sam

the wendigo is in the air now.

after the house blows up behind me and the impact forces me five feet in the air. i feel my rib crack on the way down. he pulls me up and holds onto my arm.

the helicopter is circling above us. a dark figure is lowered down. it takes ages for their boots to hit the ground.

she yells, asking if we're hurt. it sounds like an accusation. mike looks worse than i do. he's caked in dirt. the wraps over his fingers are soaked in blood. he has deep cuts on his neck, a black eye, and a busted lip.

she grabs him by the shoulder. "can you walk?" he nods.

"have you found the others?" i yell over the whir of the helicopter. but mike and i know where they are. in the mines. bodies swaying from hooks.

i clutch my ribs, dry heave, and lose consciousness.

mike

they separate us.

she disappears behind door #1. It's door #2 for me.

it's a fucking police station. not a hospital.

they ask questions. questions that i don't know how to answer. they ask about the others. they ask about jess and i fucking lose it. it's my fault. it's my fault. it's. all. my. fucking. fault.

"i'm the reason jess is dead."

i stop answering questions after that.

sam

i don't know how long i stay in the hospital. long enough for them to find the bodies. long enough for them to make me answer the same questions a hundred times over.

they wont let me see him.

but he's alive. i know that.

i'm deaf in my right ear from hannah screaming less than an inch from my face. not hannah. the wendigo. they said it might just be temporary. but it might not.

i have bruises and cuts and a broken rib. but i'm alive.

why am i alive again?

mike

after dodging questions for a week, i'm home.

back to my shitty apartment. my shitty life. my dead end job. they don't want me to come back until i'm completely healed. joke's on them.

i'm not in school. couldn't afford it. sam is though. i wonder if she went back.

she won't answer my calls or texts.

i haven't left my house since i got home. i live in fear. they are coming for me.

the police. the wendigo. my dead friends.

my friends call. other friends. to ask me how if i'm okay or whatever. but they're not the friends that matter.

sam

my text just says hey.

nothing else. i can't think of anything else. it's been a month. ive listened to his voicemails a dozen times over trying to think of the proper words to say. but there are no words to make this okay.

can i come over? i send that one a minute later.

yes.

then i realize i don't know where he lives so he texts me the address. i take the bus because driving gives me panic attacks now.

mike

she's at my doorstep an hour later. i brushed my teeth to rid myself of the smell of jack daniels.

she's smaller than i remember.

have you been eating? that's the first thing i ask her. after a month of not talking the first thing my dumb ass asks about her eating habits.

"no," she says narrowing her eyes. "have you been drinking?"

"yes."

we drop the subject. it's about control for both of us.

she collapses into my arms and i'm not expecting the hug. i think this is our first hug in three years of friendship. if that's what you want to call it.

i make a small noise. a sharp intake of breath. it's pathetic.

and then i hug her too.

sam

he's lonely too i can tell. his apartment smells like death. i stay the night. i tell myself its because i'm tired of my roommate looking at me like a wounded deer and besides, the buses have stopped running. but it's not.

it's because i'm weak. and i haven't talked to anyone in a month and i'm lonely.
we share a joint and a bottle of whisky. two things i didn't do before. but the way mike blows smoke out of side of his mouth reminds me of josh. they used to smoke together. i know this but i don't say it.

"are we going to talk about it?" i ask. this is because im drunk and high and too much of a lightweight.

he doesn't answer.

"i can't get it out of my head. i see it every time i close my eyes."

"sam." his jaw clenches. "stop."

"i want to feel something," i say.

mike

i kiss her.

or she kisses me. it doesn't fucking matter.

i'm drunk and she's straddling me and this is a bad idea. she grinds her body against my dick. and i can't think about anything else. i slide my hands up the back her shirt. she has fabric wrapped around her chest.

she yelps into my mouth. it's her ribs. i feel like a dumbass. she pulls away with her brow furrowed.

"do you still love her?" she asks.

"no," i say. "i never did."

this makes me a bad person. we both know it. she kisses me again and makes herself a bad person too. my mouth is already bleeding with my confession, and she bites harder.

and now its my turn. "do you still love him?" she doesn't answer so i pull away. "i'm sorry," i say. "i couldn't save him."

she brushes me off because we both know i didn't even try.

"you ruined it."

sam

i fall asleep on his couch at 4 am. i don't know if he ever sleeps because when i wake up he's gone. i take a shower since i don't have anywhere better to be.

i borrow one of his shirts when i get out. there's a picture of him, em, and me from prom. i pick it up, staring at em. i set the picture face down.

the door opens and mike appears again.

"i brought breakfast," he says, holding up a mcdonald's bag.

"thanks, but…"

"you should eat."

"i'm a vegan, mike."

it takes him a second to process this. i don't know why i'm surprised that he doesn't remember. it's not like we were close before. and we're not close now.

"fuck. i knew that. i promise. i just wasn't thinking."

"take care of yourself, mike."

and i leave.

mike

the next time i see her is our court date which is three months later. our eyes meet from across the room. she's wearing a dark sweater that swallows her body and jeans that hug her thighs. she's chopped her hair around her shoulders and it frames her thin face. my chest tightens and i've never felt this feeling before. our appointed lawyer shuffles her along until she's standing right in front of me.

it's my turn to hug her. she's shocked and pushes me away. but not before a few pictures are taken of the incident. it'll make for a great story. local dumbass hugs traumatized accomplice before she pushes him away because everything about him disgusts her.

we sit down and the trial begins.

sam

mike is on the stand first. we're being tried for arson on the Washington property. the lawyer is making us plea temporary insanity.

they bring up his father while questioning him.

"objection! relevance," our lawyer says.

"yes, what does the father have to do with this?" the judge asks.

"i have a point," the prosecutor says.

"get on with it then."

the prosecutor asks him about his father. "tell us how he died, michael."

"in a fire." he says this through gritted teeth.

"so this isn't your first run in with fire,' the prosecutor says.

"are you asking me if i killed him?"

"no, of course not, michael." he looks at the paper in his hands. "it says right here that your whole family was in the house. you, your two brothers, and your mother. you all made it out safely." mike's eyes are glass.

"but even that wasn't your first experience with fire was it?" mike looks at the judge, then our lawyer, begging anybody to save him from these questions. i can only watch.

"no, it wasn't."

"tell us about it, michael." mike bites his lip. "michael, tell us about the abuse."

"my father…he used to hurt us."

"how?"

"with his lighter." the judge walks up to the stand.

"these are all the domestic cases on the munroe family before they moved to alberta. noise complaints. house calls. it's all there. with one common factor: fire."

the prosecutor then flips through pictures on a projector. of the fire. of the kids. of a twelve-year-old mike's back with an array of burn marks that licked all the way up to the base of his neck.

"then you followed in your father's footstep didn't you, michael?"

"no."

"when you were fourteen?" mike didn't answer him. "alright, i will tell them then. while mr. munroe still lived in America, he and his friends started a fire on school property."

"objection! that's never been proved." our lawyer was scrambling.

"i'll rephrase," the prosecutor said. "michael and his friends allegedly started a fire on school property. all the friends got away but michael was caught. the only reason he was not charged is because he gave up the names of those friends that were with him. not the loyalist of friends, huh, michael?" a muscle in his jaw twitches. "it happened then and he wasn't punished. now it happened again. worse this time. this," he said pointing to mike," is not an innocent man. this is a man with prior history with fires. this is a man that endured an abusive father who has now adopted his habits, common in abuse cases. mr. munroe was very aware of what he was doing that night. this is not a man who suffered from temporary insanity. he did it as a kid and got away with it, do not let him get away with it again."

mike

fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck.

she's looking at me. they're all looking at me.

i wipe my eyes with a sleeve and stare at my shoes.

she's up next. our lawyer asks her questions first. they ask about when we were in the mines. they ask about the bodies. she makes sam describe it. how their bodies were hanging from chains. how i puked when we saw it. how she feared we were going to end up just like them by the end of the night. how relieved she was when we found josh. he was hallucinating, but he was alive.

then she asked about josh. sam clammed up. she never did like to talk about what they were to each other. em and jess always liked to tease her about it.

"was josh your boyfriend?"

"we never labelled it like that."

"but you were sleeping together, yes?"

she grits her teeth. "yes."

"did you think he loved you?" she doesn't answer. "samantha?"

"i used to."

"why past tense?"

"you don't do that to someone you love. you don't chase them around like that. you don't stick a needle in their neck and sedate them. you don't tie them to a chair in nothing but a towel and videotape it."

then our lawyer asked about the fire.

"we were trapped. they had us trapped in that house. it was the only way. we had no weapons. nothing. we could have very easily died in the fire too. we should have died in the fire. but we made it out."

then they play our police interviews. when i talk about jess i can hear the jury take in a breath. the interviews are cut together like a movie. it ends with sam.

"i said i'm fine," she yells at the officer off screen.

"sam," the lawyer turns her attention back to her. "does that look 'fine' to you?"

sam shakes her head.

"i don't think so either, samantha. and i think the jury needs to ask themselves the same question. do these look like two criminals to you that had intent to cause damage?" she points to the screen. "or do these look like two teenagers who were doing whatever it took to survive a night of terror that we couldn't even fathom?"

sam

we're both put on probation for the next two years. along with court mandated therapy twice a week.

but we're not going to jail. which is a victory.

i don't know what to do next. i find mike.

mike

"can i come home with you?"

there's something tragic about the way she looks at me. something lonesome. something magical.

i nod.

sam

we're back at his apartment now.

the door shuts and he kisses me hungrily, holding my face in his hands. he pins me against the wall with his hip. my hands are in his hair. it's greasy like he hasn't showered but i don't give a fuck.

i wrap my legs around his torso. my breath caught in my throat. he takes the memo, picking me and dropping me on his kitchen table. his hips find their place between my legs where they belong. i run my hands along his chest, grabbing at the edge of his t-shirt, pulling it with force.

"sammy," he groans. his breath is hot in my ear.

mike

her hands follow the trail of hair that disappears into my jeans to my cock.

"not yet," i say hoarsely against her collarbone.

i slide her sweater over her head and kiss her shoulders and neck. she throws her head back, grabbing fistfuls of my hair as i trail down her stomach, kissing the fleshy parts of her thighs. her hand is rough on the back of my neck as she tries to guide me where she wants me to go, but i'm not done being an asshole yet.

"you're such a fucking dick," she pants in a throaty voice.

sam

i can feel him grinning against my skin as he edges closer to my clit. "fuck," i say. he slips two fingers into me slowly while running his tongue along my wet skin. my legs start to shake involuntarily as he traces his way back up my body leaving his hand to do the work. we're kissing again. it's sloppy and wet and fucking perfect. i sit up again and yank at his belt, my tongue running the length of his jaw.

he kicks off his shoes as his pants hit the ground.

"i need you inside me right fucking now," i say.

mike

my dick twitches when she says that. and i swear to fucking god i could come just from her honey voice. she guides my dick into her, showing me the spot that feels the best. we lock eyes as my hips buck back and forth. she squirms at my touch, obscenities tumbling out of her mouth.

"jesus, mike," she huffs. she matches her hips with mine and i kiss her again because i can't get enough of the way she tastes. sam arches her back, pressing her palm into my chest. i move faster. "mike. mike. m-" her eyes close and her mouth opens only slightly. she leans into me further and scrapes her teeth on my shoulder. she groans as she's sent over the edge. in the light she looks like a fucking angel and it's not fair. three more thrusts and i'm gone too. i feel her contracting around me.

"fucking hell, sam," i moan, leaning most of my weight onto her. she runs her hands through my hair one more time.

sam

we spoon in his bed. he's not asleep though. i know by his shallow breaths.

"how do you sleep?" he asks quietly.

"i don't," i say flipping over to face him. "i fucking don't." i grabs his t-shirt in my fist just to make sure he's real.

"you're different now," he whispers.

"you can't say that. you didn't know me before." he runs his fingers along my ribs.

"i-"

"don't say you're sorry because i know you're not." he twirls a piece of hair between his thumb and index finger. it's only now that i remember two of his fingers are gone. "how are we supposed to go back to normal after this? how are we supposed to live?"

"i don't know, sammy." he presses his lips against my forehead. "i don't know."

mike

when i'm sure she's asleep, i go outside to smoke a cigarette. i rarely used to smoke before. i usually go through a pack a day now. it's only out here that i let myself break down. sobs wrack my chest and my hands are shaking.

i'm thinking about my friends and that night and how i should be the dead one not them. i'm thinking about my dad and how he fucked me up and how much i learned to hate myself because of him.

i'm freaking out so hard i don't hear the door close behind me. she sits down next to me and pulls me into her arms.

"it should've been me. it should have fucking been me." i cry into her chest. i know she's crying too. teardrops fall onto my hair and roll down my neck. "why am i alive, sam?"

"because i need you."

"me or somebody?" i don't know if i'm making sense.

she doesn't even hesitate. this is why she's the sun and i'm not. "you."