my always addiction ☞︎𝕛𝕛 𝕞𝕒𝕪𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕜☜︎

𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗲

zia

We waited before we made any decisions. We waited weeks. Waiting for them to be found, dead or alive. Safe or destroyed.

We wouldn't believe anything the cops said until we saw a body.

When John B said that thing about denial, that it was underrated, and we should try it, I never thought it'd be this affective.

We denied the statements that the Cameron's made. We denied every single possibility the cops told us. We denied the possible fact that we would never see our family again.

The first week, JJ and I didn't go back to our house. Neither of us could. We could barely even be around each other without bursting into sudden flames, much less anyone else.

So we went to the Château. It felt wrong, almost. Being in John B's house, sleeping in his bed, or on his couch. It's not like he was there, but in a way, he was.

Maybe that's why it was so comforting to us, but also so unbearable.

The night everything went down, Macy finally showed up, but that was after JJ and I decided we didn't want to go anywhere without each other.

I didn't want to go home to Macy, and have to explain everything. She would probably give me time to cope, and not insist on knowing everything right away, because she was like that. She was kind, patient, open-hearted, loving. And she totally understood that I didn't want to be home. She just insisted on me calling her every morning and night, telling her I was okay.

Also, going home would've meant being surrounded by Teeny's things. Which I physically couldn't have done.

JJ didn't want to go home, for reasons that don't need explaining.

The Château was warm, messy, comforting, so many things, but one was for certain, it felt like home.

So there we went.

Pope and Kie stopped by a few times, but it didn't make it better. Their sadness combined with our rage didn't fit right.

But on certain nights, JJ and I would've  appreciated it.

On the nights when what once was little, joking insults, turned into big, screaming arguments. The kind where we couldn't sleep in the same bed, let alone the same room that night. The kind where plates got smashed, and walls were punched.

We rarely felt bad for the damage we caused to the house. It wasn't like John B was coming back to see it.

The days were okay. It was usually either very quiet, or very loud.

There were the good days, though. The ones where we'd laugh, and smile, and kiss, and fuck, then repeat it all over again.

•••

jj

The second week, I had to go home. Not "had" because my dad made me, but because he wasn't there, and I had to hide my weed from the police.

Yeah, my dad was arrested. For helping out drug dealers, or whatever fancy ass term you want to use for it.

Z stayed at the Château. I didn't want her going home with me, which eventually begun another argument.