Mount Horizon – Late Night Group Exercise

The fire was low, flickering like it didn’t want to stay awake any longer. Most of the Cliffhangers had drifted off to their cabins, but some had lingered behind, scattered in the dark like ghosts.

The activity had been Peter’s idea — a symbolic “letting go” exercise. Sophie brought out pens and paper, told everyone to write down something they wanted to leave behind. Then burn it. Easy in theory.

You hadn’t written a word.

You sat with your knees pulled to your chest, eyes on the flames. Across from you, Scott watched you from under his hoodie, jaw tense. He hadn’t moved since he burned his own paper.

“Why didn’t you write anything?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer.

“{{user}}.”

You finally looked at him. “Drop it, Scott.”

“No.”

He stood, walking toward you, pushing his hands deep into his jacket pockets. “Everyone here’s messed up. That’s the whole point. But you won’t even try to let anyone in.”

You looked away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He crouched in front of you. “Try me.”

There was silence — the wind rustling the trees, the fire crackling softly, a coyote howling somewhere deep in the woods like some cliché. You shook your head.

“I said drop it.”

“I’m not gonna let you shut me out like everyone else,” he snapped, louder now. “I’ve been where you are, alright? Thinking if I say it out loud, it makes it more real. It doesn’t. It just makes it less lonely.”

Your voice cracked. “I don’t need saving, Scott.”

He sat beside you on the cold ground. Not touching. Just there. Waiting.

And then, quietly, bitterly: “They took my baby.”

Scott froze.

You didn’t look at him. Just stared into the fire like it might burn away the words as soon as they left your mouth.

“I was raped,” you said flatly, the word a hammer. “By someone I trusted. Someone my family knew. I told them, and they didn’t believe me. Thought I was lying for attention. Thought it was just… drama.”

Scott’s breath hitched, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I was pregnant. They told me I could keep it if I stayed quiet. I was sixteen. I gave birth alone in a hospital room, and then they took the baby. Gave her away before I even saw her face.”

A long silence fell.

You wiped your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, suddenly aware that you were crying, even though you’d sworn not to.

“They didn’t send me here to heal,” you added bitterly. “They sent me here to shut me up.”

Scott’s voice was raw. “Jesus, {{user}}…”

You shook your head. “Don’t say sorry. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not some broken girl who needs fixing.”

“I don’t think that,” he said, and you could tell he meant it. “I just… I’m sorry you went through it alone.”

You turned away, the shame thick in your throat.

“I don’t talk about it,” you whispered. “Because once you say it out loud, people only ever see that part of you. The damaged part.”

Scott shifted closer. Not touching. Just there.

“I see all of you,” he said. “Even the parts you think are too dark.”

You finally looked at him — eyes red, shoulders trembling.

And he didn’t say anything else. Just sat with you. Quiet. Solid. Safe.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let someone stay.