"THE CAMP"
"Ouch." The knife slips from my hand, clattering to the floor. A bead of crimson blossoms on my fingertip, dripping after it.
"Oh dear, are you alright?" Aunt Serena gasps, rushing to me. She presses a tissue into my palm before I can even move, then goes straight for the first-aid box.
I stand there, staring at the blood. Kitchen work clearly isn't my thing. I only wanted to help, and now I've made another mess. My head is heavy, my eyelids dragging; last night's exhaustion hasn't loosened its grip.
She liked to sketch.
The words echo in my head, soft as a lullaby. A ghost of a smile pulls at my lips before I sigh and rinse my finger under the tap. The sting is sharp, but nothing compared to the ache of not plunging that same knife into Ethan's throat. Seeing this cut is pissing me off so much I want to bite my finger off.
Aunt Serena returns with the kit in her hand. She dabs antiseptic and winds the bandage around my finger with the gentleness of someone cradling glass like if she pressed too hard, I'd shatter.
"All good," she whispers, almost to herself. "It'll heal in no time."
"Thank yo—"
"You didn't send me the list." Ethan's voice cuts through the kitchen, low and clipped.
I turn. He fills the doorway, dressed in a grey henley and worn blue cargos cinched with a belt. He doesn't look at me—never does, not when it matters.
"Been really busy, hon. Just wait a second..."
Aunt Serena picks up her phone from the counter and sends it to him.
A notification rings from his phone, and Aunt Serena escorts him to the door as usual with kisses—it's like a tradition. A moment later, the growl of the engine vibrates through the walls, and then silence.
After finishing the chores, I excuse myself and retreat upstairs. Back to my cage of white walls and porcelain dolls. Back to my diary—hers.
I sink onto the bed, pull open the drawer, and lift out the leather journal. Its weight feels heavier than it should. My pulse quickens as I flip to the next page.
Mary thought it would be good to get a job. Can you believe that? She convinced Father, and shockingly,he said yes. So here we are, hired as summer support staff at Meadow Creek Camp. Mary's glowing with happiness. I don't know why I let myself get dragged into this.
We arrived this morning. Conner drove us, as always. He's been with us since we were babies. When he pulled up and we saw the cracked wooden sign carved with "Meadow Creek," I thought he'd taken a wrong turn. The place looked abandoned—no joke.
But Mary didn't seem to care. She never does. She thrives on rules, on order, on plans.
We met the supervisor, Mr. Davidson, who seemed like a nice guy in his mid-thirties im assuming ,already bald with goatee . We got cute staff uniforms and badges.
Inside the staff cabin, we met someone: Anny Belmort. Pretty in that effortless, maddening way,long blonde hair spilling in curls, blue eyes bright like glass catching sunlight. Tall and confident, and I swear to God, if I were a man, I'd be so down for her.
Her outfit screamed rebellion, a black crop top tucked into distressed denim shorts, an oversized plaid shirt draped carelessly over her shoulders, thigh-high boots, layered necklaces. She didn't belong here,not at a camp. But she didn't care, and everyone could tell.
She smiled at us, and we gave our introductions. I, of course, matched her energy.
Anny offered to show us around because she'd arrived two days earlier. The cabins, the dining hall, the fireplace, the TV lounge,her voice filling the empty spaces. But it was the lake that caught me. Still water glimmering, framed by trees and a waterfall. It reminded me of the one in my dream, so beautiful it hurt. Maybe, I thought, this place wasn't so bad.
Mary and Anny were mid-conversation when I heard the low roar of an engine pulling up outside. A car. Not just any car. A dark blue Shelby Mustang, gleaming even under the grey sky.
That was when I saw him.
Ethan Blackwell.