[unpermanent]

the  truth  that  lays  at  the  back  of  your  throat,  like  the  biting  edge  of  saltwater  swallowed.  what  were  you  looking  for  when  you  nearly  coughed  it  up  —  absolution  or  integrity     ?        

#      𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐓     :     a  meditation  on  the  undoing  of  contradictions  ,  the  weight  of  hesitation  ,  &   the  destruction  of  self-preservation within  juliette  montgomery ,  aka  the  judas   ⸻ as  scripted  by  hyun  (  she/her  )  for  @tidepoint  .

                                  intro. dossier. pinterest. threads.

[failedtheorum]

she stared at juliette for a long time, or maybe it only felt long because her chest wouldn’t stop tightening. the words landed — no, you’re right — soft, careful, like she was trying not to startle a wounded animal. rue almost laughed. as if there was anything left between them delicate enough to break. it had already shattered — rue was just walking barefoot through the shards, trying not to bleed.

she wanted to say something cruel, something final, something that would cauterize this ache in her throat. but all she managed was silence, because what could she say that wasn’t soaked in indifference? that she remembered last summer like a phantom limb, still writhing, still hurting? that every time she looked at juliette, she saw the ghost of what they’d been — and it was unbearable?

her jaw worked, uselessly. rue’s gaze flicked down, catching juliette's twitching hands, and for a heartbeat something inside her softened, old muscle memory urging her forward. she almost reached out. almost. but then the thought passed — if she touches me, i’ll disinegrate. if i touch her, i’ll forgive her. and i don’t know which would ruin me more.

the question about the five barely registered. it was so ordinary, it stung. a cruel reminder of how far they’d fallen. rue forced herself to look at her, though it felt like staring into the sun — too much, too blinding.

“ i don’t know why you keep trying, ” she said finally, voice low, hoarse with something she refused to name. “ but, no. ”

[unpermanent]

i  don't  know  why  you  keep  trying.  the  comment  cuts  through  her,  scathing  with  a  finality  that  means  you  can't  fix  this.  she  had  never  been  one  to  sink  claws  into  anything,  but  for  some  reason  now  she's  started  to  dig  her  heels  into  the  sand,  begging  for  the  tide  not  to  pull  her  away.  it  is  a  fool's  errand  to  wish  to  rewind  a  clock,  and  yet  she  wants  it  desperately.  laughter  they  used  to  share  by  bonfires,  arm  looped  through  hers  stumbling  back  to  the  five  drunk,  looks  they  could  exchange  across  a  room  and  know  immediately  what  the  other  was  thinking. looking  at  rue  now,  she  cannot  interpret  the  gaze.  it  is  selfish,  perhaps, that  she  cannot  let  go. “  rue,  i  —  you're  —  ”  jules  had  never  been  one  to  stumble  over  her  words  like  this,  but  she  chokes  on  the  intention  of  having  so  much  to  say  without  the  right  words  coming  out,  suddenly  seized  by  the  need  to  fill  this  silence  with  something,  keep  rue  here  with  her  for  just  a  moment  longer.  the  bucket  sits  in  the  grass, abandoned,  sponge  floating  at  the  top.  in  the  water's  reflection,  the  letters  accuse  her  matter-of-factly.  i  know  what  you  did  last  summer. “  you're  my  friend.  ”  she  says  it  like  it's  obvious,  but  lately it has seemed like anything but.  she  grasps  for  something  other  than  questions  that  end  in  the  obvious,  words  that  don't  betray  the  distance  created.  she  takes  a  breath,  swallows.  “  you  got  home  ok  at  least,  from  hana's  party.  ” 

[seafaded]

he  just  needed  somewhere  to  fuck  off  to.  to  leave  behind,  if  only  temporarily,  the  tornado  of  disaster  that  was  following  him  around  lately.  some  may  argue,  mainly  his  sisters,  that  milos  invited  the  disaster  in.  held  the  door  open  for  it,  cordially  stepping  aside  to  let  it  through.  but  this  was  different.  this  was  far  beyond  his  usual  karma.  a  twisted  kind  of  justice  that  made  him  wonder  if  they  deserved  all  of  this:  the  fear,  the  guilt,  the  way  coincidences  now  felt  like  pieces  of  a  larger,  broken  puzzle.  this  rooftop,  their  rooftop,  had  been  a  constant  reprieve.  and  of  course,  she  was  here  to  remind  him  of  that.

it  had  been,  what,  a  year  ?  a  year  that  she's  holding  on  with  all  her  might  to  —  well  fuck  if  milos  knows.  can  barely  even  remember  why  she's  mad  at  this  point.  seems  all  so  pointless  now,  but  juliette  isn't  one  for  letting  shit  slide.  clearly.  he  scoffs,  the  sound  low  and  humorless.  “  the  world  doesn’t  revolve  around  you,  juliette.  got  my  own  reasons.  ”  his  eyes  flicker,  for  a  fraction  of  a  second,  to  the  spot  where  they  used  to  sit,  shoulders  nearly  touching,  a  memory  he  immediately  shoves  down.  he  takes  out  his  own  pack  of  camels.  smacks  the  fresh  pack  against  his  palm  three  times  before  using  his  teeth  the  tear  open  the  plastic  film.  he  doesn't  look  at  her.  “  besides,  you  think  i  would  come  here  because  i  want  to  bitched  at  ?  ”  his  words  low  —  a  dangerous  rumble.  milos  has  always  fought  fire  with  fire.  extinguishing  flames  just  sounds  boring.  “  so  we're  still  doing  this,  huh  ?  ”  milos  sighs,  the  sound  more  weary  than  he  intends  as  he  takes  out  the  cheap  plastic  lighter,  igniting  the  cigarette  balancing  delicately  between  his  lips.  “  and  you  wonder  why  i  stopped  picking  up  your  calls,  ”  milos  chuckles,  cruelly  and  calculated.  digging  at  the  scars  because  it's  easier  than  trying  to  heal  them.

[unpermanent]

TO  KNOW  SOMEONE  SO  WELL  and  no  longer  know  what  to  do  with  the  knowledge  is  a  different  kind  of  cruelty.  she  holds  it  in  her  hands  like  an  injured  bird  with  no  place  to  set  it  down  gently,  and  here  she  could  not  be  more  aware  of  its  heaviness.  the  long  summer  days  spent  with  him  by  her  side,  the  laughter  that  came  with  sneaking  around  the  hotel  to  make  it  up  to  the  roof,  the  drinks  shared  as  they  watched  the  sun  set  over  lethe.  now,  it  was  haunted  with  the  absence  of  it  all,  the  void  as  dark  and  apparent  as  the  sky  above  them.  the  way  milos  speaks,  it's  like  none  of  it  matters  —  their  friendship,  their  memories,  her.  the  thought  flares:  maybe  it  never  did.  “  hah,  funny,  when  you  need  that  reminder  more  than  me.  ”  it's  childish,  the  way  she  circles  the  source  of  her  anger  without  speaking  it  aloud.  the memory surges forward like a flash flood: that  night  when  all  she  was  left  with  was  his  broken  promise.  what  else  could  she  do, then,  but  burn  a  bridge  she  no  longer  trusted  to  hold  her  weight? she  flicks  the  ashes  of  her  cigarette  away  from  her,  motes  of  light  flickering  to  the  ground.  “  you  don't  even  know  why  i'm  ‘  bitching  at  you.  ’  ”  she  rolls  her  eyes,  almost  daring  him  to  say  all  the  right  things  now,  as  if  she  could  forfeit  an  answer,  as  if  such  make-believe  could  be  realized.  “  you  think  you're  the  good  guy  in  all  this  ?  ”  she  asks,  stares  back  at  him  with  an  incredulity  that  masks  the  ache  in  her.  “  you  never  gave  a  shit  about  me,  at  least  now  you're  finally  showing  it.  do  you  even  care  about  anyone  except  yourself  ?  ”  a  pointless  question.  “ guess  i  dodged  a  fucking  bullet. ”

[pineapple1ce]

“um, no. i was at freya’s actually.” it spreads through him like a rash, the biting urge to declare that nothing happened, to defend himself in case she got the wrong idea. though, he doubted anyone in the group would believe it since freya was freya and tommy was, well, tommy. on the lonier nights when his mind wouldn't sit still, he’d drift down to mizu looking for company, and still end up in his bed alone. “did— you?” his tone tilts upwards, an attempt at casual that doesn't quite land, as his free hand scratches the side of his head, chasing an itch he can't pin down. “yeah, lets get rid of this damn thing.” a sideways glance, then, towards jules, as the sun edges higher, throwing a glare across her face, and her hair shifts with the wind. the look is enough to say the rest: we might have a long morning, maybe even a long summer, but i'll do it with you. sponge in hand, he dips down at the bucket just as jules does, fingers skimming too close, and the water lightly ripples from the near-contact. for a fleeting moment, he doesn't pull back. even with the wall glaring down at them in red, he finds the nerve to break the silence with a joke: “are you trying to hold my hand? right now?”

[unpermanent]

“OH, THAT'S GOOD,” she remarks, but it comes out flatter than she'd like. tinged not with envy or disappointment, but a reminder that unlike tommy, she felt she had nowhere else to go. lately she's been crafting her isolation with her own hands, and last night, the thought had pricked like a needle — they'll find out soon. if you leave first, it'll hurt less. sometimes, the worst parts of her bleed like an open wound and she has to remember to put pressure on it before someone else sees. “ that's good, ” she repeats with more genuity. “ um, i did. though i can assure you it was better than staying here. i'm sure freya has comfier bedding. ” a stilted beat, when juliette catches his gaze, and something in her softens, his presence an opposing reminder, one that pulls her back. she reaches down to grab the other sponge in the bucket. it's the barest grazing of fingers, one that years ago she would not have thought twice about, but this summer it's like it suddenly holds weight. stupid, she chides herself, like swatting a gnat. his joke is a graceful way out, and she takes it, breaking into a smile. something about the comfort, if even just for a second, of how things used to be. as she draws the other sponge out, she uses her free hand to smack him lightly on the shoulder. “ you're the one who offered to help, ” she says with a laugh, “ you sure that wasn't your plan all along ? ”

[unpermanent]

✶   for.   〳 @onimpact. ✶   time.   〳 approx.  1  p.m. ✶   place.   〳 [ext.] lethe  harbor

SOMETIMES,  LETHE  MOVES  LIKE  NOTHING  EVER  HAPPENED.  the  ships  come  and  leave  the  harbor  in  its  steady  rhythm,  indifferent  to  the  horrors  of  the  previous  summer,  unconcerned  with  the  fresh  wave  of  doubts  and  secrets  that  plague  this  summer.  juliette  sits  on  a  bench  at  a  quiet  end  of  the  harbor  next  to  alena,  treats  and  drinks  from  saltbreak  brought  out  with  them.  it's  a  miraculous  thing,  that  in  all  the  chaos  of  last  summer,  jules'  bond  with  alena  has  done  the  exact  opposite  of  fraying  at  its  edges.  if  anything,  she  feels  closer  to  him,  and  an  acuity  attuned  to  not  messing  with  it  like  she  has  with  many.  as  long  as  she  doesn't  find  out  about  last  summer,  or  ██████████.  juliette,  still  with  shadows  under  her  eyes  from  a  restless  night,  shifts  to  turn  to  alena.  “  okay,  if  we  start  from  the  beginning…  ”  she  begins,  a  journalist  instinct  arising  in  her  —  a  need  to  piece  it  all  together,  somehow  have  it  all  make  sense.  she  folds  the  cafe  receipt  in  her  hand  as  she  thinks.  “  who  would've  sent  that  text  ?  and  do  they  have  his  phone,  somehow  ?  but  didn't  we–  i–  ”  the  superstition  suddenly  passes:  the  harbor  hears,  and  remembers.  juliette  eyes  their  surroundings  once,  even  though  this  end  holds  no  boats,  no  other  people.  “  is  it  just  some  kind  of  sick  prank  ?  ” 

[pineapple1ce]

eyes squint against the break of dawn as he steps out of the five, searching for jules, absent from her room. yesterday's shirt clings to him, collar creased, shoes scuffed. he looks smaller in the morning light, guilt dripping down his spine weighs heavier than the sweat on his forehead. when he finally finds her by the water, he can only hope she hadn't slept here either. hopefully no one did. “i just saw your text,” he says, breath uneven from the run over, somewhat leaving him like an apology. under the sun, half-silhouetted and half-exposed, she'd stood there alone, and it twisted something in him to see it. he should've been here sooner, should've been here in the first place. “let me?” he asks, hand moving to take the bucket from her. for a beat, only seagulls cawing and waves curling along the beach, as they walk back to the five, crimson writing sharpening into view. “it's not-- it's not what i think it is, right?”

[unpermanent]

SEEING THE WORDS SCRAWLED ONTO THE FIVE had made her wish she could sink her nails into the house and never let go. when she had texted tommy “did you see this??" her message had hid a sudden fear: this could not be taken from her too. “ i just… i don't know who the hell would do this, ” she remarks, anger dampened from weariness. as she lets him take the bucket, juliette notices his shirt. “ you slept here, too ? ” she hadn't checked when she had awoken, half of it haste, half of it hesitation. she hated the times she let that one memory pervade their friendship. one of the memories that was meant to stay buried. jules lets herself be pulled away from thinking more about it as tommy mentions the writing, her gaze following his. “ if you have other ideas, i'm all ears, ” she replies with a dry laugh. even she cannot confirm it aloud, as if it was worse than what had already been used, already been written. and despite this denial, comes an admission, a weak spot, that she would allow herself around tommy. “ all i know is i don't wanna keep looking at it. ”

[failedtheorum]

moved through the morning like a revenant, her silhouette wavering in the half - light — unfinished as a half - remembered dream. the dawn, all gaudy with its borrowed hues, struck her not with warmth but with a kind of cruelty — it unveiled her. every rotted ardor carved beneath eyes, every scar not quite fading under that sickly gilding. she wasn't illuminated by it so much as exposed, and exposure had always felt like violence.

she lingered at the edge of juliette’s gaze, spectral, dazed, the sharpness of beauty dulled by exhaustion. once, she might've come toward her friend with laughter. now she came hollowed out, every step carrying the tremor of too many nights gutted by memory, by substances, by truths too poisonous to hold.

“ awake, ” she echoed, almost to herself. “ if that’s what you wanna call it. ” she tilted her head, shadows pooling under cheekbones, and added — soft, sardonic, devastatingly weary. “ didn’t think anyone was sleeping anymore. ”

[unpermanent]

WHEN  DID  IT  BECOME  LIKE  THIS?  a  question  that  echoes  in  juliette's  mind  as  her  friend  comes  into  view.  the  harder  juliette  tried  to  focus  on  rue  in  the  haze  of  the  early  morning,  the  more  her  friend  blurred.  before  last  summer,  their  friendship  had  been  clear,  a  surety  jules  had  felt  worm  its  way  in  and  dangerously  begun  to  rely  on.  but  now,  it  seemed  an  impossible  distance  lay  between  them,  a  winding  path  strewn  with  all  that  jules  does  not  have  the  courage  to  speak,  rendered  by  her  own  actions.  when  did  it  become  like  this?  perhaps  when  juliette  had  made  mistake  after  mistake,  that  summer.  she  wants  to  touch  her  friend's  cheek,  take  her  gently  by  the  shoulder  and  ask,  what  can  i  do?  but  jules  can  still  feel  the  blood  on  her  hands,  the  hilt  of  the  dagger  she  had  brandished,  and  it  makes  her  hesitate  —  what  right  did  she  have,  to  ask  that  kind  of  question?  her  fingers  twitch, lowers her gaze to the grass.  “  no,  you're  right,  ”  jules  says  instead,  softly,  delicately.  like  this  will  somehow  preserve  something  that  has  already  fractured.  the  best  juliette  can  do  is  step  closer  to  rue,  look at her, search her face.  for  what  ,  she  wasn't  sure  —   their  friendship?  forgiveness?  a  solution,  for  how  to  fix  this?  “  did  you  stay  at  the  five  too?  ”

[unpermanent]

✶   for.   〳 @miloshq. ✶   time.   〳 approx.  10  p.m. ✶   place.   〳 [ext.] the  lethean  hotel,  rooftop

THE  MAW  OF  LETHE'S  NIGHT  SKY  FEELS  ALL-CONSUMING,  stars  swallowed  whole,  moon  a  blur  of  gray.  next  would  be  the  streetlamps,  and  then  the  fireflies,  and  finally  the  little  lights  on  in  all  the  windows  below.  juliette  stands  ten  stories  above  lethe,  leaning  her  back  against  the  railing  that  lined  the  perimeter  of  the  lethean  hotel's  east  rooftop.  the  memories  of  her  time  spent  here  now  clung  like  sand  in  the  sole  of  her  shoes,  but  despite  it  she  thought  that  it  could  still  have  its  same  effect  —  relieve  her,  even  just  momentarily,  of  the  knots  in  her  stomach.  she  takes  a  lighter  out,  one  that  teddy  had  gifted  her  years  ago,  cigarette  between  her  fingers.  the  fire  crackles,  illuminating  her  face  in  the  darkness,  as  she  gazes  at  the  door  that  led  to  the  staircase  back  down  to  lethe,  to  reality.  then,  it  pushes  open  –  and  through  it,  in  the  dim  moonlight,  emerges  a  figure  she  didn't  think  would  be  here  of  all  places.  but  she  could  recognize  his  silhouette  anywhere.  juliette  had  been  deliberately  avoiding  milos  since  coming  back  to  lethe,  but  it  seemed  her  luck  had  run  out.  i  miss  you,  she  wants  to  say,  but  instead  it  comes  out  as  a  scoff.  “  of  course  you'd  come  here  when  i'm  here...  ”  she  has  to  look  away,  stares  at  the  restaurant  closing  down  on  the  other  end  of  the  hotel.  if  she  looks  any  longer  she'll  be  reminded  of  where  he  left  her.  the  bitterness  steeps.  “ just  give  me  a  fuckin'  minute,  alright  ?  then  it's  all  yours.  why'd  you  even  come  up  here  ?  ”   a  hypocritical  question.  she  was  here  too,  despite  it  all.  but  she  provokes  —  stokes  the  fire,  hopes  that  somewhere  she  can  find  an  answer  to  what  happened  to  them,  what  they  are  now.  “  not  like  this  place  means  much  to  you  now,  does  it  ?  ”

[unpermanent]

I HAVEN'T TOLD ANYONE JUST LIKE WE PROMISED. HAVE YOU?

welcome back to lethe.

[unpermanent]

✶   open  to.   〳 unlimited. ✶   time.   〳 approx.  6:45  a.m. ✶   place.   〳 [ext.] the  five

THE  SUN  CRAWLS  OUT  OF  ITS  SLUMBER  and  rests  its  lazy  gaze  on  juliette,  who  stares  back  into  its  embrace  with  equal  tiredness.  she  had  slept  at  the  five,  thinking  she  would  get  less  sleep  if  she  slept  at  her  grandmother's,  who  would  only  ask  questions  that  prodded  all  the  wrong  places.  but  the choice  was  meaningless.  she  had  woken  up  over  an  hour  ago,  memories  of  the  weekend  still  heavy  enough  to  drag  her  out  of  any  useful  sleep.  the  photograph  that  had  slipped  into  her  path.  coming  back  to  the  five  to  see  what  was  scrawled  onto  the  slats  of  the  boathouse.  and  then:  teddy's  face  before  her,  silent,  eyes  accusatory.  every  time  she  tried  to  go  back  to  sleep,  the  sequence  looped  itself.  the  fifth  time  she  saw  his  gaze,  boring  into  her  as  if  digging  for  the  truth,  she  tossed  her  sheets  aside,  splashed  her  face  with  cold  water,  and  headed  outside.  now,  she  turns  away  from  the  coast to  face  the  house. in  a  moment  of  sudden  sobriety,  or  perhaps  in  a  moment  inebriated  by  her  insomnia,  she  had  brought  out  a  sponge  and  a  bucket  to  scrub  away  the  red  that  still  stained  the  five,  like  getting  rid  of  it  could rid  the  accusation (  the  truth  )  .  as  she  steps  away  from  the  water  and  walks  back  towards  the  house,  she  spots  a  figure  approaching.  “  what  are  you  doing  up  so  early  ?  ”  she  asks,  as  if  dark  circles  don't  lay  under  her  eyes  as  evidence  of  anything.  “  i  didn't  think  anyone  else  was  awake.  ”

[unpermanent]

/ (   ashley  moore.   cis-female.   she/her ).   ⸻   juliette  “jules”  montgomery,     a   twenty-eight   year   old   photojournalist,   still   wears   last   summer   like   a   scar.   they   move   through   the   heat   as   the  judas,   each   step   a   reminder   of   the   role   they've   never   quite   outrun.   carried   like   souvenirs   from   something   they   won't   talk   about,  you'll   recognize   them   by   warm  sand  slipping  through  your  fingers  like  the  turn  of  an  hourglass;  a  blur  of  moonlight  obscured  by  clouds,  casting  everything  in  dim  monochrome;  the  taste  of  salt  on  your  tongue  after  swallowing  seawater .   they've   always   been   adaptable  and   cynical,   depending   on   who's   telling   the   story.   the   sand   shifts,   the   shoreline   whispers,   and   everyone   pretends   not   to   notice   what's   changed.   but   secrets   rot   faster   in   the   sun   &   someone   out   there   still   remembers   exactly   what   they   did… (hyun,   23,   she/her,   gmt+9,   n/a).

✶    〳   BEFORE WE BEGIN:

all of juliette's info is hosted on google docs, and i would really appreciate it if you took a gander there (mainly the biography & psychology tabs) to fully understand her ! however, i know not everyone has time to read that monster of a thing, or maybe this is just for your future reference, so below is the summary <3

✶    〳   QUICK STATISTICS:

full name: juliette phoebe montgomery / nickname: jules, j, julie (by family) / age: twenty-eight / birth: may 27th, 1997 in geneva, switzerland / gender/pronouns: cis-female, she/her / orientation: bisexual, biromantic / languages: english, french, german, some italian / occupation: photojournalist for the boston globe / height: 5'4" or 163cm

positives: adaptable, straightforward, perceptive, personable / negatives: private, cynical, conflict-averse, unpredictable / neutrals: individualistic, rational, cautious / primary goal: to find a place she belongs / primary fear: being vulnerable; losing friends and community / skills & hobbies: photography, playing pool, chess & poker & strategic board games, hiking, art museums, swimming 

mbti: istp – the virtuoso / enneagram: type 6, the loyalist or the skeptic / likes: cherry ice cream, black coffee, whiskey, blue hour, georgia o'keefe paintings, documentaries, cats / dislikes: mint chocolate flavor, snakes, passive-aggressiveness, losing games

✶    〳   A GLANCE AT HER FAMILY:

MOTHER: diane underwood (58) — an american diplomat and politician, who was stationed in switzerland when she had juliette. her mother is cutthroat, not very affectionate, and values her public image. juliette feels an intrinsic need to earn her approval, which she despises. 

FATHER: ebi montgomery (deceased at  age 47) — an american graphic designer from lethe, who went to art school in switzerland and stayed there when he met juliette's mother. juliette was closer with her father; they shared a love for art. he was a much more easy-going parent. he was the reason she came to lethe in the first place.

YOUNGER SISTER: lucille “luci” montgomery (25) — a swiss-born american model and online influencer, who is starting to gain serious traction. she is quite naive, overly optimistic, and a hopeless romantic. juliette feels protective of her, and perhaps jealous of how carefree her sister is.

✶    〳   INTO THE PAST:

EARLY LIFE:

born in geneva, switzerland as the eldest child of an american diplomat and an american graphic designer, and older sister of lucille by three years. her mother was busy and subsequently not around much, while her father spent more time with the children.

the family moved around a lot, and the constant change in environment meant that she quickly learned the rhythm of gaining and losing friends, and how not to get attached – when her mother announces the next country, she knows how to cut her connections loose. 

at first, she tried to maintain friendships, but it always ended the same: distance and time did all the dirty work, and she was left alone to start anew. the only constant – if anything – was her family.

when juliette was seventeen, her father passed away from an undetected heart disease.

COLLEGE & LETHE:

juliette started again at boston university, studying journalism for both her bachelor’s and master’s. 

being close to her dad’s hometown of lethe, she went for the very first time the summer after her freshman year, staying with her grandmother. she felt at home there for the first time. after that first summer, she started returning to lethe every summer.

in college, she dated someone in her friend group, but rumors spread that over the summer they had gotten with someone else while they were apart. she broke it off with them, and the friend group, without any other confirmation. 

the summer before she graduated with her master’s degree, she met the group at lethe, did her song and dance to make friends with them. as she spent more time with them, it gradually convinced her to not run. it feels more like home with them than it has ever felt before, but she still knows the escape route.

after graduation, she became a photojournalist for the boston globe.

LAST SUMMER: (ignore the tense change…)

it was supposed to be like every other summer, but maybe it was always going to end like this, and you just forgot to look for the warning signs. that summer, you weren’t thinking straight and almost broke your own rule with the fool, made a mistake. then you followed the group to lethe dip, your second mistake. the fall, the clean-up: you weren’t thinking straight then, either. everyone walked away like nothing happened, but you can feel it in every fiber of your body, eating at you. 

you were so close. the next time you met with your sister for brunch, you were hoping she couldn’t see what you felt. you swallowed it, you almost threw it all back up, and then you walked away.

returning to your job feels like penance. you’re meant to seek the truth when you know exactly where it is, slotted in the space between your lungs and your ribs, poking you every time you breathe.

THIS SUMMER:

you came back – what are you looking for this time? a foolish thing to believe that you can still return and think of lethe as your home when it’s stained in blood, but maybe this is your destiny, with guilt as your companion. you don’t know why you haven’t cut ties yet, why you keep hesitating, and you’re not sure whether you’ve made the right decision. 

now, the exit might be blocked. do you know what to do if you can’t run?

✶    〳   THE CONNECTION WITH TEDDY:

they originally met at the beginning of the summer she had met the rest of the group, outside mizu where she asked him for a lighter and they shared a cigarette. there was always a shared, unspoken understanding between them — two sides of the same coin, two people who have the tendency to leave first. they often met up as just the two of them, like confidantes without really speaking about what's eating at them, and instead just enjoyed the other's company. juliette would never talk about the times she saw teddy worse for wear to the rest of the group — she would never ask, and besides, whatever it was, it wasn't her secret to tell.

see google docs for more detail, or check out her playlist and her pinterest !