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horseshoegirl · 25 days

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Set Me Alight: Part 7 - Paint It, Black

📜Life is messy. And complicated. And writer blocky, with a dash of imposter syndrome... I just want to put that out there... Anyway...

Well, the poll won out. You all want to know what Jake said to Midge. This is solely a flashback chapter. I can't say I'm surprised at who you all disliked in the last chapter, though I hope this one will give you some insight into why Midge has held on to this for as long as she has.

Special thank you to @teacupsandtopgun for helping me to write a certain part of this! You can thank her for the puns! And @sarahsmi13s for taking a peak at it!

❗️+18, Minors DNI, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character (s), Short OFC, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, flashbacks, Halloween college parties, school, angst, sexual themes (overhearing), drunkness/inxotication. I mentioned angst, right? 💀

#8k <- yes, i know

Part 6 | Masterlist | Part 8

*Halloween Four Years Ago*

Giving orders to a football team to put up Halloween directions was not an easy feat. They were kids in a joke shop, only too happy to take every opportunity to jump-scare each other with a spider, a white sheet or slide out from behind a door and shout boo!

Despite the antics, you were grateful for the help. Nat and you wouldn’t have finished in time. And even then, you suspected Nat probably would have given up halfway through, merely deciding to throw Yellow Caution Tape on the walls and call it a day.

You wouldn’t have stopped - even if it became a doomed effort.

Bradley’s friends weren’t what you expected them to be. True, their appearance fit the bill a thousand times over. Tall, broad shoulders and bulging muscles were all the product of hard work - including Bob, who was smaller than the rest, though not by much. Even their mannerisms, from how they acted childish and goofy to how they winked or playfully flirted, everything you saw played into the stereotypical type that was the classic college football jock.

Then you got to know them—really know them—and hated yourself for ever associating them as such.

You already knew Bradley and had met him on occasion. When he stayed over to be with Nat, he was often up before you, and you’d chat with him over a cup of coffee. He always brought her a cup to wake her up when he could, and it always made you smile.

His story was a sad one. His father passed away when he was only two years old, leaving his mom to raise him alone. While he couldn’t regale you with his memories of him, he instead offered you the stories attached to his father’s things: a button-up Hawaiian shirt in pale pastels, a pair of coffee-brown Ray Ban sunglasses, and even a worn Milk chocolate leather-strapped bag he used to lug his books around campus.

Then, his mom passed away in high school, and his father’s best friend took him up until the point decided to leave for school. Bradley chose his words carefully when he spoke of any of them, offering little, and you wondered if the loss was still too much for him to bear.

Or something else had happened, and he didn’t want anyone to know.

But as you helped him blow up a few balloons for the floor, a song from a later decade played through the speakers, and Bradley lit up, producing a smile wider than the nearby Jack-o-lantern. He launched into a story about how much his parents loved music and how his father would play the piano, which alone made him want to learn.

You asked him if and when he did if he’d play for you one day.

Javy Machado, however, couldn’t be more different from Bradley if he tried.

He was just as meticulous as you when it came to detail. The two of you were discussing the best way to tape Velcro to the kitchen cupboards to stick fluff to the sides and mimic cobwebs when you discovered this fact. He was … quietly smooth and persuasive, with a suave smile that indicated he could charm his way into or out of any situation he wanted without needing to flirt or play it thick.

“Angle it like this, Maeve,” he had explained, stretching the piece out. “Principle of maximum contact area equals maximum adhesive stretch.”

You had raised your eyebrows at that remark, which prompted him to chuckle softly.

"Science major," he shrugged with that smile, making your internal monologue stutter to a halt until you went, "Wait... What?!"

He only laughed at your reaction, amused in a way like he’d been expecting it. But it was that look of genuine interest in his eyes that made you ask him properly.

He didn't know what field of science to specialize in, but Javy made all of it sound amazing. From stars to not dirt—it's soil—to understanding how the world worked, he knew he wanted to spend his life trying to figure it all out. If he could throw a ball around and be part of a team with his friends, he considered himself fortunate to do both.

Even if his passion was so far removed from your own, you may have seen some of yourself in his journey, trying to fit in while doing what you loved most.

Holding up a string of lights against the wall, Reuben Flitch told you he was floating through school, waiting for the day he could finally be free. On that day, he’d take over his family’s business. Comparing him to the fractured story of your brother and sister following in your parent’s footsteps never seemed to cross your mind.

Because when you asked what the business was, his face lit up with an enthusiasm you hadn’t expected.

“My grandparents own vineyards," he had beamed. "They've been in the family for generations. I've grown up with the land, the grapes, and the entire winemaking process."

He told you stories of growing up, playing through the vines and rows of trellises, making you long for the rows of apple trees at Aunt Viv's. He also talked about spending time with his grandfather, learning the process of pressing grapes and his grandmother tending and picking the grapes. He spoke about the people, everyone from the gardeners to the people who bottled the wine to his siblings, with whom he'd played hide-and-seek within the cellars.

He told you a business major was worth it, as much as he loathed it, if he could own the place one day.

You hoped he did.

But Mickey Garica and Bob Floyd were... characters, to say the least. It was easy to talk with them, even laugh with them, as the three of you spread tiny black spiders all over the apartment.

Mickey couldn’t stop asking if you could paint him one day, though you imagined it would be fandom-inspired rather than a realistic portrait. The second you asked him about his favourite universe, he launched into a word vomit of praise for each and every one. He spoke of Lord of the Rings, Marvel, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Batman—not DC—as the character deserved to be separated from the rest.

It made you wonder if the one portrait would be enough. Still, you happily humoured him, saying you needed the practice.

He was in Health Sciences, hoping it would be enough to get his foot in the door to become a firefighter. He talked about it so passionately, about being capable of making a difference and saving lives, that you honestly couldn’t see him in any other role.

And given the opportunity, Bob was so full of sass and witty comebacks to the ones you managed to throw his way, you were surprised he was seeking an Anthropology and Archaeology degree. He seemed to have a natural talent for what Comedians had labelled “crowd work.” You honestly would have taken him for a drama major had he not told you differently.

However, once he explained his choice, you understood why. Growing up, having been a Boy Scout, learning about nature, rocks, and life. He wanted to know more about life, history, and how things were.

A visit to an archeological dig site in high school sold it for him. His eyes lit up when he spoke about ancient civilizations, lost artifacts, and all the mysteries surrounding human evolution. He rattled off facts about Neanderthals and cave paintings, which had you urging him for more.

He happily obliged and was encouraging when you offered a few that you knew of.

All of them were so passionate about what they wanted to do with their lives, even Bradley, who wanted to pursue football seriously as a career; you admired all of them for it with your entire heart.

But Jake Seresin was... you didn’t know. Nor did he, it seemed.

Jake was there at your side every time you went back up that ladder, claiming someone needed to catch you should you fall again. You had rolled your eyes, a slight smirk gracing your face, but you let him all the same.

He wasn’t as open as the others, wanting to flirt with you more than anything else. Somehow, you managed to get him talking about football, and when you asked him why he played, he admitted that his father had gone and played at the school. He had been urged to apply, and his family would support him throughout his entire ride.

“Family money,” he said, his tone light when you gawked at him. You didn’t ask what his parents did, but knowing he came from a rich family, you wondered if he didn't want people to know. You certainly didn't. Nat didn’t know, at least not yet.

It prompted him to add his parents weren’t pressuring him into one career or another; they simply wanted him to keep up with the sport. So, he was buying time and taking electives, trying to figure it out, though he would have to make a decision soon.

And it made you wonder, under that confidence, under that layer of charm and ease on his surface, if he was searching for what everyone else in the group had already found. While everyone else didn’t fit the stereotype, you wondered if Jake was attempting to mould himself into it.

How you wished to tell him, he didn’t have to.

But Jake wasn’t a painting you could tear apart or theorize about. And as you pinned that last streamer to the ceiling, you realized over the course of the afternoon, you’d unwittingly developed a bit of a crush on him.

You weren’t stupid. You recognized the signs the second he caught you off that ladder. The second he handed you that shot. He was laying on the charm, the flirty glances, the playful smiles. Even the slight touches on your waist as you leaned back, pining streamers to the ceiling, were waving the red flags in your head.

Jake was either genuinely interested or actively looking for someone to hook up with tonight.

It wouldn’t be you, that’s for sure—not even for someone so charming and handsome as Jake Seresin.

In the last two hours, the guys took turns getting ready first while everyone else finished with the final touches. They wanted you and Natasha to go first, but you vehemently refused, knowing they’d ruin hours of hard work if left unsupervised.

You also wanted to see this through to the end, but you kept that to yourself. You had revealed enough of your quirky, artsy side to them. You did not need to add to it by gushing over the decorations or how the entire apartment turned out, possibly damaging whatever relationship you'd established so far.

People were weird when it came to shit like that.

Jake and Bradley emerged from Nat’s bedroom just as the two of you were headed toward yours. The hallway was already lit in a deep red from the lights now neatly strung up in the corners of the ceiling. Though the sun was beginning to set, shining warm light through your window, you knew the total effect would be entirely eerie when night rolled around. You couldn’t wait to see it.

Bradley was dressed as Indiana Jones: a white shirt, a brown leather jacket, and a fake whip at his side. His outfit was complementary to Nat's Marion Ravenwood, her costume the classic white dress from the first movie you spent a while making. Though she did ask you to take some creative liberties with the design, the dress was more risque than necessary.

The only thing remotely movie-accurate about it would be the puffy sleeves.

You couldn't help but whistle when Jake stepped out from behind Bradley. Instantly perking up at the noise, he let out a sly smirk and straightened the lapels of his deep black leather jacket.

"Danny Zuko, huh?" you laughed softly. "Guess you've got the whole 'bad boy' vibe down."

Jake smirked at you, copying one of the iconic character's signature moves by sliding his hands into his black leather jacket pockets as he strode by. "Only missing my Sandy. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find one, would you?"

You coyly peered at him over your shoulder as you continued down the hall. Unknown to either of you, Nat and Bradley had stopped to watch the interaction, filled to the brim with curiosity.

"Wouldn't know. I'm more of a Rizzo myself. Too much sass and not enough patience for leather pants."

"To get into them or to get out?"

With a glimmer in your eyes and a smirk on your lips, you pivoted to face Jake completely, still walking backwards. “You're quite the smooth talker, aren’t you?”

Jake shrugged, giving off the vibe of, ‘I can’t help my reputation.’ However, you could see the easy grin on his face, and one side of his mouth crooked upwards, making him appear boyish—just like the character he was dressed up as.

It made your heart flutter inside your chest.

“It’s a shame I’m more into the rough-around-the-edges type,” you teased softly, pausing by the corner.

Liar. Oh, you horrible liar.

Jake’s grin didn’t disappear when you saw him press his tongue to the inside of his cheek, arching an eyebrow. Instead, it turned into a knowing smirk.

“Is that so?” he teased.

You flushed, at a loss for words. Jake's teasing gaze lingered, and the lift in the corner of his mouth suggested he saw right through your lie. Your cheeks burned hot.

Jake's chuckle echoed softly down the hallway as you made your escape, somehow making your heart race faster. You didn't dare look back, but you could feel his eyes on you as you turned the corner and down the hallway to your bedroom.

As Jake retreated back into the apartment, Bradley coughed lightly. He exchanged a knowing look with Nat, who had been watching your retreat. He jutted his head once toward you, and Nat replied in kind with a single tilt of her head toward Jake.

They didn’t need to say aloud what they were thinking. They’d talk about what they discovered later, but it wouldn’t stop them from pressing this interesting development further.

When she reached your room, Nat found you already in your robe, sitting at your vanity, brushing your hair. You had already laid out your costumes on your bed earlier in the day, and Nat raced to hers the second she saw it, making grabby hands at the fabric.

"Ahh, it turned out so great, Maeve!" she exclaimed, grabbing the top and holding it up. You glimpsed at her through the reflection of your mirror, smiling when she hugged it to her chest.

“If I had made it any deeper, Nat, you’d be showing off more than just dangly bits.”

She blew a raspberry at you. You giggled, shaking your head.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to do couples costumes. I never thought Bradley would go for it,” she said after a while, standing next to you and straightening her hair in the mirror of your vanity.

“Really?” you asked, concentrating on not poking your eye out with your mascara.

“How else am I going to shoo off all the girls practically clamouring to get with Bradley? It’s a nice way to do it, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. Not every costume as a twin, though,” you said, lowering your hand to gesture to yourself. You hoped Nat would at least acknowledge the effort you’d made or pep you up for a party you'd originally never wanted to hold.

“What about the Danny wandering around the apartment ‘without his Sandy’?”

You dropped your hand from where you had started fixing up your other eye, glaring at her reflection in your mirror. “Really, Nat?”

“What, you don’t dream of a little Summer Lovin?”

You felt your face flush. As if Jake would ever really go for someone like you. “It’s Halloween, Nat.”

“Exactly. It’s Halloween, and it’s getting colder. Maybe you’ve got chills, and maybe they're multiplying.”

You groaned, dropping your head and smacking it against your vanity.

“You’re sure he’s not the one you want?” she bumped you with her hip, grinning.

“Can you stop with the Grease puns? Please,” you squawked.

Nat laughed, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as she stepped away. "Okay, okay. But if you change your mind, I think Danny Zuko out there wouldn't mind being 'the one that you want.'"

Fingers wrapping around the handle of your hair brush, you didn’t lift your head from the vanity as you chucked it in Nat’s direction. She laughed hard, and you didn’t need to look to know you had missed her completely.

Nat eventually cajoled you into helping her slip into her dress, adjusting bits and pieces of fabric here and there. You sat back down at your vanity as she twirled once in the mirror, declaring she was satisfied. Then her eyes went to the door, and her attention shifted to Bradley and what waited beyond it.

"Are you okay if I go out? Do you need any help?" Nat's voice was laced with excitement, and her eyes gleamed with anticipation of finally having a party as she smoothed down the sides of her dress.

You shook your head, leaning back in your chair. Nat didn’t meet your gaze. "No, I'm good. I only need to touch up my makeup, and my dress is a slip-on," you smiled. "Go make sure Bradley keeps his hat on."

Nat wiggled her shoulders, biting her lip to mute her squealing giggle. The puffy sleeves of her short dress waved with her, and she precariously tip-toed out the door on her high heels. Once in the hallway, she dramatically yelled, "Come and get me, Indiana Jones!"

You stifled a giggle, shaking your head, allowing yourself to turn back to face your mirror.

Staring at yourself, you searched every part of your face, making sure your foundation, blush, eyes, and lips were just how you wanted them to be. You toyed with a strand of curled hair, wondering if what you had done was enough—if all of it had been enough.

Then your eyes came to rest on your costume, so carefully draped across the end of your bed through the reflection in the mirror.

You're not sure why "Flaming June" happened to be your favourite painting, though you supposed it had to do with the girl in the painting so casually draped across that seat next to that fountain. She was curled up almost like a serpent, covered in sheer transparent vibrant orange, the painting's only bright pop of colour.

The painting was supposedly meant to depict nymphs, sleeping Greek nymphs for that matter, or even Victorian society's obsession with beauty. However, you argued differently in the paper you wrote for it.

You cared more about the juxtaposition of fire and tranquillity in the piece than about whatever cultural influence or social construct it had at the time. That one girl was at the centre of the painting, wrapped in sheer, see-through colour. She was meant to be the focus; that much was certain.

Maybe you thought her dress signified the chaos of the world around her, and all she wanted to do was find a moment of peace.

You’d spent countless hours at the fabric store trying to match the correct shade. Once you had completed parts of Nat's, you spent even countless more at your sewing machine, staying up late to make progress on yours.

And each time she asked you to make alternations on hers, the more drastic you made it to be ‘just that much sluttier', the more you thought about what you could do to yours. In the end, the thin straps holding up your dress, revealing bare shoulders and the long slit between your breasts, ending just before your belly button, was all you could stomach.

You held the dress up, contemplating your thoughts. You could do this. You could survive one simple Halloween party - one simple college rager party.

Right?

———

The second the apartment was starting to flood with arriving guests, Jake realized you hadn’t emerged from your room with Nat.

He had been off to the side near a bookcase, talking with Bradley, hoping to stave off the crowd and the rest of the football team for a little longer. He knew they'd want to talk football and strategies for the season, and Jake simply... didn't.

He wanted a night off. He wanted to relax and have a good time. And talking about football wouldn't be it.

Bradley had said something to Jake, but he hadn’t been paying attention. He was too busy searching the gathering pods of people for your face. Why, he didn’t know. But he was eager to find out.

Bradley snapped his fingers in Jake's face, startling him from his search. "Earth to Jake!"

Jake shook his head, focusing back on Bradley. "Sorry, what?"

Bradley raised his eyebrows under the rim of his fedora. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Jake regarded him for a few seconds before finally looking down at his drink, bringing it to his lips, admitting, "I'm just looking for Maeve."

As Jake took a drink, Bradley grinned. "She's probably still getting ready. Nat said her costume was based on her favourite panting."

Jake didn't even look up from his drink when he asked, "What's her favourite painting?"

"Why? You looking to make a good impression?" he said, still grinning.

"Fuck off, Man," Jake snapped, taking another swig to finish his drink. Bradley only laughed, now shaking his head. He would have let Jake simmer in his ask, but this was you. He had to give Jake at least a decent running chance.

"It's Flaming June, the chick in the orange dress. It's a brilliant costume idea. She made it herself."

Of course, you would have made it yourself, Jake thought.

"Surely you came across that painting with your 'rich upbringing.' Nat was practically force-feeding information down our throats a few seconds ago to ensure we recognized her costume. It’s some Freddie Luigui piece. I don't know."

"I know it," Jake snapped. "I've seen it before."

Jake was pretty sure he had, maybe once at one of his father's fundraising parties, though he actively searched his mind, trying to remember what it looked like.

Bradley remained silent, slouching against the bookcase and crossing one leg over the other. He narrowed his eyes at his friend and tilted his head.

"Why the sudden interest in Maeve? She isn't one for..." Bradley trailed off, searching for the correct word. Just as Jake was about to ask him what he meant, Nat's approaching heels on the hardwood floor stopped them both.

She stopped at Bradley's side, red solo cup in hand, looping her arm through his. "What are you two handsome boys gossiping about over here?" she giggled at her boyfriend, her chin plopping lazily down onto his bicep. "See any snakes in the crowd, Indy?"

Bradley pulled his face back into a grimace, reciting the famous line. "Snakes. Why does it always have to be snakes?"

Jake rolled his eyes at their banter, placing his empty cup on the table between them. Nat giggled, tilting her head back, indicating to Bradley she wanted to be kissed. He complied without protest, leaning down, pressing his lips to hers in an overly dramatic display merely to piss Jake off.

"Get a room," Jake groaned, mocking a wrenching noise. The couple separated, turning to Jake with amused smirks. "You've heard and seen far worse, dude."

Jake shuttered, the unwanted memory of walking in on Nat and Bradley from weeks ago flashing through his mind. Sharing an apartment with Bradley had its moments - some good, some decidedly less so. It made him wonder if Maeve had to put up with the same shit he did.

“Where’s Maeve?” Jake asked Nat, ignoring Bradley's remark. "I haven't seen her yet."

Nat opened her mouth, about to tell him you were still getting ready, when she caught sight of a flash of orange stepping out from behind the corner of the hallway. You came into view, your head angled down, mindful of stepping on your dress as thin streams of transparent fabric trailed behind you at your sides.

Javy let out a low-toned whistle from somewhere in the room, and heads turned, one by one, as you took your final step into the apartment.

“Damn girl, you clean up nice!”

Lifting your head, you were surprised to see eyes on you. Javy glided forward to greet you from where he had been standing at a nearby table, and you smiled at him, though a little weary. Deep down, you knew his comment was meant to be a compliment. But something coarse, like sandpaper, rubbed against your heart at the remark, lingering longer than you would have liked.

“What? Not bad for a fine arts major?” you joked somewhat deprecatively, though your voice held none of it.

Javy held out his hand, and you grabbed it, allowing him to lift it above your head. With a pump of his wrist, he urged you to spin under his arm several times, letting your dress fan out. You giggled as he urged you, though you wobbled on your heels. The dreaded things were Nat's only contribution to your outfit, and you were severely regretting it.

He let you go, thinking you had your footing on the last, slowed spin. But when you came to a stop, you were on the verge of falling over, your head dizzy, and your legs unbalanced.

To his credit, Javy tried to reach out and steady you, already regretting the step he took back. However, before he could, another pair of hands, one on your hip and one taking your hand, steadied you.

Jake’s hands were firm on your skin, pulling you close as you lost your balance. You fell into his chest, head tilted back, half falling over. And looking up at his face, seeing the amused grin on his lip, you drew in a sharp breath at the sight.

"Letting me make a good first impression?" he quipped.

“By catching falling women?” you laughed breathlessly, bringing your free hand to his chest. If you had let your hand stall slightly longer than necessary, you would have never admitted to it.

“Seems noble enough,” he replied, helping you to stand. Though he might have let go of your hand, he didn’t let go of your waist. “Or do you make it a habit to test the reflexes of every guy you meet?”

You couldn’t resist the playful jab. “Only the ones who seem like they can handle it. And the pretty ones.”

Jake's grin widened, and he even risked sneaking a quick peek at your lips, letting them rest there for a few seconds before his eyes roamed the rest of your body.

"Flaming June, right? Frederic Leighton's Masterpiece."

You blinked in surprise, letting out a small gasp. You honestly expected to tell people what your costume was, not just some girl in some random orange dress. Jake's knowledge of the painting, let alone his identification of it so quickly, was scoring him some major brownie points.

"You know your art," you commented nonchalantly.

He shrugged, "I might know a thing or two. I always had a thing for the classics. By the way, it suits you."

You practically preened under his gaze. "Thank you," you said, a shy smile creeping onto your face. He beamed at you in return.

Yes, you might have a crush on him. But for the first time that day, you figured it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

—-

This was a bad idea - Oh, this party was such a bad idea.

Believing you were having a good time and actually having a good time were two separate things. You certainly felt one of those things. As the night went on, and with each drink you tipped back, alcoholic or not, regret built in your stomach.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. Maybe you were seeking reasons where there initially were none, allowing Natasha’s suggestions to slowly chip away at your resolve until you finally gave in. Maybe it was the promise of letting loose, to embrace the spirit of Halloween with all its creative potential.

Maybe it was the promise of making new friends. Of getting to know people outside the art department. Natasha had told you to mingle. She wanted you to mingle, and yet... you didn’t know where to start.

You didn't expect Nat or Bradley to coddle you, but they could have introduced you to a few people besides the core group before things had gotten this bad. You didn't dare approach Javy or Rueben, who played beer pong and chugged beers back like it was nobody's business. They were off doing their own thing, and you didn’t want to intrude.

Mickey and Bob had gone home earlier in the night. Bob proclaimed he had a midterm to study for, and Mickey wanted to go home anyway so he could call his family in peace. You strongly suspected he wanted to watch Halloween movies instead.

Rocky Horror sounded like a wonderful idea right about now.

You couldn’t hang around Nat and Bradley all night, either. And nobody from your art classes would even dare set foot inside a party where nearly half of its guests were from the sororities.

You knew that. While you did extend the invitation, you told them you wouldn't blame them if they didn't come. They had looked at you with such disregard you wondered if they were seeing you through newly polished rose-coloured glasses. And standing up against the wall next to your bookcase, like an insipid wallflower, you could hardly blame them for it either.

You couldn’t introduce yourself in a place where you were the outsider, even within the walls of your own home. Soon after the first few attempts, that realization settled deep into your chest. And you couldn’t help but feel like you had done this to yourself - an attempt to be part of something like this, even if just for a night.

But Jake… Jake was still here. At least, he should be. He had been by your side for the beginning of the evening, talking to you about what projects you were currently working on over another drink—not whiskey—after you had started to hiccup while putting up decorations.

After he recognized your dress, you weren’t ashamed to tell him. You had launched into the ideas and thoughts behind two paintings and one sculpture, an old table that you were trying to turn into an elemental-type sundial. You told him about the zodiac signs you had already burned into the wood after sanding it down and how each was placed in its own little section as it related to its element.

You had reached halfway through your thought process when you realized how lost you were in your explanation. You froze mid-sentence, blushing harder than the colour of your dress.

"Sorry," you had said. "I ramble when I get excited about my art.”

But Jake’s interest hadn’t waned. If anything, it urged him to ask, “How did you find something you're so passionate about? Creating things... making art?"

His question had made you pause, though not over what to say but merely how to say it. “It was my voice when words fell short or my escape when the world grew too loud.”

You caught a glimpse of something in Jake’s eyes—a flash of longing, a momentary crack in his confident demeanour. What followed was a slight nod. It was there, and then it wasn’t, as if he’d accidentally revealed more of himself than he wanted. Then he caught himself, suddenly straightened his spine, and continued the conversation as if that brief lapse in judgment never happened in the first place.

Ten minutes later, he excused himself to get another drink. And you hadn’t seen him since.

You scanned the room for him, hoping to spot that black leather jacket among the sea of people. But it was impossible. Under the dim, eerie glow of the lights, each costume blurred into the next, and the crowd swallowed any hope of finding him.

Reaching for whatever mixed drink Nat had made you earlier off the table, you pushed yourself off the wall, weaving through the throngs of people, figuring you might as well try to see if she knew where he had run off to.

Liquid sloshed over the rim of your cup onto your hand as you dodged a zombie here, a fairy there, and music pulsing like a heartbeat through the packed room. Laughter and snippets of conversations swirled around you as you scanned the sea of faces, both masked and not for Nat.

Glasses clinked, a witch cackled, and the scent of spiced pumpkin mingled somewhere in the mix with the tang of alcohol and body sweat. By the time you spotted her leaning heavily against the kitchen Island, red cup in hand and her laughter too loud, eyes slightly unfocused, you knew the night had taken its toll on her sobriety.

She was too preoccupied with telling a bunch of people a story to notice how you quickly launched the contents of your cup into the sink behind her. You extended your arm when you were close enough, looping your arm around her waist. Her arm came up at the same time, sliding across your back to pull you close.

Nat tilted her head back onto her shoulders, glancing at you with happy eyes. "Maeve!" she whined tipsily.

Given how far gone she was, you were surprised at how accurately she pronounced your name. She bent slightly, still holding her red Solo cup in her hand, to hug you tight, her face smooshing into your neck.

“It looks like you’re having the time of your life,” you snorted. She nodded against your skin, biting her lip in a smile with a happy, drunken snigger. She lazily pulled back to meet your eye, and you smiled at her.

“Have you seen Jake around?”

Nat paused, her gaze flickering around the room as if she'd genuinely forgotten about him, though she didn’t lift her head off your body. "Jake? Oh, I haven't seen him in a bit,” she slurred slightly. “Why? Do you two likeeeeeeeeeeeeeee each other? Is Jake going to make you scream grease lightin’?”

You reached for her red Solo cup and pried it from her hand. “Okay, yup, you're cut off.”

“Nooo,” she pouted her arm a dead weight as she tried to take it back. Her hand hit the bottom of the cup, and liquid shot up, once again covering your hand in whatever type of alcohol Nat managed to mix together. You could only sigh.

“Here comes the fun police,” she muttered under her breath. “I thought you’d be off doing your own thing.”

Well, that fucking stung just a tiny bit.

“I’m not going to be the one who cleans up your vomit tomorrow morning, Nat.”

“I’ve only had,” she held up her hand, widening her thumb and pointer finger probably further apart than she thought, “this much to drink.”

“Ahm...”

Luckily for you, Bradley appeared, having seen what was going on. He looked amused yet concerned as he slid between the gap of the island and Nat to observe his girlfriend babbling nonsense on your shoulder. “What’s happening here?”

Nat made another grab for her cup, but Bradley gently intercepted her, taking her hand into his before she could even grasp it.

“That,” you offered.

“I think it’s time we get you to bed, love,” he suggested, wrapping an arm around her waist. You let him take her, happy for him to bear her weight.

Nat leaned into him, mumbling something incoherent, a mix of protest and agreement. Bradley spared a glance at you, silently thanking you in your unspoken agreement. You nodded, watching as he sandwiched her to his side and carried her off towards her room.

It always seemed like one of you was always taking care of her. At one point or another.

After getting rid of Nat’s cup, you felt the sticky residue of both of your spilled drinks on your skin and felt the urge to run to the privacy of the bathroom to wash it off. Stumbling down the hallway, blusters on your feet finally making themselves known, you let your hands casually slide along the wall. The music from the party faded into a muffled, dull noise as you walked.

You wanted to smile at the lights. The red eerie glow along the top corners of the ceiling only reached not even halfway down the wall, plunging the floor into a dark abyss. You clumsily stuttered through it, unable to see anything below your waist.

It was exactly as you pictured it, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to manage the slightest grin.

The bathroom door was down at the end of the hall slightly ajar, with the red LED light illuminating its edges from behind. You zoned in on it like a wobbly arrow to a target, tired and completely done with tonight and everything about it.

You reached for the curved handle, about to push the door open, when a high-pitched giggle came from behind the piece of wood. You shot your hand back like you had been burned, and with a quick turn of your heel, you plastered your back up against the wall.

You immediately knew what was happening behind that door, and it made you throw up in your mouth just a little.

Ugh, I’m going to have to disinfect the hell out of that bathroom tomorrow.

The next voice you heard, however, made your heart drop into your stomach.

“You like that, don’t ya, sweetheart?”

You didn't want to believe it, but you had to see for yourself. Leaning forward off the wall, you peered through the crack in the door, only to spot a black leather jacket taking up most of your view—the same black jacket you had complimented Jake on earlier that day. It was a stark contrast to the red glowing light above him, and something snapped in your heart and recoiled back as one slender bare leg in beige fishnet stockings wrapped around his.

There was an overly drunken and seductive 'ahm,' forcing you to glance over his shoulder at the girl he was with—her costume was a bejewelled Taylor Swift outfit to match her long blonde hair.

You swallowed your bile and adverted your gaze, pressing yourself back up against that wall, out of sight and hidden completely from view.

You knew this was a possibility; Jake was merely looking for a hookup and nothing more. You had considered it all afternoon. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel utterly hurt at the sight.

"I mean, Nat's pretty clever befriending that girl.. what was her name, Maeve?" the girl snickered.

"I know. It sounds like something out of those weird fantasy books everyone loves." A whimper from his companion followed Jake's breathy and muffled laugh.

At the dig, your hand went to your chest, your heart thudding painfully under your palm. The realization they had been talking about you, about Nat, made tears flood your eyes.

You didn't understand it. Or maybe you did, and you were too blinded by the possibility of someone like him, someone like Nat, Bradley, Bob, Mickey, and Rueben, to beat the fucking pyramid scheme and care about someone like you.

What other explanation was there except the fact you had been blinded by those who proved to be the exception? Blinded by the fucking elementary school crush cause he had flirted, smiled, joked, and maybe even showed some half-decent interest in you. Clearly, the second he figured out you weren’t going to hook up with him, he sought his sights on someone else.

Jake wasn’t trying to mould into the stereotype. He was the fucking stereotype.

"Even her costume," she sneered. "Like, who the fuck dresses up like that for a college rager Halloween party? You're supposed to dress up slutty."

You couldn't speak, staring down the front of your dress to what you had thought had been a risky enough slit. You couldn't even breathe.

"You kidding me?" he laughed lowly. "Bradley was practically screaming at us what she dressed up as. I'd have no fucking clue what she was otherwise. I'd guess some random Greek Godness obsessed with that awful shade of orange."

Your hand slid up from your chest, around your throat to feel your harsh, rough swallow. Only it didn’t stop there, suddenly finding yourself wrapping it around your entire mouth, stifling any noise wanting to escape. Through shaky inhales in and out of your nose, you fought hard to stop yourself from crying over this.

Over him. Over a fucking jock who would say anything to hook up with a girl. Only to get his dick wet.

But you couldn't prevent the tears from welling up in your eyes, or from one finally spilling over, dropping down your cheek only to stall there, or how the hand covering your mouth curled up around your cheekbone, only to stroke away the tear.

You refused to look back at the door through the crack, so you fixed your gaze on the darkness consuming the ground. And as you lowered your hand, you caught the ugly black smear marring your skin.

How could you not? Standing in the glow of that red hallway light, it was the only thing you could see.

The artistic irony hits you like a freight train. Here you were, dressed as the girl in your favourite painting. Her dress had been the only bright shade of colour in the entire painting, and you, standing in the top half glow of bright red LED lights, had failed to notice what had been staring you in the face all along.

Orange was muted by red, and black bled through all. The only thing about you that stood out the entire evening was this tiny black mark scarring the back of your hand—black tears from smeared mascara.

"I would have guessed an orange," the girl snickered, quickly followed by a mewl. "Though she practically blended into the wall, I couldn't see her with the lights."

Lips plucking on skin echoed off the title and out the door, and Jake drew in a ragged breath as he agreed. "She did blend right into the fucking wall, didn’t she?"

Your eyes burned. The girl giggled.

“How long do you think this one will stay? She seems… different, to say the least.”

Jake sniggered. “Seriously, you think Natasha Trace is hanging around that girl out of the goodness of her heart?”

His laugh was so full of malice that it was nothing like the ones you had heard pleasantly filling your ears earlier.

“Everyone knows after what Nat did, she needs an image clean up. Playing the saint, befriending the weird loner art girl, giving her the best friend badge?”

“If she thinks she’s got a place in the big leagues, she’s in for a rude awakening,” the girl murmured. “Pathetic. People like her don’t belong with people like us.”

There was a pause. “It’s just like Natasha, though. She always needs an audience, something to validate her feelings. It’s brillant really.”

Jake's agreement was a silent blow, his next words the dagger. "Nat's smart. She knows how to play the game. Maeve's just...convenient."

Convenience. The word echoed in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your already crumbling self-worth.

“Give it a year. Trace is going to drop her the second the next new shiny person comes along. And everyone is going to forget about the little art girl she used up and discarded. Or she’ll become the most hated girl on campus.”

Without your back up against the wall, his words might have made you crumble into that dark abyss.

“Can we stop talking about her now?” the girl whined. “I thought you promised to get me off.”

Jake chuckled lowly, the sound morphing into a low, predatory growl. “You brought her up, sweetheart. But don’t worry—I’m all yours now.”

You pushed yourself away from that wall, stumbling down the dark hallway to your bedroom out of instinct, refusing to subject yourself to any further torture. But just before your door, you fell into the wall, your shoulder throbbing as you slouched against it.

The world around you swirled, leaving you consumed by one thought—and one thought alone.

That. Fucking. Asshole! How dare he! How fucking dare he!

To hear Natasha be demeaned, your friendship demeaned and used as a stepping stone in pursuit of a meaningless hookup... anger boiled under your skin. You didn’t care what he or what they had said about you, but Nat?

If Jake thought he’d succeed in sweet-talking you, to play you like a puppet on a string, just as he assumed Nat had been doing, he had another thing coming. If he was going to talk shit about your friendship with her, you’d show him just how spineless you could be.

Oh, he’d wish he’d never caught you off that fucking ladder. Wished he had never met you and flirted with you, obviously a ploy to find someone to hook up with. You gagged at ever having a crush on him in the first place.

But as you leaned against the wall, trying to steady your swirling thoughts, doubt wormed its way into your mind.

What if he was right?

What if your friendship with Nat was just a convenience, a way for her to maintain her status or recover from her sorority fallout? You knew nothing of it, nothing more than what she told you. There could be more to the story, things she hadn’t revealed, things nobody else had either.

No, you shook your head, trying to dismiss the thought. Nat had been there for you in ways no one else had.

Jake was just an asshole. Plain and simple.

But then another thought sucker punched you in the gut.

You couldn’t tell anyone else what he said. You wouldn’t be responsible for causing that type of drama within a friend circle, one that long before you ever showed up. They never would have believed you anyway, and Nat… she worked so hard to get out, escape the rumours and gossip, to put it behind her. She didn’t need to know about this.

You had no choice but to carry this burden alone. It was a lonely decision, but perhaps loneliness was a small price to pay for the semblance of harmony among friends—or so you tried to convince yourself.

But Jake. You could no longer give a rat’s ass about Jake. If he wanted to attack Nat, then fine. You hit him right back. That much you could still do.

Whatever had possessed Frederic Leighton to name the piece you currently embodied, “Flaming June,” whatever possessed him to gift that girl with fire in her name, that fire was suddenly born in you.

A flame that sparked and kerosened your soul to burn, hot and bright. It was a wildfire that rushed under layers of skin and ignited every nerve, ending with a ferocity you never knew you possessed. It was born to protect what you had found - Nat, Bradley, Bob, Mickey, Javy and Rueben. And that fucking asshole would never be allowed to put you down, Nat down, like your family did, ever again.

Pushing yourself off the wall, you stepped into your bedroom. Slamming the door, the lock clicked hard into place.

It never opened the rest of the night.

NOW YOU KNOW....

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horseshoegirl · 5 months

Text

Set Me Alight - Part 1: Seventeen Going Under

📜I know I should be working on FFA (Forever After All). However, I got bit by this idea of a fire look-out of all things, then had a whole dream about it. Naturally, I had to fic it. Due to story choices and plot later in the series, I have made a fictional National Park. However, it is loosely based on Mount Rainer and Olympic National Park in Washington.

❗️+18, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character, Anything Can Happen in the Woods, Forced Proximity, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, post-college daggers, Camping/Hiking AU.

Thank you to @desert-fern for helping me with the title!!

#6k Words

Masterlist | Part 2

Camping was the last thing you wanted to do on your week off.

It will be fun, Nat said. It won't be just the two of us going, she said. It's just hiking and a campfire and seeing the sights, she said.

It was not fun. It was not just hiking and a campfire. It was a fucking bad idea.

Why, you might ask?

It was hiking in a state national park, deep in the wilderness, with only a few fire lookouts as the closest thing resembling civilization. It was miles, miles, from your home state. It was going to be fucking cold, and wet, and rainy. It would be muddy slopes, climbing up cliff faces, and watching out for blind roots and sharp rocks haphazardly sticking up from the ground. You knew you wouldn't even get to enjoy the amazing scenery because you'd be too busy making sure you didn't accidentally die by stumbling over said rock or root down a cliff.

No, all that you could have handled, despite your initial protests. That wasn't the issue.

Because 24 hours post leaving your house and arriving in Seattle, she had failed to mention that fucking Jake Seresin had been invited along too.

It wasn't as if she didn't have a chance to. Oh no, there had been many ample opportunities for either her or her boyfriend, Bradley, to let you in on that secret. Like when the two of them picked you up from your apartment in the extremely early hours of the previous morning to start the journey to Seattle. Or the long drive there, or when you checked into the hotel that night.

Nat and Bradley had been shifty about who else had been invited in general too, but you suspected the usual group. Maybe their girlfriends, if the prospect of leaving the city wasn’t too much for them.

Despite your initial protests, you were actually excited to go. Lakespur National Park was a beautiful sight at any time of the year. The mountains were snow-capped and tall, like they were touching the sky. The trees were the brightest shades of green, especially after a bout of rain. The lakes and rivers were deep pools of unreal bright baby blue, and you knew from the website that there were a couple of waterfalls hidden amongst the trails. The cliffs were high enough, too, that if you managed to find a nice lookout, the views could have stretched on for miles. And neighbouring nearby, you could spot Mount Rainer standing non-threateningly as it could in the distance.

You wanted to paint as much of it as you could before the week was over.

You had awoken in your hotel room that morning in a good mood. You appreciated the few hours of sleep you could get before you had to spend a week in the literal woods, surrounded by bugs and animals who probably wanted to eat you, sleeping in a tent with nothing but a bed roll.

That same feeling carried over to now as you opened the truck door, the scent of dirt and fresh pine invading your nose. Grabbing the support handles on either side, you carefully lowered yourself to the ground, sunlight hitting the sides of your face. It felt good to be out here; the warmth, the fresh air, the sounds of nature going on around you in the early morning light.

Nat sighed affectionately, throwing her arms wide as if she was trying to hug the entire forest. "Ah, Nature!"

You rolled your eyes, but your smirk gave you away. "You said that yesterday morning when you picked me up. It's going to get old, really fast."

She closed her eyes, giggling to herself and starting to spin on the gravel, tilting her head back. You couldn't help but laugh with her as she twirled around, the stones and dirt crunching under her feet.

Nat’s friendship was the only one that had survived College. You’re not entirely sure how you became friends either; it just kind of happened out of the blue one day. She had been in a sorority and ran in the popular crowd, so to speak. You worked in the campus art supplies store selling paint and double-stapled-backed canvas’. And when you weren’t there, you were in the studio, painting or sculpting or doing something creative that usually ended up with you covered in whatever messy medium you had decided to work with.

From those things alone, she had no real reason to want to be your friend.

You suppose you could at least trace it back to that group project the two of had been assigned to do with two other people. Two other people who didn't do jack shit, despite multiple protests from both of you. The two of you had ended up pulling an all-nighter in your apartment off campus, and to your surprise, a girl from a high-ranking sorority had been way kinder than you expected her to be.

You wanted to say the two of you bonded that night, sharing stories and laughing at funny social media posts when you forced yourselves to take breaks. And when the project was done and over with, you didn't expect her to stay around.

But she did. Suddenly, in the aftermath, she was there, texting you about her favourite book series, dragging you out of the studio, and lifting your head off a literal canvas to ensure you had something to eat or drink. She'd sit with you in the library when you had to study art history and bring coffee. And when drama hit at her sorority residence, she moved into your apartment off campus.

That's how you met Bradley. And then his football team. And the biggest asshole to ever live. You regretted a lot of things on that night, and you not standing up to him was at the very top. Written in red. And underlined.

After what he said, after what he did, you never wanted to see his face again.

Once Nat steadied herself against the truck, you turned to catch your gaze on a few familiar figures unloading their gear. You waved hi to Mickey and Ruben as they made their way over to the three of you, gear and supplies thrown over their backs. Mickey was the first to reach you, sweeping you into a hug and ruffling your head over your baseball cap. You're smiling up at him when he pulls back.

"Ready for some adventure, Maeve?" he grins.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe we’ll find some interesting things to get up to. Sightsee, tell ghost stories, see a bear or two.”

“Really, a couple of bears. You think I could take them on?”

You snorted, reaching up to slap the rim of his baseball cap down. “Only you would want to have a fight with one.”

“Come on, you’re not scared, are you?” he said, dramatically holding his hand over his heart before reaching for you. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

Suddenly, a new voice pitched up from behind him. "You are joking, right? You know he will be pushing the two of us in front of him and then running for the hills screaming like a little girl."

You giggled at Cora, his girlfriend's, remark as she pushed him out of the way to give you a bear hug. “The only way you’d ever come close to looking good in that scenario is her painting it.”

Mickey frowned. "That hurts my heart, baby. Really. You really think I'd leave you ladies alone to fend for yourselves?"

You and Cora snorted at the same time. "We know you would."

Mickey pouted, and Cora only laughed, resting her cheek on the top of your head as she laughed. But you were too focused on watching Jessica, Ruben's girlfriend, approach the group, and you had to brace yourself. While you hadn't known her long, Jessica's presence often accompanied an undercurrent of tension. Her lips were curled up in what you deemed a practiced, superficial arc, the kind of smile that was more a social formality than a genuine expression of pleasure.

"Hey Jessica," you greeted her with as much warmth as possible.

She offered you a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes, and you had to force yourself not to take a step back out of Cora's arms or shutter at those eyes, wanting to tear you apart. She looked harmless, with short brown hair that framed her bubbly cheeks. But inside, you knew and felt the familiar twinge of discomfort that came from interacting with someone who clearly harboured less-than-friendly feelings about you.

Instead, you searched for Nat, who was saying something to Bradley as she lay across the front seat of the truck, leaning across the centre console with the door wide open. You called out to ask her, "Who else are we waiting on?"

There was a long-standing pause before Bradley was the one to shout out, "I don't see Javy's truck yet!"

You were about to open your mouth to reply, the retort on your lips, before someone honked a horn, and you came face to face with Javy’s Blue Chevy, kicking up stones as the massive tires rolled into the parking lot. The metal frame sparkled against the early morning sun, and you had to cover your face with your elbow to shield your eyes from the glare. Ruben called out, clapping his hand against his fist, calling out, “They arrive, finally!”

Mickey reached over and slapped him on the back, letting his hand rest on his shoulder. “Fifty bucks says pretty boy spend forever getting out of the shower?”

You jolted at the nickname. To anyone outside the group, the pretty boy reference could have been referring to Javy. But you had the context. There was only one person they could have been referring to, and like a volcano, you wanted to blow your top.

It was at this very moment you realized Nat and Bradley had purposely lied to you by omission.

“Oh no,” you grumbled out, and Cora instantly stepped back, taking her hands off you as if you were on fire and holding them out in front of her. And the two idiots realized what they had admitted, eyes wide as they took you in.

“Oh, Maeve, we thought…”

“Thought what?” you seethed. "What did you think, exactly?"

Javy cut the engine of his truck and swung open the driver’s door, turning in his seat to see everyone, a huge smile on his face as he took everyone in. That was until he landed on you.

“Maeve…” he called out cautiously, hopping down and holding his hands out in front of him nervously.

Don’t Maeve me! Who is in your truck with you? And don’t tell me it’s just Veronica.”

Javy bit his lip, contemplating what he could possibly say to you that would get you to calm down and just listen. But the longer he took, the more you came to the realization that that asshole was, indeed, riding shotgun in his truck.

And when the front passenger door opened and closed, the second you saw the flash of blonde hair, your vision turned red.

And just let that - every single good feeling, every thought of not needing to worry about him showing his face - quicken into flashing white anger. The whole group seemed to know it too, tensing up as your face started to turn beat red, and your mouth was poised open, ready to give the worst shout of their lives.

"Fuck no, Nat! Absolutely fucking not!” You practically screamed, turning to face her with your hands on your hips. Mickey dropped his chin to his chest with a sigh. “Yup, there’s the Midge we all know and love.”

Natasha sighed, mocking your stance as she readied herself for the argument. "Come on, you wouldn't have agreed to come had you known."

"You're damn fucking right, I wouldn't have agreed!" you fumed. "Why on God's earth would you think a whole fucking week with the two of us in close proximity would be such a good idea?!"

Nat went to reply, but the sound of shuffling gravel and a low, resonant thud of weight shifting on the side of Javy’s truck interrupted her, letting all of you know who inserted themselves into the conversation.

"Good to see you still have that mouth on you, Midge."

You slammed your eyes shut in annoyance at the sound of his voice.

Midge.

The not-so-subtle nickname he had bestowed upon you that everyone had suddenly taken to using. They all figured it was in reference to your height, or maybe for short for your weird ass name, as Jake once called it. Out of all of them, including Nat, you were the tiniest of the group. The entire football team towered over you, and while they meant it affectionately, endearingly, in the kindest way possible, Jake had to be the cocky smart ass.

A Midge was also in reference to a fly. A small but fucking annoying fly. He just had to double-whammy you twice.

Bradley came around from the driver's side of the truck, a slight grimace on his face. "Sorry, Maeve, I thought she had told you he was coming.”

Nat might have played a part in not telling you Jake would be here, but she wasn't solely to blame for his presence. No, that was entirely Bradley's fault.

Jake was his best friend, after all.

You marched forward, staring into his face, a finger pointed and pressing deep into his chest. "Why the ever living hell did you invite him!?"

Bradley regarded you for a moment before letting out a sigh. "You know why," he mumbled under his breath only to you, looking down at the breast pocket of his jacket.

Your heart twinged in your chest. You did know why. You helped him pick out that ring. Bradley wanted to propose to Nat on this trip, and it only made sense he'd want his best friend around when it did happen. It quelled your anger for a few seconds.

You could have handled a day. Maybe. A morning or afternoon. A few hours. An hour. Yes, you could have managed to be in the same space as Jake for one single hour. One hour, with doors and indoor plumbing and a driveway where you could park your car for a conveniently easy escape.

Not a whole fucking week. In a forest. With him.

"Please, Maeve," Nat begged from behind you. "This week is important to me. To us. We just want to have a good time with everyone together.”

With your back still facing her, you slammed your eyes shut.

Only if she knew the real truth behind such a statement.

Letting your head rest back on your neck, you opened your eyes to stare up at the sky. You knew you had to do this for Nat. She was one of the few friends you really had, and she had done more for you than you ever thought possible.

You owed her that much.

You turned to face her, taking in her pouting lip before your eyes finally tracked to Jake. He had crossed his arms, still leaning up against the side of Javy's truck. You watched as he wetted his lips in amusement. Your eyes stalked the movement, and for the first time since he arrived, you finally set your eyes on him.

"Oh, come on now, Midge," the asshole grinned at you. "Surely we can get along for a couple of days."

You gritted your teeth, your face scrunching up in disgust.

It had been close to six months since the last time you saw Jake Seresin. He had brought some chaotic tramp who was obsessed with horoscopes and star signs to Nat and Bradley's housewarming party, offering up no conversation except she was a Cancer and that it had to be the explanation and answer to any bizarre behaviour she might possess. You hated that. You hated her, though hate was too strong of a word to use on someone you'd probably never see again.

It made you want to throw up to see how she clung to Jake like he was her personal meal and how he ate it up with no shame.

But Jake didn't look like he did back then. He was more laid back now, in a button-up shirt and a short beard, ray bans hanging from the hem of his shirt. Nothing like the stereotypical playboy college type with rich parents that you knew him to be. Not the man with sharply defined edges and polo shirts as if he was about to descend on his mother’s fancy golf club. Not if he had been handed everything in his life on a silver platter.

Turning your head, you saw Nat's pleading gaze, and when you turned to Bradley, he mouthed a desperate "please." Sighing, you motioned for him to open the tailgate, only to grab your hiking bag from the flatbed and hoist it over your shoulders dramatically.

Adjusting the straps on your shoulders, you huffed out, "Hell better be fucking freezing over if I was ever forced to get along with you."

Collective sighs went up around the group, and you swore you could even see a few sag their shoulders in relief. Yet, that cocky asshole only continued smiling, maybe even wider than before.

"Chin up, sweetheart. There are worse people you could be stuck with out here, in the wilderness."

Your cheeks felt hot. "I'm not your fucking Sweetheart, Asshole."

"Would you like to be?"

Six fucking months and he hadn't changed. Even before that, with how intermittently you saw him. You were too scared to do anything back then about him and his attitude and his fucking mouth.

Now? You’d hit him in a heartbeat now. You were about to, if not for a gentle hand on your arm that prevented you from stepping forward to take a swing at him.

"Come on, Midge, you can stay back with us."

You allowed yourself to be turned, coming face to face with Bob and his girlfriend, Grace. You unclenched your fists almost immediately.

You liked Bob. He was sweet and kind and always had a smile on his face. And Grace had been nothing but kind to you since the day you met her. She looped her arm through yours, securely holding it to her side.

"He's not worth the brain cells," she whispered in your ear. You giggled loudly.

Bradley whistled loudly, making the group gather around, placing him and Nat at the center.

“Thank you all for coming! We all need to check in with the park ranger first,” Bradley started. “But first things first, we need to go over the rules and responsibilities!”

Nat pulled out a piece of paper from her jacket pocket, unfolding the edges and holding it out in front of her.

“Bob and Grace, you’re in charge of campfires! That includes the wood, the setting up and putting out! We don’t need to create any forest fires, so you guys are on this one!”

It made sense, you thought. They were probably the most responsible out of the group. Though you were slightly surprised they didn’t put Bob in charge of the map.

"Bradley and I are in charge of food! You carry your own shit during the day, but at the end of the night, it goes in the bag to hang up in a tree."

Collective murmurs of agreement went around the group. Nat continued to sound out names and tasks. It was obvious Mickey and Cora would be deemed the group's first aid leaders, Mickey being a firefighter and Cora being a nurse. Javy and Veronica were assigned to be on the lookout for freshwater, though you suspected Javy would be more cautious of looking for the designated spots than Veronica would be. And Ruben and Jessica, you had to hold in your laugh when her face dropped into an absolute look of displeasure when Nat called out they'd be on trash and trail sweep duty.

“Finally, Midge and Jake.”

You raised your eyebrow at the implication behind the ‘and' and what form of torture she might have in store for you.

"Navigators," she called out, eyeing the two of you cautiously. "The both of you will take turns navigating us to all of our campsites, trading off the compass and the map. One day, it's Maeve, the other Jake."

You wanted to argue, to call out that Jake wouldn't be able to navigate himself, let alone a group of people, through a national park, but you stopped yourself. You knew of the delicate balance you needed to maintain. Nat knew it, too. It's why she approached you with a careful eye

“Don’t kill Jake,” she eyed you sternly before turning to Jake and pointing her finger. “Don’t kill Maeve.”

You sallowed. "I won't if he doesn't start it first."

From the sound of the shift in gravel, you knew Jake had set his eyes on you, and you could feel them burning holes into the side of your skull. You resisted the urge to meet his gaze, to challenge or confront the unspoken thoughts you felt hanging between you. Instead, you focused on Nat, nodding to acknowledge the assignment.

Nat knew better, glaring at the two of you discerningly. She knew the two of you well enough to sense the undercurrents of tension. You had been careful with her, never revealing the true reason behind why you held so much disdain towards Jake. And you had no idea what he might have disclosed to them, but you were sure it was laced with the same damn message as always, shouting it as loud as he could to the first person he saw.

Midge is a bitch. I don't know why you’d waste your time being around her. She is as two-faced as they come, and whatever she's said or done, it's a personal attack on me when I've done nothing wrong.

Nat sighed, her frustration evident. "I mean it. If you two can't get along, at least be civil. Or so help me, I'll feed both of you to the first wild animal I see."

You knew she was joking, but the seriousness in her eyes conveyed the underlying ultimatum.

"Fine," you huffed first. Jake rolled his eyes, huffing out a less than enthusiastic, "Fine."

You could almost hear the single collective thought of the group: 'This should be interesting.'

Although the pair of you agreed with Nat's terms, tension remained between you. Nat gave each of you one final, pointed look before rejoining the others, leaving an awkward silence in her awake.

Jake, with a knowing and equally cocky smirk, couldn't resist throwing in a final quip. "Who knows, maybe at the end of all this, we might share a tent," he called out over his shoulder as he began to walk away, his voice loud enough for others to hear.

Yet, all he did was loudly laugh at your reply when you heatedly shouted back in kind, "Fuck off, Seresin! Unkindly, fuck off!”

---

You reached the first campsite around early mid-afternoon, having navigated these woods thus far with the agility of a deer avoiding a thicket of thorns and stones, always aware and always at least several feet apart from the one thing you were sure would kill you if you weren't careful.

You had stayed at the back of the group with Bob and Grace as much as possible, catching up with them while Jake took the lead, navigating everyone toward what would be your home for the night.

Grace spent the time talking about her job at the museum. She was a curator, which is probably why you got along with her so well. While she was passionate about the history surrounding a piece of art, you loved the actual creation process. That's how she met Bob, who had been hired there as an archaeologist.

Somewhere along the way, you realized you were only catching snippets of the conversation, her latest exhibit she was building with Bob. You felt bad but placed the blame entirely on the asshole with the compass.

It was a miracle the group ended up at the actual campsite. Jake had done everything wrong. From holding the compass incorrectly to naming the wrong trail markers or reading the map as if it were a field guide to an 18-hole golf course at a rich man's club. With each move he made or every word he spouted, saying it was "This way" or "That," you had to bite your tongue. Even if you tasted blood, you weren't going to start something he couldn't finish.

It didn't stop the glares, though, or the dirty looks. Or the fact your brain couldn't stop trying to figure out what point he was trying to prove by dressing like that?! If you hadn't spent as long as you had hating him, you'd even go as far as to say he looked good.

Fuck Maeve, you are not going there!

Your home for the rest of the afternoon and night was a sparse little clearing framed by several big trees, the branches high enough that it seemed like they were protecting the space below. Everyone had instantly split up, searching for a spot where they might set up camp. You found one easily enough, not too far from everyone else but enough to make the space your own.

Setting up your tent, you watched with a smirk from a distance as Jake wrestled with his tent, the poles flying in all directions in some comedic fashion. You contemplated whether or not to go over and help him, though it almost seemed sweeter to watch him struggle.

The further away he was, the better.

You had strategically chosen a quiet corner, just close enough between Bob and Grace and Cora and Mickey. You wouldn’t dare go anywhere near Nat and Bradley’s tent unless you didn’t want to get a decent night’s sleep. You were already scarred from College. You didn’t need another instance topping that one.

Grace and Bob had already taken the liberty of making the fire for tonight, rearranging the designated stone pit in the middle of the site into the correct shape and loading it with firewood. Everyone was already sitting around it, off in their own stories and conversations before dinner. You’d initially been drawn into the conversation with Nat and Grace sitting next to you, but it had taken a different turn, and your initial laughter had sounded more forced than you’d care to admit.

And you were too busy watching Jake on the other side of the fire, waiting for the moment he’d strike. But the afternoon lagged on, and he never did. Not until he finally caught your eye, that familiar smirk playing on his lips - the one you know he knew got under your skin - that your ability to tolerate his presence cracked hard.

You stood abruptly, not allowing him the chance to wind you up like some toy.

"I'm going to go for a swim," you said pointedly to Nat and Grace, ignoring the asshat sitting in the corner. "I shouldn't be long."

They only nodded at you, continuing back to their conversation. Bob was the only one who seemed to address your remark.

"Be safe!" He called out after you. "The park ranger said to be on the lookout for bears!"

You mocked-saluted him with two fingers. "Scouts honour!"

You didn’t hear the hushed whispers or giggles you left in your wake from Jessica or Veronica, nor did you see how Jake’s eyes narrowed, watching you depart from the group.

The lake wasn't far off from the campsite, maybe about a five-minute walk. The promise of cool water and some peace and quiet to sort out your thoughts was enough to entice you away from the group and lift your spirits. You didn't know how many opportunities you would be able to find on the rest of the trip to escape like this, so you knew you needed to take them when you could.

In addition to the warning you got about the bears in the area, the other wildlife you might encounter, and even the strict warning the group received about this being peak wildfire season, the Park Ranger also mentioned this particular campsite would be the only one with decent cell service. If you wanted to call anyone before you ventured further into the park, you had better do it now.

You called your aunt as you walked. She picked up on the fourth ring.

“Did you step on a snake, or did you get mauled by a bear?”

“Hello to you too, Aunt Viv.”

Your Aunt Viv was considered the crazy one out of your family. Not because of her mannerisms or personality or the fact she probably was borderline close to adding “Friendly Wine Aunt” to her title, she was the only one to have broken off from tradition. She was, perhaps, one of your favourite people in the world for that reason alone.

“Well, when you told me you’d be spending a week out in some fucking forest, I assumed you wouldn’t have cell reception.”

You rolled your eyes, haphazardly avoiding a sharp rock sticking out from the ground, when you finally realized it was in your path.

“At this point, I wish it was one of the above. That way, I’d have an easy and reasonable way out,” you pouted.

There was a pregnant pause on the other end until you heard the thump of a bucket drop to the ground somewhere. “You were so excited to paint those landscapes. What happened? Is he there?”

You huffed. She knew you better than your own parents and your own brother.

“That obvious?”

She sighed through the phone, and you could picture her shaking her head. “Honey, nothing ruins your excitement more than that fucking waste of a man.”

You giggled at her remark. “I regret ever showing you his photo.”

“A woman my age can fantasize all she likes, even if he is a downright bastard.”

“And did say mention of said bastard just make you drop a bucket of apples?”

It was harvest season for her, all the way back in California. Aunt Viv’s apples were probably some of the best you could ever get on this side of the West Coast. Growing up, you always loved to run through the lanes of Galas and Smiths, climbing the trees for the best and brightest apples to eat.

“Don’t you worry, my dear. You know the worms aren’t that fast.”

You shook your head affectionately, finally lifting your eyes off the trail to take in the water. There was a part of you that regretted not bringing your sketchbook down with you, but you knew you could never do it justice. The blue of the water would never have matched the correct shade, and you wouldn't have been able to get the curve of the shoreline the right way or shadow the rivets of water at the right depth.

Sitting on a nearby rock, you dropped your head between your shoulders, letting it hang low.

“I don’t know what to do, Aunt Viv,” you sighed into the phone, pressing your hand to your forehead. There was another pause.

“Maybe you could talk to him about what happened?” she offered hesitantly.

“No, absolutely not,” you rushed out in a single breath. "I barely knew him for a single night before he started running his mouth about me. Why should I give him a chance when he never gave me one in the first place? Besides, he doesn't even know I know what he said."

You were met with more silence on the other end before she affectionately admonished, “Maeve, you don’t have to be scared of him. He’s just a man.”

Her words echoed in your mind, a gentle reproach that chafed against your pride. You weren't scared of Jake. Not really. Not of him, exactly, but of facing those feelings his words had stirred in you - feelings of inadequacy, of not being enough.

It held your breath hostage in a vice grip, tight.

“It’s one week,” you said, the words a half-hearted attempt to convenience yourself of the idea more than her. “It’s just one week where I can find ways to stay out of his way and not be a bother, and then I can leave and come help you out and drink all the dirty apple cinder I want.”

“You can have all the dirty apple cinder you want when you get here, but Maeve, don’t you shrink yourself down for a man who wouldn’t know a diamond if he held it in his hand, okay?”

Your grip on the phone tightened, her words stirring the embers of your resolve. “I’ll just keep to myself and the painting. That’s what I’m here for, right?”

“And your friend, right? Nat?”

You were. But even then, there was a small part of you that was deeply unsure of the why.

“Yeah,” you replied softly. “Bradley, too.”

She gently reminded you to have fun and to be safe before she had to go. The second you hung up your phone, you sighed, rubbing your eyes.

Pushing your towel off your shoulder and placing it on the rock beside you, you reached for the hem of your shirt, peeling it away from your body before doing the same with your leggings. You let your fallen pieces of clothing pile on the ground, and you closed your eyes, letting out a deep breath as you breathed in the clear air, finally allowing yourself to relax.

“Boyfriend trouble, Midge?”

Almost.

Gritting your teeth, you made to cover your body, your arms wrapping themselves tightly around your torso, your nails digging hard into your skin.

"Why the hell would you want to know, of all people?" you snapped at him, turning slowly on your heel. Standing before you, it took you a second to remember just how massive Jake was.

It had been a while since you’d been this close to him. His height and build, attributes that in another context might be admired, now served to remind you of the vulnerability you felt around him. You, with your smaller, short frame staring up at his face, were only reminded of that fact. The broadness of his shoulders, stretching the fabric of his button-up in a way that spoke of strength, with the way he always seemed to carry himself, made him see larger as if he was occupying more space than what was physically possible.

You stood there, trying to hold your ground, but the disparity in your sizes made you feel exposed, almost childlike. He's just a man, your aunt had reminded you.

Yeah, he is a man.

A man you hated with a burning passion. That was clear as day.

"Why are you here, Seresin?" you asked pointedly, ignoring the absence of a reply. He eyed you back. "Same as you. Bradley's going to purpose and wanted his best friend here."

You rolled your eyes. "No, what are doing fucking following me?"

"Fishing," Jake shrugs as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, spreading his arms out to prove a point, the rod and fishing line bouncing in his hand.

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Fishing? Really? Then please, be my guest. Poaching is a great way to get yourself kicked out of the park.”

Jake scowled at you. “You ever hear of catch and release, Midge?” he scoffed.

The laugh you let out was heartless. “Clearly, you know the concept all too well.”

You were dead set on escaping him, turning on your heel and marching towards the water without another word. Jake clearly thought the opposite, reaching forward to grasp at your elbow, pulling you back.

"Midge, stop! It's so like you to run off and ignore all your problems!"

Your turn towards Jake was sharp, a swift pivot that tore your arm from his grasp. Your eyes blazed with raw, unfiltered fury and resentment.

How dare he touch you!

"My problems!? What fucking problems would those be? I'm not the one purposely playing show and tell with my ego!"

Jake's face hardened. "My ego? You're the one making a scene every five minutes. You're the one that needs to calm down."

You glared at him, unwrapping your arms from around your chest to hang them at your sides, balling your hands into fists.

If he wanted calm, you'd show him the exact opposite.

"I'm not the one offering up cheap shots with every other breath. If you throw it at me, I'm going to throw that shit right back!"

Jake's eyes dropped to your exposed skin and the black bikini you had quickly changed into when you set up your tent. You saw it happen, and with each pass over your body, it felt like scrutiny, as if he was picking apart your every flaw, every scar, every wrinkle or flabby piece of skin. It was more ammo for more cheap shots later, no doubt.

Oh, so it's my fault then?" he sneered. "You're the one always ready to jump down my throat at the slightest provocation. Maybe if you weren't so defensive all the time, we could actually have a civil conversation and not ruin the fucking weekend for everybody."

You went to cover your body once again. "What do you fucking suggest then? Considering you cannot stand to call me out on something every two seconds?"

"Me?" he scoffed. "You're the one that seems to shutter in complete disgust every time I'm within breathing distance of you."

The retort was there, right on the tip of your tongue, ready to be unleashed on the world. That he said the same about you first, behind your back, no unless. It hung on your bated breath, waiting for the first word to be spoken, but something tethered you remain silent.

You couldn't admit that you knew, not know. You couldn't confront him about it either. He had proven here, and many times before, that the fault solely rested within you. And if you confronted it, that meant dredging up all the pain you meticulously buried under your disdain.

Admitting the real reason behind your spite, acknowledging the hurt he had caused, felt like giving him power over you, and that was the last thing you wanted.

You were going to back out before you said something you might regret.

"Okay, how about this? " You stated, holding your hands up in front of you, equal width apart. "This is you, and this is me. And this," you exaggerated, moving one of your hands into the center of the imaginary space you created, "is the boundary. We do not cross the boundary. We do not talk unless necessary, and we don't get into each other's way but to pass off the fucking compass to one another."

Jake scoffed. "You can't expect me to believe that is going to work?"

You dropped your hands to your hips. "Well, Mr. Smart Ass, have any other ideas that don't involve ruining Nat and Bradley's week?"

"I'm not that fucking heartless, Midge!" Jake retorted, his voice rising. "I'm not going to ruin it for them, but I won't tiptoe around you either. Whatever your problem is with me, it's yours to figure out on your own. Until then, put your selfish feelings and attitude aside and let them be happy!"

Something hit you square in the chest with his words. Your eyes began to sting, the sensation warning you of the impending overflow of unforgivable tears, and you tried to covertly blink them away. Everything was converging into a single, painful point in your chest, your mind now racing past every insecurity, every moment that had been magnified by Jake's previous words the night you met him - now being echoed yet again.

It was a raw exposure you hadn't anticipated, nor one you were prepared for.

"I'm not being selfish." You tried to hide the hurt from your voice. "But I guess that's a little too much to ask from someone like you."

Jake clenched his jaw. "Fine," he shouted, throwing up his hands. "You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours!"

"Fine!"

You stomped off with a shaky breath towards the shoreline, trying to ignore the tremor in your hands or how your stomach was flipping inside out, falsely warning you of some unknown danger or threat. Jake stormed off at the same time as you, stones crunching under his boots, and you had to force yourself from turning back to watch him leave.

Instead, you stepped into the water, the cool temperature shocking your system, but you pushed on, stepping forward until your waist was level with the lake.

Wading deeper into the water, you try to cast him from your mind. The lake water enveloped you, the cold water soothing on your skin and joints. You tried to pay no mind to Jake as you heard him cast his line off down the shoreline, letting your hands glide along the water's surface instead. You watched how the ripples cascaded out, surrounding your hand, and you found the motion soothing.

You suddenly sprung forward, diving under before you kicked yourself up into a dead man’s float, trying to push every single intrusive thought from your mind. Slowly treading the water with your hands, you let the silence flood your ears.

It wasn't an impossible task. You could do this: ignore him for the entire week and get away without interacting with him unless absolutely necessary. You could stay back with Bob and Grace or Cora and Mickey while he did whatever with the rest of them. You would let Nat have her moment to celebrate with her friends when Bradley did decide to pop the question, and you would smile and hug and toast to whatever came of it.

In some ways, you already had been. Because if staying at the back of the pack, away from Jake and out of everyone's hair, was the one thing you could do to make this experience the happiest for her, for them, you would do it.

So it was at that moment you decided Jake fucking Seresin was not going to have any opportunities to drive that fucking wedge any deeper than it already was.

But if a bear did decide to show up, you knew just exactly who you were tripping first.

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-Lucky/Wickett/Em

Part 2: Abracadabra - Coming soon!

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