𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃. ᵒᵘᵗᵉʳ ᵇᵃⁿᵏˢ ²

02

02 . 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗹𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝘀 𝗶𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆'𝗱 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗲𝗳𝘁 .

    𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐉𝐀-𝐕𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄. The first time she'd felt it was back when she'd ran onto the loading docks in the middle of July, when the mission was getting a Ferry ticket to Chapel Hill. She had run onto the wooden planks of the pier, hand in hand, in the stale, fishy air, and felt a sort of pang hit her chest. It had been a deep feeling of reconnaissance, and she could remember it clearly — every little image of herself stepping off that Ferry on her first day had replayed instantly. Though, that day, she didn't have time to stop and dwell on that feeling, because she was pulled away and snuck onto a tugboat.

    But today she had time to dwell on the feeling of déjà-vu.

    And it was more consuming now than ever, because she was in the exact same spot on the exact same Ferry, heading to the exact same island she'd been travelling to at the beginning of the summer. The only thing that was different was the two people sitting beside her— her grandparents —whereas unlike the first time, no one had sat with her. Along with Caroline and Daryl, there were multiple suitcases piled on their overhead storage compartment instead of just two this time around. And the people were a lot less shitty, and she assumed it was because Caroline and Daryl were quite an admirable couple among all the familiar islanders on the boat.

    But some things never change— because the Ferry still smelled like old fish and stale cabbage rolls, the seats were nevertheless disheveled, and only half of the ceiling lights were working with the other half extinct.

    So, it really was like she was living in a replay of her first Ferry ride. Because, now as she sat in the window seat with the little sheet curtain pulled open, the docks and the beach houses over the trees were coming into view, and Charlotte was feeling every sense of déjà-vu all the way down to her feet. Pretty strongly, for that matter.

    Along with that heavy feeling, World War Three was taking place inside her chest. She was feeling all sorts of things spiraling around behind her ribcage and in the pit of her stomach— that being fear, regret, grief, joy, excitement, anger, and disgust (mostly for the Ferry ride). She didn't know what would happen when Ward Cameron saw her, what he would do, if he would call her parents, or if he wouldn't do anything at all because of the cops and being under looming fire. But Ward had sent Sarah to boarding school because she knew too much. And Charlotte was frightened of what could happen if he caught sight of her, because she, too, was supposed to be away for a long time— but now she wasn't. And she knew far too much information for her own good.

    But then there was the Pogues. For a long time, she'd laid in bed, hoping that one day she'd wake up on the island, take her bike, and head to the Chateau like how it used to be. She'd wondered a countless amount of times, when she'd be able to see the Pogues next, when she would be able to hug them as tightly as she could to be all dramatic like they'd just spent three years apart. And now it was finally happening. In a matter of hours, she would finally see them in person again, and not just over a phone screen. And then at least something would feel right again.

    But with the Pogues, comes the overbearing weight of John B's absence. Yeah, she would finally be able to hug her best friends again, and do everything they used to do— except, all minus one person. She already knew it would introduce a new excruciating amount of stinging, that when she'd lay eyes on the Chateau everything would just suddenly feel so cruel and so dreadfully woeful in the pit of her heart, and it would close up her throat and make her tongue feel dry. It was one thing to miss a person that once made your heart skip too many beats, but it was another thing to really be in the spots where he made it skip.