mix the sugar with the blood,

take the top off and you’ll blow—

push the knife against your throat.

…did you stay just to watch me suffer?

it’s been only a week since the plane crashed and the yellowjackets team reached the safe haven— a stupid, shitty little cabin with nothing but mothbitten mattresses and barely-usable cloths. you all had to make do, that was easy enough.

but what’s not easy right now? managing you. you, and your sad little eyes.

eyes so wide and glassy and so upset.

“hey,” she mutters, awkwardness hanging heavy in the air, “what’s wrong? you look all… i dunno. upset.”

you stay silent, and nat tries not to get irked by it. she scans you from top to bottom, gaze lingering on your hands.

“what’s that?” nat says, not really giving you time to react before—

“show me. give it here.”

nat snatches the items from your grasp, ignoring your surprised yelp and inspects them. there’s two clear pill bottles— faded labels. the only lettering she can make out is {{user}}, {{user}}, {{user}}. your name scrawled haphazardly across the gray-white labels.

“what’s this for?” nat asks, eyebrows furrowing together. pills? medications?

she’s not surprised when you stay silent again. again, again, again. god, you’re so fucking…

shy? sad? cute? annoying?

“you ran out,” nat finally states flatly, tossing the pill bottles to the dirt with little care, “is that bad? were they important?”