Lynnianna Keating.
That name to most means royalty. But to her it meant nothing. Lynni hated the way she was. Being a Kook was torture. Fancy parties, big houses. Not her forte. So, how does a Kook change the way her life is? She befriends a pogue...
【 tw: strong language, blood, mentions of past trauma, theft, fighting 】
! OUTER BANKS ! (season 1, episode 7) part three
JJ's KNUCKLES WHITENED AROUND THE steering wheel as the Twinkie bounced and swerved down the narrow, winding roads toward Barry's place. The afternoon sun slowly dipping down in the horizon as the van rattled with every dip in the pavement. His jaw was set, blue eyes fixed hard on the road, speeding like he had a personal vendetta against the asphalt himself.
In the backseat, Lynni leaned against the cool glass of the window, her thoughts drifting far from the blur of trees whipping past. The chaos of the afternoon still pulsed in her ears, the sting at her temple a reminder of how close things had gotten. She didn't even flinch when John B turned in his seat beside her, reaching with careful hands.
"Hold still," John B muttered, his voice low so as not to draw anyone's attention. He dabbed at the wound above her eyebrow with a rag, dampened by a water bottle left forgotten by one of the Pogues on the floorboard, cleaning away the dried streaks of blood that had painted her temple. The cloth was rough, but his touch wasn't. "You're lucky it's not worse."
Lynni blinked, finally pulling her gaze from the passing scenery to meet his. There was worry in his eyes, but something else too—questions he couldn't ignore.
"What did Barry mean back there?" John B asked quietly, glancing toward the front of the van to make sure the others weren't paying too close attention. His eyes returned to hers. "When he said he couldn't wait to tell Rafe... and what Rafe would do to you."
Her chest tightened. For a second, she thought about brushing it off, feeding him a lie to keep it buried. But John B's tone was too steady, too careful. He wasn't going to let it slide.
"I—" Lynni stuttered, her lips parting but no sound came out. Her eyes fell away from him, focusing on the rag in his hands instead. The memory slammed into her like cold water, unbidden and sharp.
She was back in her house, her hands closing around the small, zip-tied baggie of white powder she'd found tucked beneath Rafe's things. His coke. She remembered holding it up, disgust flashing across her face. Rafe's smirk had faltered, panic flashing instead when she refused to give it back.
Her feet had carried her down the wide staircase toward the foyer, intent on tossing it before he could touch it again. But before she could, a hand gripped her arm—iron tight, bruising. His voice had been sharp, desperate. And then, before she could even process, the crack of his palm met her face, sending her stumbling.
