❛ how long can you wait to breathe deep? how long can you stay underneath? ❜
━━ in which despite their best intentions, they find themselves being pushed off the edge of the cliff again.
（ jj maybank x female oc ）
status...
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TW: Death, violence.
When JJ Maybank was in eighth grade, he had enrolled in a Psychology 101 class as an elective for the school year. He sat in the back row of the classroom, nearest to the window where he would watch the clouds pass by as the teacher's voice droned on and on in a nasally tone that made his eyes want to flutter shut. It wasn't his first choice for an elective but when Rylee Edwards selected it for her own class schedule, he'd hastily filled it in as well. It wasn't the worst subject he'd ever taken, but it was boring and the teacher did nothing to capture his interest. He did, however, make sure to tune in when they talked about Freud, especially the Psychosexual unit. That dude was fucking weird.
That was the year that Rylee had discovered temporary hair dye, and came to class with different color hair every few days. Every shade of blue, pink, purple, even red that JJ could imagine adorned Rylee's head at least once. Kiara Carrera would help her, the two of them locked up in the bathroom of Rylee's family's surf shack, giggling and making the boys, who just wanted to go surf, wait for them for at least an hour until the shade was exactly the right shade. When Teddy Edwards got home from work, he would always tousle his daughter's brightly colored locks and tell her, "You look like an easter egg."
In Psychology 101, their teacher had discussed the five stages of grief, and at the time, JJ had deemed it all bullshit.
Watching as Pope Heyward repeatedly slammed the sharp axe blade against the trunk of the live oak tree in front of them, JJ reconsidered his stance on the stages. His grip around the metal flask clasped between his fingers tightened just a little, watching the chunks of wood fly in every direction.
Sure, denial had come first. When Shoupe entered the tent that night, his eyes downcast and his expression grave, JJ's stomach had plummeted all the way to his shoes. He had barely heard the words that left the interim sheriff's lips, the ringing in his ears far too loud to process anything else.
"We, uh ... We lost them. I'm sorry."
Surely, Shoupe wasn't saying what he thought he was saying. Lost them could mean anything, lost visuals of them, they had gotten away, anything. Surely it didn't mean that they were gone, that his best friend's body was being tossed around in the waves, lifeless and gone forever.
