Two female soccer teams. One deserted island. Twins, Lennon and June have no choice but to adjust to the elements of the wild when their plane crashes on the way to Nationals, leaving them stranded with their rival team. Friendships are tested, rela...
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JUNE.
Nothing felt right. It felt wrong to move, to think for myself or even breathe. We had lost two of us the night before and it felt like a crime to do normal tasks like stock up on firewood or count food rations. It felt like we were cheating them—because they would never do such a simple task again, and something about that felt so wrong. So fucking wrong.
My entire body was on edge knowing that Lennon was out there again—out of my reach. I had told her I wouldn't come running to save her again, but I knew it was a lie the moment the words left my lips. I would always come running for her, if she needed me, I'd be there. And it made me feel sick to my stomach that I wasn't.
I was sat behind my plane, my back leaning against it as I stared into nothingness. The joint between my fingertips had gone out multiple times, making me have to relight it every couple of minutes. It wasn't making me feel better like it usually did, and that felt awful too. I wondered if anything was ever going to feel okay again.
"Got room for one more?" A voice asked me from above—it was Ethan.
I gestured to my side with the joint, "Knock yourself out." I said, not bothering to look at him as I pulled my lighter out of my pocket, relighting the joint. I didn't care that Ethan had caught me in my secret pot spot—I had a gut feeling that he wouldn't be saying anything to anyone about it.
Ethan sat down beside me, resting his elbows against his knees, "You worried about her?" He asked me. I could feel his gaze on me, boring a hole into the side of my face. He had been the one to hold me when I completely lost it over Lennon's disappearance after the storm—he knew how obsessive I became regarding my sisters safety.
"Hard not to," I said before taking a long inhale once the joint was lit. I blew the smoke out with a sigh. "After last night, I keeps waiting for it to get worse, for those fuckers to come back and finish us off one by one. I can't stop thinking about it." I admitted to him, pulling my legs closer to my chest, wrapping one arm around them.
"Can I?" Ethan asked, gesturing to the joint between my fingers. I thought about it, and then passed it to him. He was less likely to snitch to Lennon about me smoking if he was in on it.
Ethan took a draw and then went into a coughing fit, smoke puffing out of his mouth. I scoffed a little, but didn't take the joint back. Ethan cleared his throat and then took another draw, this time, managing to inhale without coughing up a lung. It was obvious he wasn't much of a drug person—and it made sense. He was an athlete and his mom used to have us all tested every couple of weeks to make sure we weren't on anything. I used to hate when the time would come around because I'd have to go days without using anything. But out here, I didn't have a choice, I had to savour what I had; which was three more joints and two tabs of Molly.
