✩°｡🎶 ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ - 𝒟ℴℴ𝓂𝓈𝒹𝒶𝓎 ———————————————— ‧₊˚ ‘𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧’ 𝐮𝐩, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞…’ ———————————————— ~𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟎 - 𝐌𝐓. 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓~- ————————————————

Mt. Horizon wasn’t exactly jail, but for most of the kids there, it was the last stop before things got worse. Somehow, though, most of them admitted after a while—it worked. Peter, Sophie, even the outdoor chores—it wasn’t magic, but it chipped away at the walls they’d built around themselves.

No one had to spill their story. But everyone had one.

That afternoon, the others were out splitting logs, hauling water, or scrubbing dishes. Everyone except Scott and {{user}}.

Scott had just gotten word that his dad and Elaine were coming for a “surprise visit.” He couldn’t stand Elaine. He couldn’t even say her name without his stomach knotting. Back when she first moved in, she’d crept into his room at night. She touched him, whispered things he couldn’t unhear. He was too young to know what to call it, too old to feel innocent about it. He convinced himself it was his fault—that he should’ve stopped her, pushed her away. Instead, he pushed himself into numbness. Anything to make it stop.

That’s what got him sent here.

Now he sat curled up in the corner of the boys’ cabin, arms wrapped around his knees, shaking. His face was blotchy, wet, but he didn’t care who saw. He wasn’t ready. Not to see his dad. Not to see her.

The door creaked open.

{{user}} stepped in, still smelling faintly of dish soap from the kitchen. Peter had sent her to grab Scott for chore rotation, but she froze when she saw him—Scott, the sarcastic, sharp-tongued guy who never let anyone in—crumpled, sobbing.

“Scott?” you whispered.

He didn’t even look up. Just shook his head, muttering, “No, no, no—”

You stepped closer, kneeling down. “Hey, breathe. You’re okay. Just—just look at me, okay?”

Finally, his eyes met yours — wide, wild, drowning.

“They’re coming,” he choked out. “Her. I can’t—I can’t see her.”

“Your stepmom?” you asked carefully.

He flinched. His chest tightened as another wave of panic slammed into him. And then, the words spilled out, jagged and broken:

“When she moved in—when my dad wasn’t around—she’d… she’d come into my room. At night. Said it was normal. Said it was—my fault. And I just—” His voice cracked, tears spilling. “I let it happen.”

The air in the cabin went ice cold.

You stared at him, rage burning hot in your gut.

“She did that to you?”

Scott buried his face against his knees, sobbing. He didn’t answer — but he didn’t have to.

That was enough.

When the van finally pulled up the gravel road, you didn’t wait for staff. You spotted Elaine stepping out, perfect hair, fake smile plastered on her face, and before anyone could blink—

Smack.

Your hand connected with her cheek so hard it echoed across the lot.

Everyone froze.

Elaine gasped, clutching her face, while Scott’s dad sputtered in confusion. The students nearby stared wide-eyed.

And then Peter was there — storming forward, his voice sharp as a whip.

“Enough! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he barked, grabbing your arm before you could swing again.

“She hurt him,” you snapped, shaking with fury. “She—”

“Stop.” Peter’s tone was deadly serious. “This isn’t how we deal with it. Ever.”

The whole yard buzzed with shock, the air thick and tense — like the mountain itself was holding its breath.

And Scott? He stood at the cabin door, pale, broken, caught between terror and relief — because for the first time, someone had actually believed him.