JOHN B. once said that the Pogues didn't know what it was like to have the person closest to you vanish with no clue on what had happened.

Well, now Eden Bexley did. She really fucking did.

It had been a few weeks since everything went down. Since Sheriff Peterkin was shot dead by Rafe Cameron on his family's tarmac. Since John Booker Routledge was blamed for the murder, and was forced to flee the island. Since Sarah Cameron and John Booker Routledge were presumed "lost at sea" with no further investigation.

Since Eden lost her best friend to the closed and privileged minds of the OBX.

How has Eden been doing since everything happened, you may ask? Pretty fucking terrible.

Dr. Fraser said she was just in the process of grieving—that her mind was still in denial. That eventually, she'd learn to accept what had happened, and would start looking towards the brighter horizon of the future instead of sitting in the murky puddle of the past, (of guilt and denial) she'd been stuck in ever since Interim Deputy Shoupe—as he was now titled—revealed John B. and Sarah's death.

Dr. Vanessa Fraser was Eden's new therapist.

It had been her parents idea. After a day full of crying, curling up in her bedroom, and staring aimlessly at her photo wall—which was filled to the brim with photos of her and John B.—Isla signed her up for grief counseling. She knew she had to get Eden some sort of help before the school year started, or else the girl would never figure out how to move past the tragedy, and continue on with her life. 

Eden went to the appointments, but isn't entirely sure Dr. Fraser's questions and grief journals have done much help. Sure, her office is a space where she can express all her emotions in private for an hour and thirty minutes a week, but the Bexley didn't need that. 

She doesn't need help with her emotions, or her grieving. She doesn't need to be told things are going to get better—they won't, for a long while at least. She doesn't need a journal to write down her feelings, or advice on how to not feel that way.

She just needs her best friend back.

"Eden, are you listening?" 

The sudden voice of her therapist takes the Bexley girl from her thoughts. She was in a session. Eden's gaze moves from the empty white walls of Dr. Fraser's office and back towards the woman, though she doesn't quite meet the woman's eyes.

"Sorry." Eden apologizes. She's not really sorry.

"No worries." Dr. Fraser clicks her pen. "Now, as we were. How has this week been? Any new emotions or feelings you've written down, or would like to discuss? Feeling better or worse?" Vanessa always poured all of her questions out at once and let Eden answer the ones she felt like answering at that given moment—the Bexley appreciated that.

"Um....." The Bexley re-evaluates the questions in her head.

How has her week been? It's been okay. Nothing interesting. Her week usually revolved around the same few tasks—crying, sitting within her bedroom silently, and texting her friends to make sure they were okay. Despite being broken herself, the girls motherly instincts stayed in-tact.

Any new feelings or emotions you've written down or would like to discuss? No. Nothing other than the usual emptiness that had been filling her up since she heard the news.

Feeling better or worse? She doesn't know. She doesn't feel better about the situation, nor does she feel worse.  She's merely okay.

After a moment, she says, "I went paddle boarding with Kiara."

The Pogues haven't hung out as much since that night. They went to the Chateau to clear out their items and to retrieve some of John B.'s things they wanted as their own—the Bexley claimed a few shirts and bracelets, and a bandanna, as well as that stupid hat he loved—but otherwise, the four remaining Pogues remained in their own personal world of grief.  They each knew the other needed space, and were willing to give that, merely checking in on one another every day or so.

But, she has to admit, it was nice to talk with Kie again. After a week or so of not hanging out with the Pogues, it's finally hitting her how much she enjoyed being around its members—especially now, when they knew what the other was going through. 

"And how was it?" Dr. Fraser asks intently, as if her words had been deeper than a simple event.

"It was actually kind of nice." Eden admits, continuing to bounce her leg as she tried to figure out how much longer she had until she could leave. She had to be at the Chateau soon. "It was nice to be with someone who is.....going through the same thing as me.  Even if we didn't talk about it."

"That's good. It's good that you're getting out in the world again, hanging out with your friends without having what happened at the front of your mind." Dr. Fraser nods at her own words, scribbling something down on the sheet of paper she had. "Anything else?"

"I looked online for some college scholarships for Pope, but nothing else." Eden replies.  Her life had been pretty damn boring ever since that night. No Chateau sleepovers or Pogue parties. No HMS Pogue rides, or treasure hunts. Nothing.  

Just lonely nights in her room wishing things were different.

"Well, you're making a good start." Dr. Fraser says, "But, I want you to keep trying to get out of your shell and to go outside and enjoy your last few days of summer.  The more you get out, the easier it will be to ignore the grief in your head, and the easier it'll get to just have fun. To move on."

Eden doesn't like the way her parents and Dr. Fraser keep using the words "move on."  She might be able to continue on with her life without them, but she'll never be able to move on from the friendship she shared with John Booker Routledge—how could she? How could she possibly move on and act like her friend didn't die for nothing.  

She's tried to "move on" as they tell her. She's googled how to cope with grief, how to continue on after losing a loved one without feeling a stabbing pain whenever you thought of them, but it didn't end up being much help. Moving on seemed impossible—a distant future that Eden was sure she'd never reach.

The processes of grief surely didn't help. 

Denial was always rooted in her head, causing her to sometimes hope that maybe her friends weren't really gone, anger at Shoupe and at herself only led to breaking down, bargaining was pointless, and depression had already caused her to break contact with the OBX and with her friends, chaining her down to her own sad feels.

And acceptance? Acceptance felt a hell of a way away.

"Well, um, after this me and the Pogues are going to make a little burial for John B. at his house." Eden admits quietly. A few days ago, the group had all agreed on holding a small little burial for their friend. They didn't have a body, but he deserved to be properly sent off. 

"That's nice." Dr. Fraser says, before her face slightly lightens as if an idea just came to mind. "Have you ever thought about writing a letter?"

"A letter?"

"A letter to John B." Dr. Fraser elaborates, continuing on when Eden shakes her head in a 'no'. "Before you go to the burial, write out a little letter dedicated to your friend. Express your emotions, feelings, thoughts—whatever you want to get off your chest about the situation.  I think it could help you come to terms, help you get any guilt and feelings off your mind."

Eden thinks it over.  She hopes it helps.

The Chateau doesn't feel the same. 

The house used to be filled with warmth and good vibes—with laughter, and sleepovers, with family—but now, standing outside of it, Eden just feels cold, despite it being the end of summer. It simply didn't feel like home anymore without John B.

Eden has been living at her own house rather than the Chateau for the past few weeks. It hasn't felt right of course, waking up in her own white sheets and on her own accord rather than splayed out over John B.'s couch, awaken by JJ's soft snores, or by the sunlight filtering right into her face—she always ended up with the shitty spot that took in more light.

But Eden couldn't really bring herself to stay in a house that didn't feel like home anymore.  A house that was now just a memory of the home the Pogues had built upon each other—a home that was now crumbling under pressure.

Said Pogues stand together in front of the old oak tree in the Chateau's backyard. Pope's holding a tiny ax, JJ has a crowbar and a blow torch, Kie has a box full of John B.'s miscellaneous items they'd been able to find, and Eden's fiddling around with a small letter in her hands—yes, she'd written that stupid letter Dr. Fraser recommended.

The Heyward boy begins to strike at the tree with the tiny ax, hacking into the old bark until the outline of a heart is made. Once flattened, JJ comes forward and torches the end of his crowbar, pressing the flat side against the wood to engrave a few woods into the tree, as if it were a head stone.

When he's done, the four are left with a few words engraved into the wood to forever remember John B.

2003—2020

JOHN B. ROUTLEDGE

P4L

There's a small beat if silence as the four friends look at the memorial they'd created, before JJ raises up a small flask, "To John B."

"And to Sarah." Kiara weakly states, looking between her friends—everyone had been so focused on John B.'s death , that it seemed as if Sarah was being ignored by the public. She had died too. 

 Eden meekly nods in agreement with her friend, still fiddling around with the letter in her hands.

 JJ puts a flask of whiskey up to his lips in a salute, Pope doing the same with a can of beer. Kiara doesn't drink due to the box in her hands, but the Bexley decides she wants too, and takes the Maybank's flask, slighting cringing as the tang of the liquid hits her throat.  It tastes bitter—it matches her feelings.

Kiara steps forward and kneels down in front of the tree. In front of the tree is a small hole that the girl had dug up with a trowel beforehand—almost like a gravestone. She places the small box of trinkets and miscellaneous items that meant something to John B., that reminded them of the boy, inside of the hole.  She then stands back up and steps back, nodding towards Eden with tears brimming in the corner of her eyes.

Eden takes in a breath and steps in front of the tree. It was a shame that this was what John B. got—he meant so much more to the Bexley than a few simple words engraved into a tree and a box of trinkets. He'd been a brother and a friend, and it was truly a shame all they had to bury was a couple bracelets and bandannas.

Kneeling down into the dry summer soil, she looks over the small letter in her hands.  It wasn't her best work—it was a mess of emotions, thoughts, words she wished she got to tell him before he was taken away from her—but that was the point, right? Dr. Fraser said it could be a disaster, as long as it came from the heart. 

Dear John B, (from wherever you are.....)

Yes, I'm writing one of these stupid little goodbye letters, laugh at me later.  Ever since you left, I've been enrolled in this little grief counseling thing—yes, asshole, you landed me here—and my counselor said it would be a good idea, okay? Don't blame me for wanting to help myself for once......

I honestly don't even know where I want to start this because well.....how do I say so much in so little space? How am I supposed to express how much you meant to me in one sheet of paper, in mere lines. Because, believe it or not John, you mean more to me than I can ever express. 

We've had a very long run, ever since that fateful day you decided to buy one of my shitty bracelets at recess—imagine where we'd be if you decided your wrists looked better without my bright string. And it feels odd to know that this is where the line ends.  

You, lost to the waves of the ocean and me, lost to the waves of guilt.

I won't not say your death hasn't wrecked me because it really fucking has—I mean, you were my best friend, John B.  You were there through every anxiety attack, through every break-down I've had and now.....you're just gone. 

I don't think I'm as bright as I was before you died—I haven't made many bracelets, or made many sarcastic comments. I haven't smiled too often, given I haven't been happy enough to do so. Hell, I can't even look at a photo of you and me on my phone without feeling the need to cry because you didn't fucking deserve it. You didn't deserve to get killed over something you didn't do.

I could go on about how you didn't deserve it.  How we're supposed to be living out Plan; Full Kook right now, rather than grieving over you.  How you're supposed to be living out Plan; Full Kook.....

The Chateau doesn't even feel right without you. Sitting here now, burying this letter with the trinkets we're using in remembrance of you—we went through your shit, get over it—it feels colder, dimmer, even.  It feels like an abode of sadness and memory, rather than of family and laughter.

Call me over dramatic, but life fucking sucks without you.  I don't feel like getting up half the time, just because I know that I'll never see you waving out the drivers window of the Twinkie ushering me in the car, or see your bright smile whenever I give you a bracelet.  Knowing that I'll never get to pass notes around in school, or prioritize sleepovers like no others.

Knowing that I'll never receive an embrace from you that makes me absolutely sure everything will end up being okay.

I'm sure one day everything will be almost okay.  I won't be sulking around as much, and us Pogues will be back to normal.  But, I know a piece of me will always be lost at sea with you.  You were my best friend—no one can replace the hole you've left.

I'm not sure where else to take this letter, so I guess I'll just say thank you.
For being my best friend and my brother—for being my family.

I love you, bro—forever & always, (not to quote Taylor, once again)

—Eden.

The Bexley tries to keep her tears back as she sets the letter on top of the trinket box, eyes glancing up at the engraved wording on the front of the tree.  She raises three fingers and places them to her lips before lightly touching the flattened wood.  A final goodbye.

Eden looks back at her friends and nods, signaling she was finished.  The three kneel down beside her and cover the box of items and the letter up carefully with dirt, Kiara setting three wild flowers down on top of the small grave.

The four teens fall into a small silence over the grave—Eden's never heard the four of them so quiet among each other, and she's absolutely sure they'll never be the same as they once were.  That John B. and Sarah's death is the one thing that has the power to push the Pogues away from one another for more than a few hours.

"I, uh, I need to get back to The Wreck." Kiara quietly announces after a moment. Eden knows she isn't just trying to escape the grief filled silence—her parents had punished her for being absent for days at a time by giving her more shifts to fill at their restaurant. "See you guys later."

"Bye, Kie." Eden stiffly says. Everything between the teens had been rather stiff over the past week—vastly different from the usual banter, sarcastic retorts and laughs the teens were used to spewing. 

Pope gets up off the dirt too, "I'll go walk her out."

Eden nods as the Heyward boy follows after his......well, she's not exactly sure what to call them. After kissing at the boating dock, there's clearly been something between Kiara Carrera and Pope Heyward, but she doesn't think they've become anything official quite yet—not girlfriend and boyfriend or friends with benefits.  They're just something.

Out of all of the Pogues, JJ too was taking John B.'s death harder than most. Kie and Pope had families of their own, and at least Eden had parents who did care, but JJ? He only had John B. And now, his brother—his family—was gone.  Now, he had no one.

So, knowing this, Eden was quick to ask, "How are you doing?"

JJ showed no emotion as he replied, "Shitty. What about you?"

"Pretty freaking shitty, too."

The Maybank boy then perks up to ask another question, "How's that, uh, grief thing your mom signed you up for? Helped make this feel more.....real at all?"

"It's okay. I don't really know if it's helped at all, given I'm still feeling really shitty and sad." the Bexley shrugged, toying around with a loose piece of grass beside her. "I'm sure it'll help somewhat, but this will stick with me forever.  John B. was my best friend and you can't expect me to go back to normal as if he wasn't just taken away for something he didn't do."

JJ nodded in agreement before asking, "Do you think we'll be able to clear his name? He's dead and gone and what not, but we—I—can't just let Ward spew that he killed Peterkin. John B. doesn't deserve that, even in the after world."

Eden pauses for a moment before stating, "If I have anything to do with it then, yes. His name will be cleared whether Ward and Rafe like it or not."

She wouldn't let her friend die in vain.  She'd clear his name for him—Pogues stuck with Pogues, even if they were dead.

None of the Pogues had been invited to Sarah Cameron's funeral.

Eden expected it, but nonetheless, it hurt.

Unlike John B., who didn't have anyone to really officiate, plan, or pay for a funeral, Sarah had been honored with one, given she was one of the most respected girls on the island. Everyone had been invited to the funeral, and had been there to pay their respects to the Kook Princess.  

Everyone but Kiara Carrera, JJ Maybank, Pope Heyward, and Eden herself.

Isla and Tom Bexley had been invited to the funeral, of course—they'd always been tight with Ward, and were right beside him as respected members of the OBX—and when they showed up at the service with their daughter, they'd been allowed through while Eden had to sit beside a security guard with Kiara, who'd also been denied to enter and pay her respects to her friend.

Eden understood why; Ward saw the Pogues as a threat to his family, to his reputation. Despite Ward knowing Rafe was behind Peterkin's shooting and ultimately his own daughter's death, the Cameron man had to play the act and blame everything on John B.  And if Pope, JJ, Kie or Eden let a single word slip to the wrong person, his career could be over.

But it still hurt Eden. She might not have been close with Sarah, but she still wanted to pay respects to the Kook girl—she hadn't deserved to die so young either.

Which is why Eden Bexley stands in front of Sarah Cameron's headstone with a solemn expression.

It had been a week since the funeral, which meant the Cameron security guards no longer patrolled the cemetery, giving Eden free access to Sarah's grave without a problem. 

After leaving the Chateau, the Bexley decided to come to Sarah's grave too—might as well knock out two birds with one stone. She wasn't as close with the Cameron, and didn't have anything to offer other than a bouquet of roses, but it still felt right to visit. Sarah would have appreciated it. 

"We're gonna clear his name, Sarah." the Bexley fiddles around with a bracelet in her hands—one she'd made for the Cameron girl over the past week. She'd started it back at the Chateau before they died, and had never gotten around to giving it to her........and now she never would. Huh. "I promise."

"Sure you will."

The sudden voice causes Eden to snap her head backwards, and she lets out a seethe as Rafe Cameron comes into view. 

His outfit isn't as put together as usual, and his hair is parted in the middle, creating a set of curtain bangs rather than his usual slick, gelled up side part. Eden thinks it makes him look more messy, and it truly brings out the evil that lurks in his gaze.

"What the hell are you doing here, Rafe?" the Bexley hisses. Sure, it's his sisters grave but he doesn't seem to be missing her all that much—he's probably enjoying the fact that his perfect little sister is out of the picture, leaving only him to be looked at as the favorite. "Stalking me, much?"

Rafe shoves his hands into his pockets, nodding towards the headstone ahead, "What? Am I not allowed to visit my sisters grave?"

"Not when you're the reason she's gone."

"Still in denial, huh?" Rafe dryly chuckled. Eden would rather have him admit to her that he killed Peterkin than lie as if she were utterly stupid—it's not like anyone would believe her if she tried telling. "John B. killed Peterkin, not me.  Haven't you been keeping up with the news?" 

Eden scoffed, "Stop with the bullshit. Your sister is dead because of your actions—at least try to act fucking sorry. You killed Peterkin, no matter how much you want to try to blame it on John B. At the end of the day, you'll always have her blood on your hands."

"You weren't on the tarmac." Rafe states, trying to defend his case.

"And according to the police reports, neither were you." Eden crosses, sending him a try me look. Crossing her arms over her chest, she continues, "You don't know what happened either, and if you do, then you're still going to be in trouble for lying to the cops. Don't believe everything daddy tells you, yeah?"

"Accuse me all you want, Eden, but I didn't kill Peterkin. It's not my fault your boy decided to spew lies to you until he died."

Eden smiles, "And it's not going to be my fault when karma comes around to slap you—or maybe when I do, depending on how fast karma decides to come."

The Bexley walks off, done with Rafe Cameron and his white lies.

mara's misc

first chapter of season two???????? 

and i actually like it???? (mara liking what she writes, no way!!!)

s2 is gonna be hard on my girl eden—she lost her bestie boo cut her some slack.  i already felt bad writing that letter (thx to ledgersfilms it will come back later on in the book for an emotional scene).  she's also gonna hold such a grudge against rafe like......

i saw the eras tour movie on the 13th and it was sm fun. me and like six of my friends went and we just sang the whole time, (it honestly turned into our own personal karaoke night, especially my friend bridgette). i went to the concert and got so much flashbacks, like i almost cried when she came on stage once again bc i was just remembering all the emotion from when the clock started counting down.  10/10 recommend seeing the film, especially if you never got to see the concert live (she cut some songs, but it's otherwise such a fun time).  screaming the chants and clapping after every song with the other swifties>>>>>>>>>

also, i am in such a theater kid mood today. starkid dropped their third hatchetfield saga musical "nerdy prudes must die" and it was good. def recommend checking out their musicals, especially "the guy who didn't like musicals", my personal fav.  a very fun, chaotic, and care free way to spend your october. 

anyway, i hope you enjoyed this chapter! see you back with chapter 30!!!