Author’s Note:
This is a rough draft. It has not been edited properly. I also tried using a dictation tool for some parts of this chapter, so that might lead to some weird formatting stuff I didn’t catch. Nothing is set in stone yet, and things may change as the draft develops. Thank you to anyone who reads and leaves feedback.
Read the rest, here:
Day Four:
The storm that ends up rolling through hits with such a force that the power goes out. This wouldn’t be a problem, except that there are exactly three candles in the entire building. Given that nighttime is rapidly approaching, this leaves them with very little light.
“You have Wi-Fi at your cottage, but not more than three candles?” Luana asks as Carey lights the candles.
“He doesn’t have Wi-Fi at the moment, either,” Sam points out.
“Ha ha,” Carey replies flatly. “Look, we went through a lot last summer. I thought Marianne replaced them.”
“Sure,” Sam shrugs. “Blame your sister.”
Augusta takes a candle from Carey and sets it down on the coffee table. She feels a tight knot in her stomach. How the hell are they going to do this? Her stomach is detesting the idea of relying on more wine. But the idea of making it through this storm sober seems equally detestable.
“What the hell do we do now?” Carey sighs. His mask of steady optimism is cracking.
“It’s just a storm,” Sam says. “It will pass.”
Carey paces around the kitchen a little, pointing his phone flashlight around, like he’s searching for something he cannot name. Augusta feels like she’s watching a cat pace around a cage. She sits on the couch, turning away from him. It’s all making her dizzy.
Luana is sitting on an armchair perpendicular to her. Augusta watches her face in the candlelight. She looks fine. Her face is trained into a neutral expression. Her mouth is set in a soft, almost blank line. But there’s a tension in her eyes. A little twitch to her eyelids. Augusta’s eyes travel down her arms, where her hands are clenched into fists. Her nails are pressing into the skin of her palms.
“What do you want to do, Luana?” Augusta asks.
Luana blinks, looking at her. “What?”
“What do you want to do?” Augusta repeats.
It’s not what she really wants to ask her. There are so many bigger, more pressing questions. How much does she know? Is she committed to this whole act? Will she be crushed when it all eventually falls apart?
Luana considers the question presented to her. She smiles, pretty like a pageant queen, but when she speaks, her voice is pinched.
“Wine,” she says. “I would like a glass of wine.”
“Yes!” Carey exclaims. He snaps his fingers. “Drinking. Drinking sounds great.”
Uh oh. That could spell trouble.
“Carey…” Sam protests.
Clearly Sam sees the same impending disaster as Augusta.
But Carey doesn’t listen. He doesn’t even look. He strides into the kitchen and rummages around the fridge for a bottle or rosé.
“This is good,” he murmurs. “Oh, but I’ve also got tequila.”
Oh god. That’s not good. Tequila is not good, not in this scenario.
“Tequila?” Sam sighs. “Carey, really?”
Carey grabs four small glasses from a cupboard.
“Sam, it’s a brand you like,” Carey says. “This is a good plan. We’ll drink. We’ll laugh. We’ll sleep. Tomorrow, the storm will be over.”
Sam says nothing.
Augusta accepts a glass when Carey passes one to her, despite the fact that she doesn’t intend on drinking too much. Earlier, it had felt like a necessary crutch. Now, it feels dangerous.
“We could, uh, do a drinking game?” Carey suggests.
Is he fucking serious?
“Again?” Sam asks flatly.
“You know,” Augusta tries. “It’s okay if we just take it easy. You don’t need to entertain us, Carey.”
Carey shoots her a funny look. In the low candlelight, his eyes look reckless. Self-destructive. Is he as tired as Augusta is? As Sam and Luana also seem to be?
Luana doesn’t seem keen at all.
“I still want wine,” she says, standing up and walking back towards the fridge. “I don’t want tequila.”
“You don’t play drinking games with rosé,” Carey says. “Right? That’s not normal.”
“How old are we?” Sam sighs.
Augusta glares at him. He cannot seriously be asking that when he has the conflict resolution skills of a fetus.
“I will be drinking rosé, game or no game,” Luana says.
“I’m going to grab the game from the other night,” Carey says, ignoring her.
“That’s not a good idea,” Augusta mumbles.
Carey doesn’t reply to this either. He simply crosses the room, and again with his phone flashlight, searches for the game they played last night. The game that caused all this trouble to begin with. Augusta’s not sure why he’s doing this to himself. Does he want things to get worse? Is he striking matches and throwing them in random places just to see what catches?
“Truth or drink!” Carey announces, bringing the box back and sitting down beside Augusta on the couch. He slides the box across the coffee table to Sam. “You go first.”
Sam’s eyes now. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously,” Carey says. He looks a little unhinged. Augusta’s not sure what’s going to happen if Sam refuses to go along with it. Will they have an argument that has nothing to do with why they’re actually upset?
Sam takes a sip of his tequila. “There. I chose drink. Next.”
“That’s not how it works,” Carey reminds him. “You have to read the question first.”
Sam groans and pulls a card from the box. He squints his eyes to read it in the low light.
“Describe your best orgasm,” he reads flatly. “How long did it last?”
Carey starts to cough.
Luana wrinkles her nose. “Jesus fucking…”
“This was such a good idea,” Augusta whispers. “So glad we’re doing this.”
“Do I have to take another drink or was the first one sufficient?” Sam asks.
“Wh-whatever you want,” Carey stammers. He turns to Augusta. “Your turn?”
Oh, what joy.
Augusta should refuse, but part of her feels completely resigned to whatever is going to happen. She pulls a card from the box.
“What is the most embarrassing series of texts you have on your phone?” She reads aloud.
“Hmm, well that’s pretty easy. I don’t have any.”
“Great,” Sam says. “Moving on.”
“I think if you don’t have an answer, you have to drink,” Carey says.
“She does have an answer,” Sam replies. “Her answer is that there are none. Moving on. Why don’t you go, Carey?”
Carey scowls and swipes a card from the box.
“Who was the last person you licked?” He reads, frowning. “Are these questions getting worse?”
“For Augusta’s sake, I hope her,” Luana says mildly, sloshing the wine around in her glass.
Everyone looks at her.
“Come on, Lu,” Sam says disapprovingly.
Carey looks mortified. “Uh, that’s private between… You know what? I’ll drink.”
He takes a swig of tequila.
Sensing the inevitable, Luana reaches to draw a card.
“Who would you hate to see naked?” Luana reads, sighing. “You’re right, Carey. These are definitely getting worse.”
“Does that mean in the room or in life, generally?” Carey asks. “Because those are two very different answers, I’d assume.”
“Let’s say it’s in life, generally,” Augusta says. That feels like a safe executive decision to make. Lest Luana drunkenly say too much.
“I agree,” Luana says. “And in that case it’s my elementary school crossing guard, Sherman.”
“Wow,” Sam blinks. “You really have that answer ready to go.”
“I really believe it,” Luana says. “He’s the last person on Earth I would want to see naked.”
“Was he particularly hideous?” Carey asks. “Creepy with the students?”
Luana shakes her head. “Nope. None of that. He was probably younger than I picture him in my memories, and actually decently fine looking, but he had this off-putting way of flirting with all the moms. I always hated him. He always disgusted me.”
She shudders a bit as she explains it.
“Weird,” Carey says. He turns to Sam. “Your turn.”
“One round wasn’t enough?” Sam asks, pained.
“Is the power back on?” Carey asks. “No, let’s keep going.”
Augusta wonders if Carey is on the verge of having a stroke.
Sam pulls a card. He reads it over silently, then drinks without explaining himself.
“What?” Carey asks. “Sam, no. You have to read it. Those are the rules.”
“Fuck the rules of this stupid game, Carey,” Sam grumbles.
“The literal point of the game is that choosing to drink is telling us something about what you’d rather not answer,” Carey argues.
“No, I get that, thank you,” Sam grits. “I’m gonna not follow those rules because I’m an adult, not a teenager playing their first drinking game.”
“Okay, well,” Carey’s mouth tightens. “Then we’re all gonna imagine the worst, probably.”
“I’m fine with that,” Sam says.
Luana takes a long sip of rosé. “I think you’re both taking this a little too seriously.”
Augusta gives her a cautionary glance. She sounds more than just tipsy. How much has she had today? Did she knock more back while Augusta was down at the dock?
“It’s okay, Lu,” Sam says.
“No, no,” Luana shakes her head. “Come on. The point of a drinking game to pass the time is to have fun. Distract ourselves! Sam, you’re too tense. Carey, fuck the rules.”
She’s not wrong, is the thing. Luana knows how to play a drinking game. That much Augusta remembers. But this game isn’t about fun. Not for Sam or Carey. This game is about some strange routine of chicken they’re both playing; toeing a line closer than they’ve ever likely toed it.
“Fuck the rules?” Carey asks, eyebrow raised. “You can’t play a game without rules.”
“Sure I can,” Luana shrugs.
There’s a look of challenge on her face. Just like all those years ago at the Halloween party, right before she kissed Augusta for the first time.
With a quick swipe of her delicate fingers, Luana grabs a card from the box. She glances at it for half a second before putting it face up on the table for everyone to read. What do you like to be called in bed?
“Never have I ever had a threesome,” Luana says instead.
“That’s not what it says,” Carey protests.
“I know, I can read,” Luana replies.
“Never have I ever had a threesome.”
Carey, indignant, looks at Sam and Augusta. As if to gauge their willingness to participate in mutiny.
“Well, I haven’t,” Augusta says. “So I won’t be drinking.”
“Come on,” Carey mutters.
“Neither have I,” Sam says. He turns to Carey. “However…”
Carey rolls his eyes. “Oh, fuck off.”
“Drink up, pal.”
Carey takes a big swig of his drink.
“What if I didn’t want Gus to know that?” Carey asks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
“I already knew it,” Augusta mumbles. He’s been very open with her. Well, about these sorts of things, at least.
“Well, that’s the game for you,” Luana shrugs. “Augusta, your turn.”
Great.
Augusta thinks.
“Uh… Never have I ever been to the west coast,” she says. “Vancouver, Seattle, any of it.”
Luana and Carey drink. Sam does not. Carey still looks miffed that his game has been hijacked.
“Oh, see,” Luana says like she’s talking to a group of schoolchildren. “What fun! Carey, where did you go?”
Carey sighs. “Whistler a few times with my family. San Francisco, too, with some friends.”
“Great!” Luana says. “Now we know more about each other.”
“What about you?” Augusta asks, amused.
Luana looks at her. “Hmm?”
“Where on the west coast have you been?” Augusta clarifies.
“Oh,” Luana smiles softly. “Hiking in Oregon. Took a trip… Uh, about nine years ago now.”
After they’d met. After they’d hooked up.
It’s strange to think of her running out of the apartment and heading straight for an Oregon forest, even though Augusta’s sure that’s not the precise timeline.
“You never told me about that trip,” Sam says.
“Oh? No?” Luana shrugs. “Well, I went with my ex, so… You know.”
Was it the ex she’d broken up with right before hooking up with Augusta? Someone else?
“Right,” Sam nods. He doesn’t seem at all bothered. Just curious.
“Sam, your turn,” Luana says. “Never have I ever. Go.”
Sam sighs. His eyes squint, like he’s deep in thought, trying to summon an answer.
“Would’ve been simpler if you just read the card,” Carey mumbles.
Sam’s eyes snap over to him. He looks furious.
“Never have I ever wrecked an airplane bathroom because I had to try to airport Taco Bell,” Sam says.
Luana’s hand flies to cover her mouth. Augusta freezes.
Carey’s jaw drops.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Sam?”
“I’m not going to drink,” Sam says. “Anyone else gonna drink?”
Carey scowls, but takes a drink.
“I don’t think we need to expand on that story,” Luana decides.
“Good call,” Augusta agrees.
Carey clears his throat and gives Sam a punishing sort of look.
“Never have I ever cancelled a date with thirty minutes of advanced notice, giving the excuse that I caught a highly contagious virus at my job.”
Luana sighs. Augusta can only help but wonder which virus.
“Okay, well you know why I had to do that,” Sam says.
“Drink, Sam,” Carey says.
“You’re making it sound worse than it was,” Sam argues.
“Drink, Sam.”
“I didn’t even want to go on that stupid date in the first place,” Sam grumbles, taking a drink. “Who spells their name that way?”
Augusta wonders if there are a lot of flippant, shallow reasons why Sam has chosen to reject dates with women. She wonders if he would care so much if, say, Carey had a ridiculously spelled name.
“I guess that makes it my turn again,” Luana says.
But only Augusta seems to hear this.
“Never have I ever dislocated my shoulder high on mushrooms,” Sam says.
Carey drinks. He doesn’t look particularly ashamed of this one.
“Wow,” Augusta winces. “I haven’t heard that one.”
No one hears her either.
“Never have I ever gotten a tattoo removed after insisting I’d want it forever,” Carey fires back.
“This game is supposed to have turns,” Augusta whispers to Luana as Sam drinks, face becoming increasingly red.
“That might be my fault,” Luana whispers back. “I said fuck the rules.”
Carey refills everyone’s glasses. Augusta’s is untouched, which just leaves it nearly overflowing. Partaking in the tequila might make this whole experience a bit more vulnerable. Or it will just mean she’s experiencing it anyway, and will end up puking later. Not a gamble she’s willing to make, at the moment.
“Never have I ever said I was in love with someone one week, only to break up with them two weeks later,” Sam says.
Carey scowls. “That’s fucking low.”
“Drink, Carey,” Sam says, mocking his tone from earlier.
“Guys, this is getting mean,” Luana says. “And boring. So maybe cut it out?”
Carey takes a swig of tequila.
“Never have I ever freaked out about my friend coming out for no good reason at all,” Carey grumbles.
Ah, yep. There that is.
Sam doesn’t drink.
“That’s not fucking fair,” Sam complains. “I tried to explain myself to you. I apologized.”
Carey shrugs. “I’m just saying I’ve never done that. Only drink if you feel guilty, I guess.”
Sam scoffs.
“Holy shit,” Augusta groans, louder than she intends to. “Never have I fucking ever been so in love with my best friend I acted like a total asshole.”
The whole room goes deadly silent.
Augusta realizes what she’s said. Her stomach churns. Bile rises in her throat. She’s absolutely certain she’s turned the colour of a cherry tomato.
Luana looks at Augusta, confused. Sam and Carey have both gone absolutely rigid, like she’s a gorgon that petrified them or something.
“What did you say?” Luana asks quietly.
Augusta realizes she has a choice. They all heard what she said. They all know exactly what she said. Luana is giving her an opportunity to amend it. To deny it. To pull the curtain back over this complicated thing Augusta has unearthed. Augusta can go back on script and the show can continue as usual.
But Augusta doesn’t want to play anymore.
She wants to go home.
She’s the little girl at a slumber party that’s had a bit too much candy, feels sick, and needs to leave for the warm embrace of the familiar. This isn’t fun anymore. But they’re in the middle of a storm and everyone is hurting a different kind of hurt.
There’s no walking away from this easily.
Augusta looks at Carey. Carey who is avoiding looking back at her. She has spent their entire, brief romance feeling so connected to him. Feeling like finally someone knows her and sees her the way she wants to be known and seen. Someone who saw her, changed by death and fascinated by it, and didn’t think she was morbid or a curiosity or a passing interest. Because he was changed the same way. They had both been fundamentally altered by something and didn’t that make them perfect for each other? But maybe that’s not enough. And maybe Augusta is stuck in this dead place, while Carey belongs on the other side of it. With someone he’s loved the whole time.
She doesn’t want to lose Carey. If Sam wasn’t in the picture, maybe they could really have something. But he is. So they don’t. They never will. Not anything where Augusta isn’t an unintentional second choice, anyway.
Augusta can’t make a decision for him. She can’t tell him what to do. But she can pull her part from this performance.
She can call time of death on a love that was still very new to begin with.
Augusta looks at Luana.
“I said, never have I ever fallen in love with my best friend.”
Ooohhh, I love this chapter. That went to defcon 10 in no time at all! lol! Gus finally reached her limit, and who can blame her. Has she read the room right and will either of the men admit to their feelings? I feel like things are a bit more complicated than that. But I’ll find out soon I guess!