The Cabin

✨ Chapter Three

> Owen: Good morning.

> Julian: That's one of three texts for the day, Owen. 

> Owen: No, that's just a good morning text. How the hell does that count? Who counts a good morning text? A good morning text is basically a default text to start the conversation off. It's also just wishing someone well. I haven't had a chance to tell you anything yet. IT DOES NOT COUNT JULIAN. 

> Julian: That's two. 

>Owen: JULIAN! 

> Julian: That's three.

> Julian: Send any more and I'll block you, I'm not joking.

I turn my phone off, toss it onto the couch, and groggily drag myself to the kitchen to make coffee.

Fuck, does Owen not even realize I don't get up at seven in the morning? His text woke me up, pissed me off, and left me all hazy-brained. I didn't even fall asleep until three. I got to the cabin, grilled my steak, ate it, and then couldn't stop crying.

This trip isn't going the way I expected.

I came here to escape, not to drown in everything I've lost—Ethan, Morgan, Liam. I miss all of them, not just Ethan. And yeah, I feel lonely, but that was the plan. To be alone. They're pissed at me, and they have a right to be. That's why I'm here.

Morgan would always be in the lake by now, swimming laps just as the sun came up. Liam used to fall asleep outside in the grass, lazily strumming his guitar against that same tree by the water. Ethan liked to cuddle first thing in the morning and take evening walks with me around the lake to watch the birds.

They're all over this place.

Why didn't I think about that before coming here?

I don't know. We always had the house, but we always had the cabin too.

Now, it's only mine, and it feels like a goddamn prison. A prison I built for myself.

I take my coffee outside to the lake, the one that reminds me of them. The ground is damp and cool under my bare feet as I walk to the water's edge. My reflection stares back at me, hollow-eyed, sipping coffee. This is probably when Morgan would have gotten up to swim.

I dip my toes into the water. Holy fuck. It's freezing.

No way in hell I'm getting in.

I glance over at the tree where Liam used to sit, guitar in hand, humming to himself between chords. The base of it is buried under weeds, tall grasses choking the footprint of land the cabin sits on. It's completely overgrown—no one could sit against it now.

And as I look around, I finally see it.

The cabin is a complete shithole.

Had my parents stopped paying for yard maintenance? They must have. I didn't notice before, but they must have stopped about a year ago. Not only is the vegetation out of control, but the garage has a hole in the side wall—some animal must have clawed its way in. Raccoons, probably. I'll have to check that out later.

Actually, I'll have to do a lot of things around here.

Maybe my parents don't give a damn about this place, just like they don't actually give a damn about me.

Wait, am I being petty?

Maybe.

But they let this place go to shit, and that's not okay with me. This cabin means something. It's mine. I take care of my things.