𝙄 𝙆𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝙒𝘼𝙔 𝙏𝙊𝙊 𝘽𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙈𝙀.
If Stella and her friends knew what they were getting into when they stumbled upon a sunken shipwreck, they probably would've brushed up on their treasure hunting skills.
season 1...
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THIS IS ME TRYING — TAYLOR SWIFT I've been having a hard time adjusting I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting
SLEEP DIDN'T COME easily to Stella these days. Every night, horror movies of her friends dying played behind the canvases of her eyes and romantic comedies starring a certain blond always ended in tragedy. Since the evening John B and Sarah 'died', her dreams no longer served as a safe haven. Any light of hope was chased away by the haunting echo of grief.
A part of her thought that her nightmares would cease after finding out her friends were alive. She hadn't lost anyone in her life, but that cloud of sadness remained stagnant over her head because whether her friends were alive or not, she still went through the trauma of thinking they actually had died. The grief was real. She felt it. She lived it. And although it had lessened after finding out about their fortunate escape from the Grim Reaper's scythe, the damage had been done. It was a healing wound and the hurt still lingered in her veins.
She spent the night tossing and turning, staring at the wall, then the ceiling, then the ocean through the glass door of her balcony. She didn't want to sleep because of what might greet her on the other side, so she was forced to stay awake despite her burning eyes and sore limbs.
The worst part about her newfound insomnia was that being awake in the dead of the night forced her to confront her thoughts. All she could do was think, and think, and think.
She thought about John B and Sarah and what they were doing in Nassau. She thought about Kie and Pope and what was going on between them. She thought about her mom. And her father. And JJ Maybank.
Thinking about things, dealing with her shit, analyzing her feelings—it was the only thing for her to do while the world was asleep. And while she shuffled through various topics, the main subject she kept coming back to was Gavin Barnstead.
Until now, it hasn't hit her that she had watched Gavin die.
His life was taken from him. He was a person who had parents, and a wife, and maybe children who would never get the closure of knowing what happened to him because Shoupe didn't believe her and her friends.
And on top of her regularly felt grief, she felt an enormous amount of guilt. She knew what happened. She watched and she could've done something. She didn't know what exactly, but she was sure there was something she could've done where if she took action, Gavin would still be alive.
It weighed so heavily on her chest that it turned into bitterness. In a way, Gavin's existence was being erased. No one was looking for him—no one cared to. A life as complex as hers, amounted to nothing more than a shower of bullets in the pouring rain.
