𝟎𝟐𝟓.                            𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡

the truth       ────       james arthur

warning: a lot of sadness

☀︎ 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐥𝐲𝐧'𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐯

𝖬𝖲．𝖫𝖠𝖭𝖠 𝖨𝖲 𝖮𝖴𝖱 𝖠𝖭𝖲𝖶𝖤𝖱．If anyone knows what happened to our father, it will be this woman. Her husband was the one who had our father's compass on his boat, so I truly believe that Ms. Lana holds some information that we── my brother and I── need to know. Well, I hope she has something useful to tell us. I need some real, concrete answers about where our dad is, especially after what just happened.

We walked into Ms. Lana's home and, while soaked and exhausted, uttered the words, "We need to know." We're now sat at her table, sipping on water while I bandage my wound, wrapping my entire lower half in thick cotton bandages. The slash on my skin stopped bleeding as the blood soaked into the bedsheet that I've disposed of know. Because I am a little paranoid of it bleeding all over again, I've gone over the top with the bandages.

Lana sits before us, hands around a coffee mug. She suspected that this day would come, that much I can tell from the way she looks at us with such sympathy in her eyes. She's about to tell us something horrible, I know she is.

"The night your father disappeared..." she begins, looking from me to my brother. "I came home early from work to find Scooter talking to Ward. Ward was in tears saying, 'I didn't wanna hurt him. I wasn't trying to hurt him. It was a mistake. It was stupid accident'." I swallow down my fear, afraid that the "accident" Ward was talking about resulted in my father not coming home.

"Your father apparently tried to change the deal on him and he wasn't going to let him so your father flipped out, and he didn't mean to hurt him," Lana tells us, voice wobbly. "Ward hurt your father, I don't know in what way but I know he did." I stare at the table in front of me, my mind running through thousands of scenarios── my father dying, my father alone and abandoned, my father lost at sea. Dad didn't come home because of Ward. I haven't seen my father in nine months because of Ward freaking Cameron.

She continues, staring at us but neither of us can look to her. "Scooter sat with him and told him to start the story from the beginning and so he did." Lana inhales carefully, and I suspect that the full story is one of pain and sadness.

"Ward and your father were out on the open water in the morning," Lana tells, beginning the story. "Big John wanted to talk to Ward that morning. Your father had found the Royal Merchant gold and he wanted legal assurances. It was going to be a fifty-fifty deal between the two but Big John changed his mind. He changed the deal to twenty-eighty and Ward was pissed off." I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to suppress the tears that I know are going to fall.

She clears her throat, continuing, "After arguing, the two fought and your father slipped, hitting the back of his head on the rim of the boat. He started to bleed and he slowly started to pass out." Tears fall. I don't ask them to fall, but once they start, I have no way of stopping them.

"Ward said he'd call for help but he never did." I bite down on my knuckles, tears continuing to drop down my cheeks at the thought of Dad being so scared of dying. "He rolled your father's body into the water and his body washed up on shore. Ward gave the map to Scooter."

I look forward, eyes finding John B's. They're glossed with tears, much like mine. He stares back at me, but unlike all those others time where I can read him, I cannot read whatever he's thinking. I don't think either of us know how to react, not to news like this.

John B swallows, dragging his hands across his face to try and wipe away the tears. "So, he stole our father's map..." He looks to Lana. "...and he tossed his body into the sea?"

A sob crawls out of my throat, and I don't hold it in. I can't hold it in even if I tried to.

"He sunk your father's boat where no one would ever find it," Lana continues, emotion in her voice. "And they began to look for the gold everyday for nine months. When Agatha built up, there was one place they hadn't looked. So Ward sent my husband out into that storm. I begged him not to go, but he said Ward was worried the storm would wash everything away."

I think I hate Ward Cameron.

"But Scooter did find somethin' out there," Lana tells us. "Not what he expected. He found your father's compass buried under the sand with his bones scattered around. He wasn't dead when Ward dumped him."

My mouth gapes and a sob escapes as I push myself to a stand. I cover my mouth with my hand, crying as I think about Dad and how he died. He died all alone, trapped on a beach with nobody to watch over him. He wasn't dead when Ward dumped him. He made it to shore, and just when he had some hope of living, he died right there, alone. My worst fear came true for my father── the last man in the world who deserved to go in such a way. No, the man that deserves to die in that way is Ward freaking Cameron.

Ward Cameron killed my father.

Now he wanted our gold.

My brother faced the window, staring at nothing as we both cried, separately and away from Ms. Lana. She looks just as emotional as we do, likely because Ward Cameron is just as responsible for Scooter's death as he is for our dad's death.

Ward took my father from me.

Ward took our father away from us.

I didn't even tell him that I loved him before he left. No, he left thinking that John B and I were mad at him which, granted, we were at the time, but we never told him that we loved him. He died all alone out there, thinking that we didn't give a damn about him. He died all alone.

I can't get over the fact that my worst fear came true not for me, but for my father who I idolised and loved my entire life.

Dad died alone.

Dad, a man who was never alone in this life, died all alone. He suffered a death that nobody should suffer. Well, perhaps Ward Cameron should suffer a death like that. After all, he did take my father from me because of some gold.

I've never hated anyone more.

I'd give up the gold to have my father back. I'd give it all up just to have my father back, but it's too late. Dad has been dead for the past nine months while we had this ridiculous hope that he wouldn't be dead.

I kept watching the door, hoping he'd return, but he never did. Now I know that he'll never walk through that door again.

"I am so sorry, kids." I can barely hear Ms. Lana, I'm too occupied with breathing through the current pain I'm feeling. "I should have told you both a long time ago." John B looks to me, and this time I can read exactly what he's thinking, and I think I agree with him. "But you can't say anything. He's dangerous. He's capable of anything. Don't──"

"I don't care!"

John B moves out of the house, shoving the door open. I chase after him, following him because, yes, I agree with him completely, we cannot let Ward get away with this, I still cannot, in good conscience, lose him like we lost Dad.

Dad is dead.

I lost somebody I loved── that's another fear. I lost my father, somebody I've loved my entire life. He's gone, and he's never going to come back. I've never lost anyone before, not in this way, and it hurts more than I ever imagined it could hurt. It pains me from the inside out, knowing that I will never see Dad again. Before, when I didn't know the story, I held hope that he'd come home one day── that he'd wake me up in the mornings with the promise of breakfast, that'd he'd drag my ass out of bed for school, and that he'd be there at night, lounging on the sofa with John B and I until we all fall asleep.

I want Dad back, but it's too late. We lost him, and we didn't even know for nine months.

Now I can't lose John B.

He's marching back to the Chateau, and Ms. Lana doesn't live too far away from us, so I need to talk to him now before we reach our friends.

I push forward, legs burning as I march up beside him, attempting to match his pace. "John B." I wipe my eyes, and I feel a few more tears fall. I swear, they won't stop, I can't make them. "John B," I repeat, clearing my throat. He doesn't stop, he doesn't look at me, he doesn't even acknowledge me.

I snatch his arm, and I stop myself from walking which, in turn, stops him from storming off. He tries to yank his arm back, but I keep my nails pressed into his arm, insisting that he stays. "John B, stop!" I stare at him, finding that he's crying. "J-Just stop."

"We have to get home, Brooke."

"We will get home, John B, but just..."

"We need to get home." He yanks his arm back, and he moves away from me again, ignoring me as I call out to him. I'm in enough pain as it is with my stupid hip bleed and discovering that Dad is dead, I don't need this too. Can't he just listen to me right now? We're all we've got now.

John B is the only family I have left.

I'm the only family John B has left.

I follow him, pressing a hand against my wound as it starts to sting once again, likely because I'm walking at a rapid pace to keep up with my brother as he storms down the street, running on fumes as he attempts to reach the Chateau. I don't call out for him anymore── I can't anyway. The tears have returned, and anything I do try to say comes out in small, broken cries.

When we arrive at the Chateau and I see my best friends in the entire world, the cries worsen, especially when I see John B ignore each one of them── on a mission to get a certain something from the Chateau.

"John B!" I yell, but I haven't got any strength to run in after him. My body gives out on me, and I fall back, body slumping against the side of the hot tub. I'm so tired of running, so tired of having to fight for what I want, and so tired of just existing right now. I need a break, so I take a break.

JJ is already inside, trying to figure out what's wrong with John B, and Pope has fallen beside me, sweeping me into a hug as I cry louder than I ever have before. Kiara is crouched in front of me, hand on my knee as I break down in the arms of my best friends.

I hate crying. I hate crying a lot.

I hear JJ's voice in my ears, but I don't look to him. No, I bury my head into Pope's shoulder, and I let myself cry as John B steps out of the Chateau, gun in hand. I knew he'd grab the gun. I know what he wants to do, and I have very little strength to argue with him.

I pull away from Pope, looking past him to see John B moving to sit on the motorcycle. I grasp Pope's hand, silently asking him to lift me up and off the ground. We each move towards John B, our friends asking a thousand questions all at once, and John B finally answers.

"Ward knows about the gold!"

I feel a hand slide against my back, and I already know who is trying to comfort me. I welcome it. I step towards him instinctively.

Our friends fall silent, surprised to hear that freaking Ward knows about the gold, but if you think the shock on their faces is surprising now, just think about what their faces look like when John B drops the real bomb of...

"He killed our dad."

John B kickstarts the motorcycle, and before anyone can utter a word, he's gone.

I don't say it, but I think it.

Please, please come back home, John B.

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𝖬𝖸 𝖤𝖠𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝖬𝖤𝖬𝖮𝖱𝖸 𝖮𝖥 𝖣𝖠𝖣 𝖨𝖲 𝖧𝖨𝖬 𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖣𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖬𝖸 𝖧𝖠𝖨𝖱. I was five-years-old, and all the girls in my class had the prettiest braids in their hair. Let's just say, I was jealous. Everybody had mothers to do their hair. I had Dad who had no idea how to sort out a girl's hair. Dad surprised me one day after school, claiming that he had figured out how to braid hair. After six failed attempts, I had something of braids in my hair which he── stupidly, by the way── named "Brookie Braids". Now, every time I have braids in my hair, I always call them that.

For a whole year, Dad would braid my hair for school, and by the time I turned six, Dad perfected the braiding technique. Also, funnily enough, when John B's hair would get long, he'd even braid John B's for fun. I haven't braided my hair since Dad went missing nine months ago. I can't bring myself to do it without feeling this upset.

Now I feel like braiding my hair── doesn't that seem ridiculous? After hearing that my father was... dead, I instantly felt this wave of want, and now I really want to braid my hair. Dad taught me how to braid my hair so I could braid it whenever I wanted, so now I really want to do it.

I wish I could draw, but my sketchbook is on that boat── on that boat with Ward. He's probably thrown it overboard. All my beautiful sketches and work is likely destroyed, how nice. It shouldn't sadden me this much. I mean, I can draw whenever I want, but there was something special about that sketchbook that I can't explain. Kiara bought it for me, and I had drawn so many landscapes and portraits and... tattoo ideas for JJ.

I sigh, pressing my face into my pillow. I'm curled up in my bed, knees tucked to my chest as I stare at the photo of Dad on my nightstand. I feel sick, afraid to stand up in case I hurl. Thankfully, I'm alone in the Chateau.

Pope, Kiara and JJ are trying to find John B while I decided to stay back at the Chateau in case he comes home without them realising. I wanted some time alone, and after a whole hour of hugging my friends and crying, they left me to my own devices. I'm now laid in the dark, crying over a photo of my father. This is all I have now. I will never, ever see my dad again. I just have photos to remember him by.

I should get up, stretch my legs and move from this spot. I haven't moved in hours. I don't even know what time it is, I just know that it's dark, so I've been sitting here for hours... I think. I push my legs out, letting them stretch.

I lift myself up, pressing my back against my headboard. Last night, I was happy, resting against my headboard while JJ let me draw on him. Today, well, I'm the one crying. I'm the one who's upset and broken. I'm the one who really, really needs that person to hug, but I pushed all those people away because I thought I wanted to be alone.

I need somebody here.

I lift myself out of the bed, wincing from the jolt of pain in my hip. Part of me was tempted to go to the hospital, but then I'd have to explain, and they'd just have to call Ward because he is my legal guardian. Hopefully, the wound isn't too life-threatening. At this point, I couldn't care less. I'm not going to the hospital, but maybe John B and I could go to the police. Although, I don't know if anyone would believe us.

I pass my cracked mirror which, well, seems fitting for how I'm feeling right now. My hair is falling out of the hair tie, my body is hunched over due to the pain in my hip, and my eyes look swollen from crying. I've never looked so... awful. I push past the mirror, needing to feel the life in my legs once again.

I stop outside my bedroom door, and I stare straight ahead at John B's closed bedroom door. I step forward, dragging my feet across the floor to John B's door. He's not here, and I know he doesn't care if I go in his room, so I push open his bedroom door.

The moment I step in, I find that the room feels empty without him in it. The Chateau feels empty without him. I want him to come home.

I slide my feet across the floor, body screaming at me in protest. I reach my hand out, grasping the dresser to keep myself balanced before I collapse from the searing pain in my hip. My eyes catch onto a photo on his dresser── a photo of me, him and Dad. We're young, like three or four. John B is on Dad's shoulders and I am on his hip, waving to the camera. Apparently, one of Dad's friends took the photo. I love this photo, I always have, and I find it sweet that John B cherishes it.

I look around his room, finding clothes to be on the floor, his bed to be unmade and leftover food and drinks to be sat on his bedside table. Boys are gross, aren't they? I mean, my room isn't exactly tidy, but I don't leave food in my bedroom, it creates a rotting smell that nobody needs.

I move out of John B's room, sulking towards my dad's office that hasn't been opened since the last time we entered. I push the door open, and from the moment I enter, a large wave of sadness hits me. The emotion starts at the tip of my toes and travels up my legs and up my body before crawling out my throat which results in a gut wrenching sob.

I press my head against the doorframe, crying loudly at the idea of Dad never coming home to this── to this office, to his home, to us. Even though those square groupers wrecked his office, most of Dad's belongings are still here.

I think back on all those days John B and I would sit in Dad's office, reading over his maps and books while he rambled on and on, giving us history lessons. I hated history in school, but I always loved when Dad would teach us. He had a great love for history. He always spoke so passionately about the subject.

I now realise that whenever I talk about Dad, I'll have to refer to him in the past tense.

I hate that.

Dad is now in the past. He is no longer here, in the present with me. When I talk about Dad, I have to use the past tense.

Dad is now just a memory.

And that thought makes me cry harder than I have all day.

I don't even know how I still have tears left to cry.

I push myself forward, skimming my feet across the floor as I move towards Dad's desk. My body slumps forward, hitting the desk chair. I recall a memory of sitting on Dad's lap, watching him as he worked at his desk. He loves── loved this office. I can't believe he won't set foot in here ever again. He won't get to sit in this chair anymore. Dad won't set foot in the Chateau again.

Sitting on his desk is a photo of me and John B. He's always had a photo of us on his desk much like we've always had photos of Dad in our rooms. I pick up the framed picture, tears continuing to trickle down my face as I stare at it.

I look at myself in the photo, finding that my smile is not fake in any kind of way. Why would it be? I love my brother and my father, and I love spending time with them. Whenever I'm with them, I'm happy.

I won't get to be happy with Dad ever again.

John B is now the only biological family I've got left.

Speaking of him, he's walking through the front door of the Chateau. "Brooke!" I don't move, I just stay seated on my chair, staring at the photo. "Brooklyn!" I hear footsteps. They grow louder, indicating that he's getting closer.

He rounds the corner, moving into the office. "Brooke." He exhales, sounding relieved to see me. "Y-You're here."

I place the photo down, nodding slowly. "Yeah." I glance to him, wiping my thumb across my eyelid. "Did you, um... Did you──"

He fills in the blank. "No. No, I didn't."

He didn't kill Ward. He definitely could've, and I guess I wouldn't have blamed him, but I am relieved that he didn't kill him because then we'd have Ward Cameron's body on our hands.

I push myself to a stand, wincing at the zing of pain in my hip. "You okay?"

I nod, pressing a hand against my skin. "Yeah. I-I, uh..." I slide my feet across the floor, moving to him. "Can I-I, uh..."

He fills in the gap again, but this time he doesn't say a word, he just steps towards me with open arms, and he engulfs me in the tightest, bone-crushing hug I've ever received.

We haven't hugged one another as he took off almost immediately, and I stayed here because I knew he'd come home. I knew he'd want to say goodbye to Dad properly. He also knew I would be here and not with our friends because I couldn't just leave, not when we need one another. We haven't hugged, so the moment we do, both of us cry like children. We cry for one another, for the loss that we both share, and for the fact that we are all we've got now.

I press my face against his chest, my arms wrapped around his middle. He hugs back, arms around my shoulders, one hand against my hair. I squeeze at the fabric of his shirt, crying softly into the safety of my brother.

For sixteen years, John B has protected me, but this is something not even he could've saved me from. When Dad left nine months ago, John B took it upon himself to act like a parent towards me. For sixteen years, John B has always been that extra layer of protection, shielding me from the world much like Dad... did. But now, I am attempted to blanket him from the pain. I am wrapping my arms around him and squeezing as tight as humanly possible, hoping to steal all that pain from him.

John B doesn't cry much. No, he likes to bite back the emotion, but right now, he's cracked open and vulnerable. I'm the only person he can truly be exposed like this to.

I only pull away from him when the pain in my hip intensifies from pressing against him. I keep my hands on his arms, offering him something of a broken smile. "You didn't do it?"

He shakes his head. "No. I-I didn't do it. I wanted to, but I-I can't do that to you." He sniffles, looking away from me. "I'm sorry, Brooke. I wasn't here. I-I should've been here. I..." He sighs, dropping his head. "I'm sorry."

Tears roll down my cheeks. "You don't have to be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I wasn't here."

"You lost him too," I cry out, emotion welling in the base of my throat.

John B lifts his hands, placing them against my face, forcing me to look at him. "I should've been here, B. I-I should've been here. You needed me, and I walked off. I left you alone."

I shake my head. "Stop." I press my hand over his. "We both lost Dad, John B. You are the only family I have got left, and I am the only family you have left. We're all we've got, John B. I-I need you, yes, but you need me too. We need each other right now more than ever. You've always been there for me whenever Dad wasn't, so please just let me..." I swallow. "Let me be here for you."

He pulls me into another hug, and even though the pain in my hip stings like hell, I welcome the embrace because I'd rather have all the pain in the world for this. Just like I need him, John B needs me, and I will be here for him for as long as he'll let me.

We truly only have each other now.

"We're gonna be okay, right?" My voice sounds foreign to me.

John B flattens a hand against my hair. "Yeah." He leans down, pressing his chin against my head. "We're gonna be okay, B."

I'm choosing to believe that.

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"𝖧𝖤𝖸，𝖣𝖮 𝖸𝖮𝖴 𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖤𝖬𝖡𝖤𝖱 𝖶𝖧𝖤𝖭 𝖳𝖧𝖠𝖳 𝖲𝖶𝖠𝖭 𝖠𝖳𝖳𝖠𝖢𝖪𝖤𝖣 𝖸𝖮𝖴?"

John B and I are sitting on the dock after saying goodbye to our father. You're probably wondering how we said goodbye to our dad. Well, we placed a photo of Dad on a tiny, makeshift raft, lit a candle, and pushed it out to the water.

We sat in silence, and watched as the image of Dad started to get smaller and smaller. A few tears were shed, and after that light disappeared, I finally opened my mouth to speak, and I chose to bring up a memory that John B is painfully embarrassed about.

"I told you to never bring that up again."

"Oh, come on, it was funny." He and JJ went fishing when he was attacked by a swan a few years ago after Dad told him to steer clear of this particular abode of water. He came back home with a black eye. Swans are crazy, aren't they?

"It was not funny. Dad was pissed."

"Well, he did warn you about rouge swans, you just didn't want to listen."

"Rouge swans, B." He shakes his head. "There's no such thing."

"I beg to differ. Did you see your black eye?"

He huffs out a laugh, his eyes focusing on the tiny dot of light miles away. "You should've seen the swan," he utters, and a smile touches my lips at the idea of him actually fighting a swan to the death. I wasn't there, but based off the retelling JJ told me, I found it hilarious. Dad, on the other hand, did not. He was pissed at John B for not listening, but come on, it was freaking funny.

I smile at the memory, and I give him a friendly nudge. "Hey, John B."

He nudges back. "Hey, B."

"If I smoke pot, will you be freaked out?"

He snaps his head over to me. "What?"

"My fucking hip..." I lean back, the pain almost blinding. "I need some pain relief."

"We have some painkillers in the bathroom."

"That have been there since before we were born," I argue, refusing to use those to treat the wound on my hip.

"So what? They don't expire."

I glance at him. "Yes, they do."

He shakes his head. "No. No, they don't."

I bite my tongue, nodding. I ain't gonna argue with him, but he is wrong. Painkillers do expire. He's just a dumbass.

"Maybe we should take you to the hospital."

"Absolutely not." I can suffer through the pain, I will be fine.

"Brooke, you're in pain."

"I will be fine." If I keep telling myself that I'll be fine, I surely will be, right? Somebody tell me that I won't die from the pain that stupid Ward Cameron has caused me. "Besides, we can't go to the hospital. They'll call Ward── our legal guardian. He'll try and kill me in the emergency room."

"At least you'll be the emergency room."

"I'll be fine. I'll smoke some pot, that'll do the trick."

"We don't have any pot."

"No, but JJ does." JJ always has what you need, so I can just ask him. I hope he stops by later, I really would like to see him.

"Are you sure you'll be fine?"

I nod, confident that the slash on my hip will not end up infected. "Yes, I will be fine."

"If it gets worse, you need to tell me."

This is what I mean about him acting like a protective parent type. Even in the wake of Dad's death, I know that I will never be without that parental figure thanks to John B. Dad's last words to John B were for him to take care of me, and here he is, doing it flawlessly.

Now John B will be taking care of me for the rest of my life. He'll be watching over me for the rest of my life.

Dad won't be here to see us grow up into adults. Dad won't be here to see us finish high school── if we finish high school. Dad won't be here to watch us get this gold── if we get this gold. Dad won't be here to watch us get married or have children. I now realise that Dad won't walk me down the aisle to whoever stands at that other end, watching me. Dad won't be here to watch us make a life for ourselves. Dad will miss it all, and that devastates me.

I swallow the emotion climbing up my throat once again. "Hey, John B."

"Hey, B." I hear emotion in his voice, and I wonder if he's thinking about all the things that Dad will miss. If he is, that's truly freaky.

"Will you walk me down the aisle if I get married?" I'd like to say when I get married, but who knows if that'll ever happen.

"What?"

"If I get married, will you..." I bite down on my lip, feeling anxious for some reason. "You know, the dad is supposed to walk the daughter down the aisle but..." Well, we just said our goodbyes to him as we will never see him again. "Well, your the next thing I have to a parent, so would you──"

"Yes."

I peer at him, a smile touching my lips. "Really?"

His arm lifts, moving to rest over my shoulders. "Yeah, of course." I rest my head against his arm, relieved that he would do it. I knew he would, he does love me after all.

"We should save room on the aisle for Dad though. I do imagine he'd wanna come to my wedding." Dad can step out of heaven for the day, come down and celebrate with us, can't he?

"You do know you're not actually getting married, right?"

"Hey." I point my finger at him. "It could happen."

"Yeah, it'll definitely happen, B, but not anytime soon."

I think I'd like to get married young (to the right person, obviously), and then spend my twenties with that person by my side. We could go on trips together, travel around the world and explore. After spending our early years solely together, we could then move onto the next stage of life── kids. Ha, I just realised I'm talking about this like I actually have somebody.

No, but I have always thought about it. I've always wondered where life would take me once I stopped being a teenager. Would I meet the one? Have I already met the one? God, I really hope I have, and I really hope it's who I want it to be.

I don't want another woman's child to have his eyes, not when I was the one who fell in love with them first. No, I want my children to have his eyes.

Now I've gone completely crazy.

Anyway, let's continue. Back to the sadness!

"Thank you for being here," I say, pressing my cheek against his arm. "You really are the greatest brother a girl could ask for."

He rubs a hand down my arm. "Yeah, well, you're not so bad yourself, B."

I scoff, breathing out a laugh. "Thanks."

"We're going to be okay," he tells me, and I nod. "We're going to figure it all out, alright? We'll make Dad proud."

"I'm pretty sure you've already made Dad proud."

"No, I think you have."

"Can we collectively agree that we both have?" I say, knowing full well that, despite everything, Dad would be proud of us... I think. I'd like to think that he would anyway.

"Okay."

"Hey, John B."

He sighs softly. "Hey, B."

"I love you," I say, looking to the water and no longer seeing the light.

He presses his chin against my head and whispers, "I love you too."

We really only have each other now.

I often wonder if we've only ever just had each other.

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❀ soph speaks

chapter is lowkey rushed at the end,, i got lazy

anyway, hope you enjoyed!!

obvs big john ain't dead but they don't know that yet, do they ugh