𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑! [𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐊]

chapter fifteen.

CRUEL SUMMER!
chapter fifteen.

( could you hold me without any talking? )

                       In retrospect, after all we learned yesterday, this is a predictably foreseeable outcome. What other motive could there be?

Ward has taken the gold. Our gold, because by all accounts, it is ours. We're the ones that found it, the ones that tracked down the ongoing mystery that's been taunting this island for hundreds of years now. And after everything that we worked for, all the clues and dead ends and close calls— all our efforts, our findings - it's all been yanked out from under us. Just like that.

It's disappointing, of course. The fact that it's Ward only makes it all the more upsetting. For so long, I've had a one track mind. All that I wanted was that gold, because all that mattered was leaving, getting out, flying away from the labyrinth.

So, taking that all into account, I would have expected this feel a little differently. Perhaps to hurt a little more. Because I know what I should be feeling; abundant rage, unfiltered despair, an unwavering itch to fabricate yet another plan to steal back what's ours— but I can't. All of that simply doesn't machinate. Not when all my mind can seem to focus on at the moment is the thought of Sarah stuck in that house with Ward, cut off from me, from John B, and from anyone else who could possibly be honest with her like she deserves.

Sarah isn't stupid. Despite Ward's best efforts in spouting lies and manipulations, she'll soon figure out that he isn't being honest with her. When that happens, she could be in danger, and that possibility alone is precisely why the gold now feels like a distant, pale comparison.

"You sure he got everything?" Kiara asks, sighing sympathetically. She sits on the top of the bench backrest, staring worriedly at John B.

I sit on the bench beside Kiara's shoes, JJ perched on the ledge next to me, with his back against one of the wooden pillars. He's staring down into the water, smoking another joint, and though I can't see his expression, the way that his knee bounces anxiously doesn't slip my attention.

In turn, John B lays on the floor of the roofed dock at the end of the pier, where we all find ourselves wallowing in this bleak announcement of bad news. He appears much less distraught than he was yesterday, no longer sizzling with fury and emotion. If anything, now his appearance is nothing short of defeated, his body wilting sadly with each breath that he takes, and who can blame him? After all, he alone went back down into Mrs. Crain's basement and into the well with a fractured arm, only to find it completely empty.

"Every bar," John B declares, voice void of anything but exhaustion. "The whole enchilada."

Then, he's grabbing onto the beaten cast on his arm, grunting as he pulls it off at once. He tosses it aside before sagging back on the floor. Kiara half-heartedly scolds him about it, which he dismisses easily enough.

It prompts JJ to turn, quietly watching the exchange for a moment before shifting around to face inwards. Our eyes meet, his gaze flickering towards mine with a sort of nervous hesitance that hasn't been there in quite a while now. It's confusing, slightly, and it has me tilting my head in silent questioning.

In response, he hops down from the ledge, instead opting to sit down next to me on the bench. Without thinking, I scoot closer to the middle, letting him take his spot beside me. He closes the gap, his arm going around my shoulders with a practiced ease. Amidst this rather tragic moment, it's nice to obtain this sort of silent consolation. I lean against his embrace, my back settling against the warmth of his side.