the telltale slap of wet feet on wood is anything to go by.
She turns her head, and it’s Lottie, all blooming pink on damp skin, wiry muscle shifting through a rising cloud of steam. Christ. Nat swallows. Wants to mouth at that sweet blush.
It’s not new—this ‘watching Lottie’ thing. (None of it’s new, really, this watching girls thing. White trash, slut, dyke. She’s just tacked it onto the list. She’s always found her eyes drawn to Tai’s shoulders, Jackie’s little waist, the mouth of some fiery girl at a party. Cindy Lemmings, with the tits, which Van continuously insists are fake.)
But Lottie’s her favorite. Always has been.
Sue her. She likes long legs, and she likes the height, and she likes the way Lottie can dominate any field she wants to. Hell, she even likes the rich bitch act in small capacities.
Lottie’s nice to look at. That’s all.
Except, sometimes Nat doesn’t just look, she stares. And sometimes, instead of glancing away, Lottie stares back, with that arched eyebrow that points like a dare.
Now is one of those times.
“It’s nice.” Lottie settles down beside her, now fully dressed and wearing a crown of fluffy hair. “What you’re doing for Jackie.”
Nat cuts her eyes away, unsure of why she’s being attacked with the sentimental shit. “I guess.”
Lottie reaches out and pets her arm. Genuinely.
“Um.”
”Is this what you’re wearing out?” She asks, pinching the fabric of her coat between two fingers. Nat settles some. “It’s too thin.”
”It’s fine.”
”You’ll get sick.”
”I’m fine.” So what, if her throat hasn’t kicked that scratch? It’s not as if they have any cough syrup out here.
”I’ve seen you sniffling.”
Lottie’s got these big, brown eyes that well up with so much concern sometimes that Nat doesn’t know what to do with it. She feels as if it’s spilling all over her hands.
“Been watching me, Lot?” Nat teases through the breath caught in her throat.
”Maybe.” Lottie replies noncommittally, sweeping her bullshit briskly aside. She starts prying off her own jacket. “Here, switch with me.”
“What? No.”
“Mine’s thicker, and I’m not going out today.” Lottie holds it out between them. “Don’t be a brat.”
Part of how she says it makes Nat feel stupid, even if there’s no malice behind it.
If we’re stranded in the wilderness, is the worst thing really some ash and a prayer? Is the worst thing for someone to care?
”I’m not a brat.” She tosses out. That makes her feel stupid, too.
But the twitch of a smile at Lottie’s mouth? All that makes her feel is warm. Strangely so.
”Difficult, then.” Lottie amends.
Nat puts on the damn jacket.
It’s almost nice to talk to her without the weirdness and the echo of Doomcoming haunting them. Just as something seems to begin to thaw, they’re both startled up by the sound of Jackie descending the stairs.
She’s minus a pregnant teen. So, no luck there yet. She is, however, adorning a shiny splash of lipstick and heavy mascara.
”You’re late.” Nat points out, shouldering the gun. She frowns. “Is that makeup?”
”There’s nothing wrong with glamming up a little.” Jackie winks at her, as if they’re at a fucking pep rally or something. “War paint.”
Nat grinds her teeth together.
Before she can snap, Lottie is speaking up. “Wait.”
The ministrations Lottie puts them through do nothing to soothe Nat’s growing anger. She clenches her jaw all throughout the ash treatment and bristles further as Lottie insists on brewing them tea.
”We don’t have time for this.” Nat complains.
”Just a moment.”
Lottie pours a lukewarm mug from their supply. She turns her back briefly and returns with a needle-thin, sharpened speck of metal. Without word, she pricks her finger.
”Uh, no.” Nat steps back in alarm once she realizes what she’s doing. “We’re not doing that.”
The beaded blood on Lottie’s fingers swirls slowly into the tea, becoming nearly invisible.
No one flinches at the act. Not even Lottie herself. Nat looks at them all, scattered lazily around the cabin, and is met with still, owlish eyes. Tai lowers her head.
What the fuck?
”Jackie?” Helplessly, she turns to her hunting companion.
”It…” Jackie glances warily at everyone else. “It couldn’t hurt. Thanks, Lottie.”
Jackie drinks.
”You’ve all gone fucking insane.” Nat rages out into the cold on her own, slamming the door behind her for good measure. Fucking wilderness. Fucking Lottie.
She waits at the tree line for Jackie, fuming.
After a moment, Jackie approaches her sheepishly. “So… is that Lottie’s jacket?”
”Shut up, Jackie!”
*
Nat is the storm that charges through the snow.
Her anger chews right into her stomach. It bites. It burrows. It feeds. Something rabid has nestled deep inside of her, and it propels her up the mountain at breakneck speed. She moves quick, nearly leaving Jackie behind.
”Wait!”
She presses on furiously.
”Nat! Wait!”
Fucking Jackie. Fucking Lottie. Fucking wilderness.
”Wait! Jesus Christ.” Jackie finally manages to catch up to her, snagging her arm.
”Let go of me.” Nat rips herself away.
”Okay.” Jackie says, slowly. “I get that you’re mad.”
Nat scoffs, staring at her incredulously. ”Mad? You just went along with Lottie’s crazy woo woo! Where was your support?”
Jackie pauses, sucks her lip into her mouth.
”I wasn’t aware you wanted it.”
Right.
Excuse her for thinking they were becoming friends. Stupid, stupid thought. Nat turns her back on her again, throwing the next words darkly over her shoulder. “Of course. Your head’s buried so far up your own ass that you can’t see anyone else. No wonder Shauna hates you.”
The air goes silent, as if all the noise has been sucked out of the world.
She gets three steps away, and then—
“FUCK! YOU!”
Two fierce little hands shove her forward, sending her spiraling face-first into the snow. Ice bites into every inch of her skull. She scrambles to find her bearings, gasping.
”You don’t get to take your shit out on everyone else, okay?” Jackie is ranting above her, almost trembling, eyes wild and feral. “Boo hoo, you got abandoned by your loser boyfriend! It’ll take you, what, another five minutes to find someone else to stick down your throat?”
Nat’s bitter laugh rings in the trees. ”Maybe less. God knows Shauna’s open for business!”
Jackie kicks a fit of snow at her.
Piled beneath it, she can no longer see the happy girl who cheered over something as simple as a fallen can. She sees the girl who called her a trailer park junkie on her first day of soccer practice. She sees the girl who fucked Travis on a whim. She sees an animal of a girl, flushed and livid, and wants to dig her claws into her.
So, she does.
One swift tackle has them both plummeting to the ground, hurling through a layer of snow, yet blazing like a forest fire.
It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but this time there’s no whistle to blow, no coach to fling them apart. They dig at each other, hands and arms flying, hitting every available target.
Jackie somehow manages to scrape a hand down her face, nails nipping into her mouth and drawing blood.
Nat swears, and they break apart from each other, panting. She licks her lips and tastes metal.
It bleeds red on pure white.
Jackie’s the same color, all over, stained on every blotch of her face. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Her breath comes out in punches. Mess and ruin and wreck.
They stare at each other.
And stare.
Until Jackie surges forward and kisses her.
In the next second, they’re on each other. Again. Differently, this time. It’s all action and reaction, Nat taking the kiss like a punch to the jaw and gripping at her sides. Hands paw under layers, hips rock up and roll. She maneuvers Jackie onto her back, pinning her writhing body down and teasing her with teeth and tongue until she whimpers. At least I’m good for something, Nat thinks to herself.
She wants to brand Jackie with her mouth. She wants to wipe that superiority away, drag her down to the same level.
Jackie goes willingly. Eagerly. She leaves her legs split apart and lifts her hips to help. It’s too cold for them to take off any clothes, so Nat has to fit her hand under two pairs of pants and bend her wrist at an odd angle to get started. It’s easy, after that. Easy to slip through wet curls, easy to push into the heat. Jackie clenches her eyes shut and buries her face in the crook of Nat’s neck.
She’s so, so sensitive. All she does is squirm and whine and moan, overcome by every slight touch. Pretty, fragile girl.
When she comes, it’s muffled and shaking, yet the name rings so clear.
”Shauna.”
So, that’s that.
Nat rolls off of her, falling onto her back in the snow. She wipes her hand on her pants as an afterthought.
The sky hangs, white and solid, above them. Jackie doesn’t speak for a long, long time.
”You can’t tell anyone.” She says, finally.
They probably wouldn’t care. Van and Tai had come out. So had Coach. Technically. Still, Jackie’s voice trembles.
Nat looks at her. The anger has gone, replaced by a cold clarity. All she sees is a sad, broken girl.
”Okay. I won’t tell anyone.”
”And I’m sorry for, you know, everything.” Jackie makes some sort of sweeping motion. Her cheeks are pink.
”Yeah, me too.” Nat replies, numbly. Her brain really isn’t processing a thing.
Jackie seems happy to press on to the next thing. Like what happened didn’t just happen.
”I don’t actually believe in all that… crazy woo woo.” She quotes, shooting Nat a deciphering look. “I mean—Lottie. You blame her for what happened with Travis, right?”
”Be quiet, Jackie.”
”Hey—“
”No, I mean it.” Nat sits up, blinking. “Shh.”
And, for once, Jackie listens. Because right there, nestled in the snow near their feet, is a small, brown rabbit.
A rabbit.
It’s a tiny thing, all alone.
Jackie doesn’t think about how cute it is. All she thinks about is her stomach, and its rumbling.
And Shauna.
“Give me the gun.” Nat whispers, holding out her hand in a beckoning gesture.
“No, I want to.”
Nat considers her for a moment, then nods. “Okay. Don’t fuck it up.”
Jackie doesn’t fuck it up.
She aims, holds steady, and shoots.
*
When all is said and done, it’s her who kicks the chilly, butcher’s hut open and drops the corpse at Shauna’s feet, triumphant. Satisfied.
It lays, torn and bloody, in the snow. Nothing but a dead thing between them.
She looks up, coolly. “Brought you something.”