4 𝙖𝙢

ᴇɴᴛʀʏ 004

(10:16 𝖯𝖬, 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖢𝖠𝖡𝖨𝖭)

That 10-minute nap was a nightmare. It felt like you were trapped in an endless loop of Hannah and Beth's disappearance, their voices screaming at you, asking why you hadn't helped them. You already felt terrible about being dragged into the so-called "harmless" prank, but hiding under the bed instead of following them out only made everything worse.

The guilt had been gnawing at you, leaving you feeling raw and like a terrible person. You could have saved them, you tell yourself. You could have saved your so-called "best friends." But you didn't.

The past year has been a haze of mental turmoil, endlessly questioning whether you're a bad person for not stepping in to stop the prank. God, if only you could go back to that night—find the courage to break free from Jess and Emily when they practically forced you under the bed.

Then maybe they'd be here on the couch with you. Beth would be curled up on the other end of the soft leather, probably dozing off just like you were. And Hannah—she'd likely be the only one still awake, gently playing with your hair as she always did, tracing delicate shapes and intricate patterns on the soft of your shoulder. 

However, your thoughts were abruptly cut short as a gentle shake pulled you from the endless loop of nightmares.

"Hey, hey, it's fine," a voice murmured, but in your delirious state, you were too disoriented to grasp what was happening. Your face was damp, and you realized you were resting your head in someone's lap, their hand gently stroking your cheek in a soothing rhythm, you felt heavy, as if you'd been hit by a ton of bricks.

"I'm right here, it's fine, little bee." Ah, that's who it was—you'd recognize that voice anywhere. It was Josh's hand tracing softly along your face, Josh's lap you were lying on. It was his sisters you were crying over, and your own tears that left your face so wet.

"Josh?" you croaked weakly, your voice still thick with sleep. He let out a small laugh in response, though you could hear the gentleness woven into it.

"You were crying in your sleep, bumblebee. I had to make sure you were okay. You are okay, right?" he asked, concern etched in his voice.

"Um," you hesitated, not wanting to bring up his sisters, even though he had just mentioned them an hour ago. Josh was grappling with his own feelings; you didn't want to add to his burdens. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bad dream, I guess," you replied with a sigh.

"You sure?" he asked gently, wiping the tears from your eyes. "I can listen if you want; I can make time for you, you know that." His insistence was clear, but you held firm to your answer. You really didn't want to ruin his night.

Sitting up from his lap, much to his dismay, you thanked him for the offer, genuinely grateful, but once again declined. You did it for his sake.

What you hadn't realized was that Josh already knew what you were upset about; he could read you like a book. Your whimpers and whines had drawn him to the couch in a worried state, much like a mother animal responding to her baby's cries.

He missed his sisters, that was clear. He had spent countless days searching for them, screaming their names until his throat bled. It had always been the four of you—Hannah, Beth, him, and you—and now he had lost two of them. He'd be damned if he lost the last one he had, even if it wasn't by blood.

He could still remember the years when it was just the four of you in the cabin, gossiping about the drama at school and painting each other's nails. Josh wasn't exempt from the fun; he'd end up with his nails painted a pretty shade of pink, much to his chagrin but also with a hint of a smile.