「 ✦ THE HOT TUB✦ 」

────

"LET'S GO GET rich, guys!" JJ's voice rang out, filled with excitement as he bounced on his heels, waiting for John B to open the van door. MJ, as always, was more cynical about the whole thing, but she'd learned long ago not to fight it. They were doing something stupid, something dangerous. Again. And for some reason, she was stuck going along with it. JJ's enthusiasm was like a dog barking at the door to go outside—impossible to ignore.

John B swung the door open, and everyone surged forward. As usual, John B had to make it all sentimental, blocking the way. "I just wanna say, thank you, guys. Seriously. It means a lot to me that you're here tonight."

MJ rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, we're all super touched, JB. Can we just rob the place already?"

Kiara shrugged, unimpressed by the speech. "Always," she muttered, already over it.

MJ just smirked. "Let's just get it done."

John B chuckled as Pope performed their ridiculous handshake with him. MJ half-wondered how these boys could act like a couple of preteens when they were supposed to be plotting a heist. She glanced at JJ, who was adjusting a heavy coil of rope on his shoulder like it was no big deal.

"Alright, are we done with this circle jerk? Can we just do this?" JJ asked, exasperated, clearly done with the sentimentality.

Finally, they were on their way. "Let's go get that wheat in the water," Pope said, brushing dirt off his pants as he stepped out of the van, his voice carrying a sense of purpose.

"Wheat? You mean weed, Pope," JJ said, grinning like a fool.

"Wheat. W-H-E-A-T, JJ. Wheat," MJ corrected, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Get it together, genius."

MJ was the last to climb out of the van, of course. She was always the last. At this point, it felt like a damn routine. She muttered to herself as she jumped over the wall, "Perfect. Just once, I'd like to be first."

The group moved silently through Mrs. Crain's backyard, blending into the shadows. MJ stayed in the back, keeping watch, but her mind was racing with the possibilities of how this could all go wrong. She had learned the hard way to always expect the worst. It wasn't pessimistic—it was practical.

When they stopped a few feet from the house, MJ couldn't help but comment, "This place is straight-up haunted. We're not walking out of here unscathed."

Suddenly, a motion-sensor light flashed on. Without a word, they dove into the bushes, trying to stay hidden. JJ, of course, was the one who messed it up. As usual. He fumbled with his flashlight, cursing as he accidentally activated the strobe. "It's on strobe!"

"No shit, JJ!" MJ hissed, voice low but sharp. "Turn it off before we get caught!"

Pope, the only one with his head somewhat screwed on, quickly jumped in. "She's got motion sensors. We need a better plan."

JJ's response? "We could move really slowly, maybe?"

MJ stared at him, incredulous. "Did you seriously just suggest moving slowly?" she asked, throwing her hands up in frustration. "I swear, we should just send her a postcard that says 'Hey, we're robbing you!'"

John B, always the one trying to be the hero, had his plan. "Let's throw a rock at it."

MJ sighed dramatically, her patience wearing thin. "Oh, great, John B. That's the second dumbest idea I've heard all night."

JJ shot her a smug look. "I don't see you coming up with million-dollar ideas, Winslow."

"Why is it okay for you guys to act like idiots, but when I do it, I'm the villain?" MJ retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Before their argument could escalate, Pope intervened, trying to keep them on track. "Can we focus, please?"

MJ crossed her arms, a scowl on her face. "Fine. I'll be the bigger person. Just this once."

Kiara, never one to back down from a challenge, quipped, "Sure, let's move so slowly we wake up the axe murderer."

MJ snorted, amused by Kiara's attitude. "I'm in. Who needs stealth, anyway?"

Sarah, always the planner, piped up with a solution. "What about the breaker box on the porch? I remember it from when we were kids."

John B immediately dismissed the idea. "No. You're not going in the house alone."

Kiara, ever the rebellious one, wasn't having it. "She won't be alone. Bee and I can go."

Once again, Kiara volunteered MJ without any input from her. "Just once, I wish I didn't have to follow her into certain death," MJ muttered, but there was no backing out now.

The porch was eerily quiet as they crept up the stairs. MJ's stomach twisted, and she felt the familiar rush of dread flood her senses. "This is how we die, right?" she whispered, half joking, half serious.

Kiara lifted the cover on the power box, and immediately, MJ could feel that something was wrong. "Where are the breakers?" Kiara hissed, clearly concerned.

"Shit," MJ muttered, scanning the area. "It goes inside. Perfect."

Kiara didn't hesitate. She opened the door without a second thought, the creak of the wood sounding way too loud. MJ stayed on the porch for a split second, considering bolting. But when Kiara and Sarah stepped inside, she followed them. If she died tonight, she was at least going to make it clear she was pissed about it.

Inside, the house was cluttered with old furniture and random objects that looked like they hadn't been touched in decades. The smell was stale, the kind of dusty stench that made you want to cough just by breathing. MJ's eyes darted around the room, every shadow making her skin crawl. Suddenly, there was a loud yowl, and she jumped. "What the hell was that?"

Kiara, of course, shrugged. "Nothing."

MJ shot her an incredulous look. "Really? Because I'm pretty sure I almost had a heart attack."

They kept moving through the house in silence, the only sound being their nervous breathing. MJ felt the tension building in her chest with each step. She hated this feeling, the one that told her she might not make it out alive.

Finally, they found the breaker. Kiara flipped the switch, and immediately the house plunged into darkness. For a moment, everything was still. But then, a sound came from deeper in the house—a shuffling, a wheezing. It was getting closer.

MJ pressed herself against the wall, her heart pounding in her chest. They couldn't afford to make any noise now. The old woman was coming, and MJ wasn't sure if she was ready to face whatever nightmare awaited them inside.

Just another night in the Outer Banks. Just another stupid decision.

"Why aren't we leaving?" MJ squeaked in a whisper, her breath hitching as panic began to claw at her chest. Her fingers trembled, and the weight of the situation pressed down on her. Kiara silenced her with a quick motion, pointing to the source of the noise.

"It's... It's late, Leon," an old woman's voice croaked from the darkness. Her voice was rough, like someone who had spent a lifetime smoking too much, a rasping sound that made every word feel like it scraped her insides. MJ could practically hear the layers of mucus clogging up her throat as she spoke. "Too late," the woman wheezed, the sound punctuated by a violent coughing fit.

MJ froze, her heart hammering. She felt like a deer in headlights. The woman shuffled past them, the tapping of her cane echoing in the silence of the house. The sound was bone-chilling, an endless rhythm that MJ would never be able to forget, not even if she lived another hundred years. Unfortunately, though, she wasn't sure she had that much time.

"I can hear you, Leon," the woman hissed suddenly, and MJ's blood ran cold. She barely had time to react before Kiara whimpered, and the woman's head whipped around to face them.

"I've been waiting all night!" she yelled, her voice dripping with malice.

Without another word, they bolted, adrenaline flooding their veins as they ran in the opposite direction. MJ's breath caught in her throat as they rushed into the living room, realizing they had made a classic horror movie mistake—splitting up.

Sarah went one way. Kiara and MJ went the other.

As the reality of the situation hit, MJ knew with sick certainty that this was the last time she'd see Sarah.

Panic surged as they reached a dead end. The door to the outside was locked and boarded up, mocking them. MJ cursed under her breath as she struggled with the lock, the panic in her chest growing as the seconds ticked by. "It's not gonna open," she muttered, trying to keep her voice steady, though she wasn't fooling anyone, least of all herself.

"MJ, watch out!" Kiara's shout cut through the air, and MJ whipped around just in time to see the old woman lunging at her.

Her instincts kicked in, and MJ raised her arm to shield herself. The fire poker came at her like a deadly blade, and she felt the sharp hook of it tear into her flesh. MJ screamed, a blood-curdling sound as the pain exploded in her arm, the metal scraping and pulling at her skin. She staggered backward, her legs betraying her as she tripped over a piece of furniture, falling hard onto the floor.

Blood pooled in her hand, staining her shirt as her breath came in ragged gasps. Her arm felt like it was on fire.

"Shit!" she hissed, cradling her arm and trying to stop the blood from spilling further. She didn't have much time. The woman was already raising the poker again.

But before she could strike, Sarah appeared, grabbing the weapon and wrestling with the woman. The weapon was wrenched away, and Kiara yanked MJ to her feet, pulling her away from the chaos.

"Come on!" Kiara urged her voice tight with fear. They sprinted away, frantic, hearts pounding in their chests.

As they slammed a door behind them and locked it, MJ's tears were silent, rolling down her cheeks as she looked down at her arm. The gash was deep, and the blood was soaking her shirt. She felt dizzy, her vision swimming. She had no idea how much blood she'd lost, but she was pretty sure she needed stitches. Fast.

"We need to go," Kiara said, her voice shaky but determined.

"Shut up, just go!" MJ snapped, trying to push through the pain. She had to keep moving. She couldn't afford to collapse now.

They barreled down the stairs, their footsteps heavy and frantic. "Guys!" Kiara yelled, catching sight of Pope, who looked up from where he'd been near the well. His eyes were wide with concern, and he immediately rushed over.

"What's going on?" Pope asked, his voice low.

"Mrs. Crain! She tried to kill us with a fire poker! She mangled MJ's arm," Kiara gasped, catching her breath as she explained.

MJ clutched her arm tighter, wincing as more pain radiated up from the wound. Pope's eyes went wide as he took in the blood-soaked shirt.

"Shit," he muttered, the severity of the situation hitting him.

JJ, ever the optimist, stared at MJ's arm, his eyes mirroring Pope's fear. "We gotta get the fuck outta here," Kiara finished, her voice strained, her nerves shot.

"Locked her in the parlour. We gotta go now," Kiara said, voice urgent.

"Okay, code red!" JJ barked, rallying everyone into action. They scrambled for the rope, trying to pull John B up quickly. MJ hissed in pain as she helped, her body trembling with exhaustion and agony. Every movement sent a wave of pain through her arm, but she couldn't afford to stop.

Suddenly, they were thrown back as the rope slipped from their hands. John B yelled from the hole, but the noise was muffled. Pope was shouting at him to get back on the rope, and somehow, they managed to pull him up.

A deafening gunshot rang out, forcing everyone to dive for cover. MJ yelped, her body instinctively hitting the ground as a body shielded hers. She whimpered, trying to keep her head down. The next shot came, but it missed. They couldn't afford to wait.

"Go!" Kiara hissed, her eyes wide with fear.

"She can't see!" Sarah whispered as they scrambled to their feet, running away. But the woman wasn't going to let them off that easy.

"I don't care if she can't see! That's a buckshot!" JJ shouted, grabbing MJ's shirt and hauling her to her feet. He wasn't being gentle, but she didn't care. He was dragging her out of there, and for once, MJ didn't complain about the rough handling.

They ran, faster than MJ had ever run in her life. She didn't look back at the woman. She didn't dare. She didn't have to. The urgency in their steps told her that they were already running for their lives.

When they finally made it over the wall, MJ's lungs burned, but she didn't stop. They all jumped into the van, adrenaline still pumping through their veins. Shots rang out in the distance as John B sprinted toward them, finally making it inside the van just as they sped away.

"Why are we always getting shot at?" Pope asked, glancing back nervously.

"Why not?" MJ muttered, breathless.

Kiara looked over at MJ's arm, grimacing. "You need stitches," she said, inspecting the deep gash.

MJ glanced down at her wound, feeling the blood still seeping through her shirt. "Tell me about it," she said, though the humour didn't quite reach her voice. She was just glad to be alive.

As the van erupted into chaotic laughter and celebration, everyone was shouting, reliving the madness they'd just survived. MJ tried to focus on the sounds of victory, but all she could feel was the searing pain in her arm and the bitter taste of survival.

"We did it, baby!" John B screamed, holding something aloft.

"No, you didn't!" Sarah exclaimed in disbelief, a wide grin spreading across her face.

MJ forced a weak smile, even though she didn't feel much like celebrating. "Yeah, we're rich. We're gonna need a lot more than a few stitches to make it out of this one alive," she muttered under her breath.

And as the sun began to rise over the horizon, MJ thought, for the first time that night, that maybe she had made it. Just barely. But then again, she'd always managed to slip out of the worst situations. Would this one be any different? Only time will tell.

────

Hours had passed since they'd made their escape, and MJ was now in a sterile white hospital room, the bright fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The pain from her arm was unbearable, a constant throb that seemed to intensify with every second. She had been patched up, but the stitches were nothing compared to the intense burning sensation in her wound. Her body felt heavy, her muscles sore from running, but the pain in her arm was all-consuming.

MJ's mind was a blur, though she was vaguely aware of the soft sounds of machines beeping around her. The hospital room smelled like antiseptic, and the sterile cold made her shiver despite the warm blankets draped over her. She wished she could sleep, but the pain wouldn't allow her to drift into unconsciousness.

The door to her room creaked open, and MJ shifted her gaze, trying to ignore the nausea building in her stomach from both the injury and the overwhelming sense of dread.

A young woman in scrubs stepped into the room, a bright smile on her face, though MJ could tell the nurse was trying to hide her nerves. Her nametag read "Resident," and MJ couldn't help but notice the way her hands shook slightly as she checked the chart at the foot of MJ's bed.

"You're doing okay?" the nurse asked gently, her voice warm but slightly unsure. She was younger than MJ expected for someone in this environment, and she wore a nervous energy that almost made MJ feel bad for the girl.

MJ didn't answer right away. She gritted her teeth, trying to control the wave of pain. "I'm fine," she said curtly, her voice hoarse from the screaming earlier. She wasn't sure if she meant it.

The nurse looked at her for a moment, then glanced at the monitor, seeing MJ's elevated heart rate. Her eyes narrowed in concern, and she leaned in, speaking softly. "You don't look fine. I'm going to bring you something for the pain, okay? Just hang on."

Before MJ could protest, the nurse was gone, leaving her alone again. Her pulse thudded in her ears as she swallowed hard, her hands trembling. She had always hated hospitals, hated being vulnerable and stuck in a bed with no control over what came next.

The nurse returned after a few minutes, this time carrying a small syringe of painkillers. She gave MJ another nervous smile. "This should help. It'll knock the pain down a lot."

MJ wanted to refuse, wanted to insist that she was fine, but the pressure in her arm, the pain that seemed to grow with every beat of her heart, made it impossible to say no. She wasn't about to let this tiny woman see her crack, but the truth was, she'd been hanging on by a thread for hours.

"Thanks," MJ muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

The nurse administered the shot with practiced ease, then set the syringe on the counter and began to make some notes on the chart. MJ felt the cool liquid spread through her system almost immediately, the pain in her arm dulling to a distant throb. She let out a shaky breath, relieved, but only for a moment.

The nurse continued to type, unaware of the way MJ's eyes narrowed in suspicion. MJ felt the subtle shift in her body, the lightness, the sense of numbness creeping in—something familiar. A twinge of recognition hit her as she realized what had been injected into her system.

She wasn't a stranger to painkillers, though she wasn't proud of it. She'd spent a long time battling the weight of those very same substances, and now they were slipping back into her bloodstream without her permission.

The nurse seemed oblivious to the way MJ's body tensed up. She smiled again, this time a little more confidently, as she finished up. "This should help you rest. I'll be back to check on you in a little while."

MJ felt the pressure in her arm lessen slightly with the medication, but it wasn't enough. The dull ache in her limb was nothing compared to the gnawing craving that had started to creep up in her chest. It had been too long since she'd felt something take the edge off, and now, with the dull haze settling over her, it was hard to ignore the temptation. Her fingers twitched, her palms itching, and she could already feel the familiar sensation of wanting more.

The nurse, a little too chipper for someone who probably hadn't been in this job for long, was still standing by the door. MJ's gaze flicked over her, calculating, as she tried to push down the mounting need to feel numb. She couldn't tell if it was the pain making her brain cloud over or if it was just her weakness, but the itch in her skin was growing, an unmistakable pull she knew too well.

"Hey," MJ called out, her voice sharp, a little more demanding than she'd intended. She forced a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I... I think I need something stronger. This isn't cutting it."

The nurse looked taken aback, pausing in her tracks. She glanced at the IV bag hanging by the side of the bed, then back to MJ's arm, which was still wrapped in bandages but no longer bleeding. She bit her lip as if weighing MJ's request.

"I... I'm not sure if you should have anything more right now," the nurse said, her voice soft, almost apologetic. "You've already had a dose of painkillers, and you're still pretty... sedated. The doctor might need to adjust your medication, but I can't just—"

"Look, I'm in a lot of pain here," MJ interrupted, her words coming out more harshly than she intended. Her heart was pounding in her chest now, the craving for something stronger building, becoming all-consuming. "I need something that works. This? This barely does anything." She motioned toward her arm, where the pain was still like a constant throb under her skin.

The nurse hesitated, glancing down at the chart again. MJ could see her thinking it over, clearly out of her depth, but MJ didn't care. She needed it. Needed something to numb the sharp edges of her mind.

"I—" the nurse started, but MJ interrupted again, her voice almost pleading now, too desperate to hold back.

"Please," MJ said, her tone a little too desperate, her hands trembling at her sides. "I can't take it. I need something more. I—I don't care what it is. Just... please."

The nurse's eyes flickered, concern etched on her face, but she still didn't move to leave. MJ could feel the room closing in on her, the walls becoming suffocating. The buzz of the fluorescent lights, the sterile smell of the hospital, it all felt like it was closing in too fast. The itch in her skin wasn't just physical—it was mental, a deep craving that had nothing to do with her arm and everything to do with the state of her soul.

Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she tried to hold it together. She wasn't sure how much longer she could.

The nurse took a step closer, her voice uncertain, "I'll—let me check with the doctor, okay? It's just, I'm not supposed to give anything stronger without authorization."

MJ forced a laugh, a bitter sound. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Just hurry up, alright?"

As the nurse left the room, MJ's eyes wandered to the sterile corners of the hospital, and the itch grew worse. She couldn't stop the wave of discomfort in her gut as she anticipated what was coming. She could feel her pulse quicken, the restless energy flooding her body.

It was too much. The numbness wasn't enough. She needed more.

MJ didn't want to admit it, but she felt it—an old friend whispering in the back of her mind. The high. The escape. The need to disappear for just a while. The pain was too much, the emotions too loud, and the fear was crawling up her throat. She couldn't do this alone, not without something to take the edge off.

A sudden burst of cold air from the vent chilled her skin, but the heat inside her chest was only growing. She was trapped in her own body, and it was craving the release she'd once known all too well.

She had to get control. But right now, it felt impossible.

The nurse was back in a matter of minutes, her face pale, the weight of a decision hanging over her. She was holding a fresh syringe, but MJ barely registered the sight of it. All she could focus on was the promise of relief it held, and the wave of dizziness that had already begun to pull her under.

A few minutes passed in silence before the door swung open again, and MJ's gaze flicked up. She wasn't sure what she expected, but the man who entered the room wasn't it.

The doctor was tall, with unkempt brown hair and a stubble that looked more like a day's worth of laziness than intentional scruff. He barely glanced at her as he walked in, his eyes flickering over the clipboard in his hand as he set it down on the counter. He didn't even bother to read her file or ask her how she was doing. Instead, he just rolled up his sleeves, glancing down at her arm like it was nothing more than another routine injury.

"You're gonna need stitches," he muttered, his voice gruff and unenthusiastic. "Let's get this over with."

MJ didn't have the energy to argue or ask questions. She could feel the remnants of the painkillers starting to fade from her system, and her mind was starting to itch again, that feeling clawing at her from the inside. But she did her best to keep it together, not wanting to show any more weakness than she already had.

The doctor didn't wait for her to respond, his hands already moving with the precision of someone who'd done this a thousand times. The cold sting of the needle as it threaded through her skin sent a jolt through her, but it was the pressure of his hands on her arm that had her gritting her teeth. He wasn't gentle, and didn't try to ease her discomfort. He just worked quickly and methodically, like he was doing a task instead of treating a person.

MJ's breath came in shallow bursts, trying to hold it together, but it was getting harder. She felt every tug of the needle, every stitch as it pulled the wound closed, but she barely acknowledged it. Her focus was on the ache in her body—no longer from the injury, but from the lack of something stronger.

Her eyes flicked toward the door, hoping that the nurse would return soon with something more potent. Something to make the numbness, the craving, go away.

When the doctor finished stitching her up, he didn't even bother to clean his hands before grabbing his things. He seemed in a hurry like he couldn't wait to get out of the room. "You'll be fine," he said, barely looking at her, already backing toward the door. "The nurse will bring you something for the pain. Probably some stronger stuff."

And then, without so much as a parting glance, he was gone.

MJ let out a long, steadying breath, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that was settling in her chest. She wanted to scream. To punch something. Anything to distract her from the gnawing emptiness that was threatening to swallow her whole.

A few minutes later, the nurse returned, still holding that fresh syringe, but MJ barely cared. The doctor had already given her the hope she needed. Something stronger was coming.

"Doctor's gone," the nurse said quietly, her voice still unsure, though she was trying to sound more confident. "He said I should bring you something for the pain. It'll be in pill form, so—"

MJ cut her off before she could finish. "Good. I'll take it. Whatever you've got."

The nurse gave her a hesitant look but didn't argue. She stepped out again to fetch the prescription, leaving MJ alone with her thoughts.

MJ leaned back against the bed, closing her eyes for a moment, but it wasn't rest she was after. It was the relief, the high, the space where she could forget about the world and everything in it.

She wasn't sure if she could wait much longer. The feeling was too overwhelming, like a storm brewing just beneath her skin. But she had to, just a little longer. The pills would come. They always did.

────

MJ stumbled through the streets of Figure Eight, the ache in her legs a faint echo compared to the intense gnawing feeling in her chest. It had been a long day of walking, her feet dragging as each step felt heavier than the last. She had tried to drown out her thoughts with a few quiet tears, but by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, her eyes were dry, and the emotional weight had turned into a dull throb.

She finally reached the end of her driveway and then stopped. The lights in the house were blazing, every window lit up as if someone were waiting for her. She didn't have to guess who. 

She couldn't do it. She couldn't face it, the chaos, the tension, the unspoken things hanging in the air. The house felt suffocating. The thought of walking through that door, and seeing her dads' sharp eyes waiting for an explanation, made her stomach twist.

Turning sharply, she walked away, her eyes scanning for any other familiar refuge. John B's place. That was where she could go. She didn't want anyone around, but if she could just slip inside unnoticed, she'd at least have a moment of peace. The kind that only came from being around people who understood what it meant to not have it all figured out.

As her shoes scuffed against the pavement, she absentmindedly picked at the bandage on her arm, the one that was barely holding together a jagged, ugly wound. She didn't need to look at it to know it was a mess—just like her. The cut was a reminder of how easily everything could unravel, just like the way her life had been slowly unravelling. Her arm felt cold against the cloth, and she shivered as she covered it back up, trying to keep it clean. The last thing she needed was an infection, but it was more than physical germs she worried about. Her life was infected with the same toxic thoughts that made her skin crawl.

She wondered if her dad knew about the damage she'd caused when she trashed the entryway. If she knew, would she be angry? Or was it the kind of thing that was better left ignored? MJ didn't want to face the consequences—she never did. Cleaning up the mess she'd made seemed impossible. Not because of the broken glass or the art scattered across the floor, but because it meant admitting she wasn't okay. And if she started cleaning, that would mean she was pretending to be. But she wasn't. She couldn't fool herself anymore.

By the time she reached John B's house, the exhaustion hit her like a truck. The long night had left her drained, both physically and emotionally. Her eyelids felt like lead, and she could barely summon the energy to move. Still, she kept walking, the rhythm of her steps soothing, even if her mind was a hurricane. She wasn't okay, and it was hard to believe that sleep would fix anything.

As she reached the back of the house, a flash of light flickered on, and she froze. Was it Barry? Did he beat her here? She darted behind the corner, instinctively crouching, ready to spring if necessary.

But it wasn't Barry.

"JJ?" MJ's voice was hoarse as she rounded the corner, blinking at the sight before her.

There he was. Her twin, her other half, was the one person who seemed to understand her even when she didn't understand herself. He was lounging in a hot tub, looking like he belonged there, as though everything was perfect. His messy hair fell into his eyes, but his smirk was the same one he always wore when he knew something she didn't. He tipped his sunglasses down, his ocean eyes locking with hers, and for a moment, MJ forgot everything. She forgot the mess at home, the tension, the emptiness gnawing at her insides.

But then, she saw the champagne bottle in his hand, the glasses floating around on flamingos, and her stomach churned. What was this? What the hell was going on? The sight felt like a punch to the gut. She had no idea what she was looking at or how to process it.

"What—what is this? When did you—?" Her words stumbled out, each syllable faltering as she tried to piece together the situation. Her body tensed, and her mind raced, struggling to make sense of what was happening.

She didn't want to be here. Didn't want to feel this, but her body didn't listen. The cold, sharp craving inside of her was getting stronger, and it was harder to ignore.

She had relapsed.

Everything inside her felt like it was slowly slipping away, like a bad dream. The thoughts came and went in flashes—she needed something, anything, to numb it all. But she couldn't show it. Not now. Not in front of JJ.

Her eyes moved away from him, her hand rubbing absently at her arm again. She felt the itch, the restlessness, the overwhelming need to escape from herself. The stitches on her forearm, the ones that barely held her together, seemed to pulse in time with her heart. She wasn't just physically torn; she was torn on the inside too. And right now, nothing seemed real enough to make her feel like she wasn't losing it.

"JJ... why?" she whispered more to herself than him, as the hollow ache inside her grew.

"JJ, tell me this wasn't your restitution money," MJ croaked, her voice breaking as she stepped forward, her legs unsteady beneath her. She could feel her hands trembling, her body aching in more ways than one. She wasn't sure if it was the drugs or the disappointment that made her feel like she was about to collapse.

JJ didn't seem to notice her frustration as he slurred, "Yep! All of it. Express delivery's expensive." His grin was too wide, too carefree. It was as if the world was spinning around him, and nothing could touch him.

"Enough of this emotional shit. Get in the Cat's Ass. Come on," JJ said, a twisted smile tugging at his lips as he gestured toward the hot tub, clearly oblivious to the mess they were both in.

MJ took a deep breath, trying to collect herself. "You shouldn't have done this, JJ," she said, her voice shaky, but the words felt foreign on her tongue. She wanted to scream, to yell at him, but the haze of her high, coupled with the chaos around her, made it impossible to gather any real emotion other than confusion.

JJ wasn't listening. He was too wrapped up in his delusions. "Look what I did for you!" he said, his voice rising, a broken gleam in his eyes. "Is this enough? Look at this!" His hands waved wildly around the backyard, his body slightly swaying in the hot tub.

MJ's gaze shifted to the small details—the champagne glasses, the floating flamingos, the neon lights casting everything in a garish glow. It was absurd. None of this made sense.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream at him for being so reckless, for throwing away everything they'd worked so hard for. But then he broke.

"I just couldn't do it," he whimpered, his voice cracking as tears started to spill from his eyes. The sight of him unravelling broke something inside MJ. Despite everything—the drugs, the anger, the frustration—she couldn't bear to see him like this. He was her twin, and no matter how much he pissed her off, no matter how badly he'd messed up, she couldn't just walk away.

MJ moved forward, her legs shaky but her resolve growing stronger with each step. She climbed into the hot tub with him, wrapping her arms around his trembling body. She held him close, feeling the weight of his sobs as they shook through him. The scent of him, the feel of him in her arms, brought a strange comfort—one that felt so familiar, so needed.

"I can't take him anymore!" JJ screamed, his voice ragged, his hands fisting into MJ's clothes as he buried his face in her neck. "I was gonna kill him," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water running.

She felt the warmth of his tears on her skin, felt his body shudder as he clung to her, desperate for something she couldn't quite give. But she held him tighter, grounding him as best she could. The world outside might have been falling apart, but for this moment, she needed to be here for him.

"I know," she whispered, stroking his hair in the way their mother used to do when they were little. "You didn't do anything wrong." She repeated the words, knowing they wouldn't fix everything, but it was all she had left to offer him.

JJ's breathing started to slow, but the tension in the air was thick, and MJ could feel the weight of everything pressing down on her chest. He stayed wrapped in her arms, his hands gripping her waist tightly as if afraid to let go, but his eyes were glassy, unfocused—distant, almost like he was still processing everything she'd just said. The chaos in his mind was gradually quieting, but there was still a war in his expression.

For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the hot tub's jets, and the occasional drip of water as it settled. JJ's body was still trembling with the aftershocks of his breakdown, but now there was something else—an unease in the air, an unspoken tension that MJ couldn't shake.

She pulled back slightly, keeping her hands on his shoulders, trying to steady him. She looked down at him, her eyes soft, but she felt a tightening in her stomach as she saw the way he was looking at her. His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed, and there was something in his gaze that sent a cold chill down her spine.

"MJ..." His voice was quiet, but his words cut through the air like a sharp knife. She could hear the disbelief in his tone, the slow dawning realization that something was wrong.

She shifted uncomfortably, unable to look him in the eye. The moment he'd pulled back to study her, she knew what was coming. She tried to hide it, tried to cover it with a laugh or a smile, but it was no use. JJ wasn't stupid—he'd seen the signs. And now, in the dim light of the backyard, with all the mess around them, he saw it for what it was.

He reached out slowly, his hand hovering near her face, as if uncertain whether to touch her. "You're high again, aren't you?" he asked softly, his voice cracking at the end. His eyes weren't filled with anger or judgment—just pain. The kind of pain that only came when someone you loved was destroying themselves in front of you.

MJ froze, her heart pounding in her chest. The room felt too small, the air too thick. She could feel her high fading as the clarity of his words hit her, and the guilt settled in like a heavy weight on her chest. She didn't answer, couldn't answer, because there was no way to justify it. Not anymore. Not after everything.

She felt the tears start to well up in her eyes, the sting of shame cutting through her like a knife. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words didn't come. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to explain why she'd relapsed, why she'd turned to the thing that had always been there to numb the pain.

"I don't know why I did it," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she stared down at her hands, feeling the tremble in her fingers. "I just—I just couldn't deal with everything. Not after... not after everything that happened. I don't know how to make it stop."

JJ's face crumpled, his eyes brimming with unshed tears as he looked at her, the emotion in his gaze raw and vulnerable. "MJ," he breathed, his voice breaking. "I can't... I can't lose you, too." His words were soft, but they hit her like a punch in the gut.

The weight of his confession hit her like a wave, crashing over her, pulling her under. She wanted to pull him closer, to tell him that she wasn't going anywhere, but she couldn't find the strength. All she could do was sit there, frozen in the mess of it all, her heart breaking as she watched her twin brother's face crumble in front of her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the words falling from her lips like a prayer. "I didn't mean to... to hurt you." The sob that followed caught in her throat, a strangled sound as she finally allowed herself to break down in front of him. Her body trembled as the tears started to fall, the guilt and shame rushing in with the force of a flood.

JJ didn't say anything at first. He just stared at her, his expression unreadable. And then, without warning, he reached for her again, pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her tightly as if he were afraid that if he let go, she might slip away.

"I'm not going to let you drown in this," he murmured into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I won't let you go through this alone."

MJ clung to him, her hands clutching the back of his shirt as she sobbed quietly, her body shaking in his arms. The tears flowed freely now, washing away the anger, the confusion, the guilt that had been building up for days. She didn't know if she was ready to stop, didn't know if she could fix everything that was broken, but in that moment, with JJ holding her close, she felt something she hadn't felt in a long time—hope. A small, fragile thread that tied her to the possibility of healing.

"I can't do this," she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. "I can't keep living like this. I don't know how to stop."

"You don't have to do it alone," JJ said softly, his voice full of conviction. "I'm here. We'll figure it out. Together."

The warm water of the hot tub swirled around them, but the coldness of the world outside seemed so far away in that moment. MJ and JJ sat in silence, wrapped in each other's arms, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on them, yet their connection was the only thing that felt real.

JJ's arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, his breath shallow against her hair. "We've been through hell, haven't we?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

MJ nodded, her face buried against his chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. "But we've always had each other. No matter what."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look her in the eyes, and for the first time in a long while, his gaze wasn't clouded with anger or confusion. It was clear—steady. "I promise, MJ. I'll never let anyone hurt you again. Not ever."

Her heart squeezed in her chest, the sincerity in his words cutting through the fog of her thoughts. She took a deep breath, the weight of the promise settling between them. She wanted to believe him. She had to.

"I promise, too," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I'll never let anyone hurt you again. Not as long as I'm breathing."

And as they sat there, holding each other in the dim glow of the hot tub, the world outside faded away. In that moment, all that mattered was that they had each other—no matter what. The promises were silent but unspoken, a vow sealed in their hearts that no matter what happened, they would never let go. They would never let anyone tear them apart.