"LET ME SINK''
"I'm sorry."
My voice is barely a whisper as I stare down at the black rug in Ethan's study. The rug's edges are frayed like teeth, shadows curling around the room. Aunt Serena stands behind me, her palm gently pressing against my back like she's holding me upright. My arms are folded tight against the lace of the vintage dress they bought for me — pale blue with a high collar, a dress I never wanted but wear anyway.
Ethan doesn't look up. He's seated behind his heavy oak desk, reading papers with his glasses perched low, as if I'm just another line item to be signed off.
Aunt Serena gives me a nudge, her nails grazing my arm.
"And I won't break any rules from now on," I add quickly, the words like ash on my tongue. "I'm… sorry about yesterday."
That's when Ethan looks up. His eyes flicker over me for a beat, unreadable. Then he leans back in his chair.
"Very well," he says, voice cool. "You may go."
Relief floods me, but it lasts only a second.
We're almost at the door when he says, "Not you, Serena. You stay."
My stomach twists.
I leave without looking back, but my hands shake as I grip the railing on the stairs. Upstairs, the air feels different, heavier. I shut the door to my room and press my back against it.
I can't do this anymore. Not just Ethan — his rules, his voice — but Serena too. The way she looks at me, the way she hugs me too tight while whispering orders like lullabies. Something's off.
And Cade… Cade's swollen face flashes in my mind. His lip split, blood staining his shirt. My chest aches. I can still hear the sound of Ethan's fists.
I can't stay here.
I pace the room, pressing my palms to my temples. I want to scream. I want to tear these walls down. But screaming would only bring them.
Don't be stupid, Odessa.
I glance at my nightstand. The diary waits, its leather cover catching the faint light from the window. My heart beats faster. The truth is in there. It has to be.
I lock my door, sit on the edge of my bed, and pull the diary into my lap. The leather feels warm, almost alive, like it's been waiting for me.
"Here we go again," I whisper.
And I open it.
It's been a week at this camp now. We're staff, not campers, so the administrator showed us where to work, what to do, and then left us to it.
Breakfast is always the same: scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, cereal, jam… a little bit of everything, but nothing exciting. Lunch is worse — soggy sandwiches, chicken nuggets, pasta that tastes like cardboard. Dinner's the only time the menu isn't depressing.
Mary and I both got stuck with kitchen duty. Anny's on maintenance, so we barely see her during work. I can't stand handing trays of food to kids day after day, but Mary seems to love it. She smiles at them, chats with them, like she was born for this kind of thing. We're twins, but sometimes it feels like she's made of sunlight and lollipops, and I'm just the shadow trailing behind her.
This morning, while I was serving scrambled eggs, I saw him again — Ethan. He walked right up to us in his running shirt and track pants.
He asked if we'd seen Anny since they're both on maintenance. Mary answered sweetly, and they talked for a minute, exchanging introductions, while I kept ladling eggs onto plates. He looked at me and gave me a smile.
Then he was gone.
Last night, I was alone in the cabin. Mary had gone to shower. I was playing with my ring, the way I do when I'm nervous, when Anny came in. She didn't knock. She just stood there and opened her hand.
A white pill.
She laughed softly. "Come on, take it. You'll feel better."
I shouldn't have.
But I did.
It hit me slowly. My head went heavy, my body turned numb, and Anny's voice blurred like background music. She sat beside me, telling me about Ethan — how they met at a party — but her words stopped making sense after a while.
I tried to stand. I stumbled. I tried again. Walked out with legs that didn't belong to me. I think she called my name, but it sounded far away.
The lake was there, black and still.
I remember the water. So much water. Black and pretty. The noises faded. The water pulled me in, slipped into my mouth. The moment felt death giving-intimate and comforting at the same time. If death could be this beautiful i'd die everyday.
Then there was nothing.
When I opened my eyes again, I was on my bed. Mary was leaning over me, her eyes full of something between panic and relief.
"You slipped into the lake," she said. "Anny saw you and pulled you out just in time."
It should have been comforting.
But it wasn't.
I think part of me wishes they hadn't seen me at all.
"Fuck u" I breath.
"Huh.''