4. Bianca
BIANCA
Pain splits my skull. Every pulse throbs behind my eyes, sharp and relentless.
I peel my lids open. Light stabs straight through to my brain. Each blink drives the ache deeper. My mouth tastes like roadkill marinated in cheap vodka.
A groan claws up my throat.
“Hey, take it easy.”
Winston’s voice cuts through the fog. I squint past the throbbing to find him slouched in the armchair beside my bed, shadows carved beneath his eyes like bruises.
“What time is it?”
“Nine twenty-four.”
A sick feeling hits me. We leave at eleven forty-five.
“Relax. Mom already packed most of your stuff.”
“I’ll grab you water. Don’t move too fast,” he instructs, dragging his palm across the stubble on his jaw.
The second he vanishes, I snatch my phone from the nightstand. The bright screen sears straight through to my brain.
A single text from Whitney waits from last night, alongside a string of messages in the group chat.
Whitney
B, heard you got hurt and left. Are you okay? Text me!
Does she know what her dad told me yesterday?
I skip hers, clicking on the chat that includes Winston.
Owen
Winston, you get Bianca home safe?
Winston
I just got her in bed. She’s out cold. What the hell happened?
Freddie
Some drunk jackass was hitting on her and knocked her into the pool. She hit her head on the edge going down.
Tristan
She went under for a moment. Owen pulled her out.
Winston
She was unconscious? For how long?
Owen
A few seconds. She came to right after I got her out.
Weller
She seemed disoriented. More than just the fall would warrant.
Winston
How much did she drink?
Freddie
A couple, maybe. And then Whitney brought us shots. Not sure if Bianca and Whitney were drinking when they were getting ready.
Winston
I’m monitoring her breathing. She’s pretty out of it.
Tristan
Is the cut still bleeding?
Winston
Got it cleaned up. No stitches needed. I’m checking vitals every 30 minutes.
Owen
I should’ve broken that asshole’s face.
Weller
I understand the sentiment, but he wasn’t the priority at that point.
Freddie
Could she be concussed, Win?
Winston
Possibly. I won’t be sleeping tonight.
Tristan
Keep us updated, Winston.
Weller
Let us know if you need anything.
Winston
Will do.
Winston
Update: She’s okay. Stable. You guys make it home?
Winston
Still doing good. I’ll send another update in the morning.
The messages stop there.
I try to text, but I fudge the message up three times before I manage to type properly.
Me
I’m alive. Are you up? Leaving in two hours. Can you come by? Please?
I stare at the screen, waiting for a reply that doesn’t come.
Winston returns with water and white tablets. “Here’s your doctor-approved hangover cure.”
“Thanks, Winnie.” I swallow the pills with a desperate gulp.
“Text the guys—they were worried sick. Color me fucking shocked Owen didn’t get an assault charge last night.” He rakes his fingers through his disheveled hair.
“Jack was drunk... it wasn’t intentional. I tried texting, but they’re not answering.” I wave my blank screen at him. “Did you hear from any of them after that last message?”
Winston shakes his head. “No, but they could be sleeping. It was a long night for everyone.”
“I need to talk to them before I go.”
“About?”
The words stick and won’t come out. How do I explain to my brother the clusterfuck that is now my life? “Just... stuff. You know I won’t have cell service up there, right?”
Winston arches an eyebrow but doesn’t push. After watching me check for a reply every thirty seconds, he sighs. “Go shower. I’ll help you finish packing.”
The hot water pounds against my back, but it can’t wash away Dr. Montgomery’s words.
I scrub until my skin burns red, but the shame won’t wash away. My cheek throbs where it struck the pool edge. I trace the mark, remembering strong arms lifting me from the water, Weller’s lips against my forehead.
Precious girl.
But I’m not, am I? There’s nothing precious about me.
Back in my room, I throw clothes into my suitcase without glancing at them.
Whitney’s next on my list.
Me
Hey, saw your text. I’m fine, other than the raging headache. How was the rest of the party? Did you notice what time the guys left?
Whitney doesn’t respond. She definitely knows what her father told me.
I break down and start calling them. Freddie first. Voicemail. Then Tristan, Owen, and Weller.
Four calls. Four voicemails. Panic is settling in.
Me
Please answer. WTF. Are you okay?
Me
Guys?
Me
Leaving for the airport…
I grip the charm hard enough to leave an imprint on my fingertips.
“Bianca?” Mom appears in the doorway, brow furrowed. “We need to leave. Your dad’s done loading the car.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“You haven’t put that thing down all morning.” She steps into the room, arms crossing over her chest. “Everything alright?”
No, nothing is alright. I just found out I’m irreparably broken, and the four guys I’m in love with have fallen off the fucking planet.
“Just trying to reach the guys before we go.”
Her eyes focus on the bruising that colors my cheek. “Your brother said you took quite a tumble. Maybe it’s good to get away, clear your head.” She wanders off down the hall.
Everything feels heavy, pressing in on me until there’s no room left for air, and I sink down onto the edge of my bed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I never thought I’d be leaving for this trip with these words still trapped inside.
I make one last desperate attempt, dialing each number and letting it ring until voicemail picks up.
“Bianca! Come on!” Dad booms from downstairs.
The airport. The mountains. Weeks of isolation stretching ahead of me like a prison sentence.
Nothing changes as we leave. No alerts. No notifications. No them. Silence fills the car as we pull away from the curb, my childhood home shrinking in the rear window.
My eyes burn with hot tears. They always text back. Always. My phone sits dead in my lap.
Life moves forward while my heart stays fixed on four alphas who didn’t answer when I needed them most.
“You okay, honey?” Mom peers over her shoulder. “You’ve been so quiet.”
“Headache,” I say, the word bitter on my tongue, but it’s easier than the truth.
I press my forehead to the cool glass. The window fogs where I breathe, then clears.
Dark wood and strange shadows fill every corner. Pine and mothball scents hang heavy in the air.
Airports and shitty mountain roads made my head pound for hours. Now I’m stuck here with no cell service, no WiFi, no way to reach them… just trees everywhere and nothing but wind and creaking branches.
“Home sweet home for the next three weeks,” Mom sounds overly chipper as she hangs clothes in the tiny closet next to her bed. “Isn’t it adorable?”
Adorable? The cabin has one room, a kitchen with one cabinet, and a bathroom so small your knees hit the shower wall when you sit on the toilet. Two narrow beds crammed around a nightstand that looks ready to collapse.
There’s literally nothing here. No distractions from the mess in my head. I have three weeks to obsessively think about every possible scenario, what-if, and coulda-woulda-shoulda that I can conjure up.
“It’s great, Mom. Thanks for planning this.” The words taste like dirt.
Last night feels like a lifetime ago. I was in Weller’s arms, his heartbeat steady against my cheek. I can still feel his lips against my forehead, still smell the teakwood that clung to his shirt. The girl I was a few days ago is starkly different from the girl I am now.
The empty signal bars look like the world giving up on me.
By the time we landed, I was certain there would be a message. Then I hoped desperately I would hear from them before we drove too deep into the mountains. But no. Still nothing. Winston had no updates either.
They were so worried about me last night, then it’s like a light switched off.
This isn’t like them at all, but what do I know about their lives outside of me? College, jobs, whatever their fathers make them do...
All I have are half-baked theories with no proof. It feels like I’m drowning in hell.
“Your grandma took a similar trip with me when I turned eighteen.” Mom sits beside me, the mattress dipping under her weight. “Although, this place has running water. We spent weeks in tents.”
“I didn’t realize Grandma was such an adventurer.”
“Not so much after you kids were born. Then she became all about spoiling you and Winston.” She looks at my cheek, attention lingering on the purple bruise. “How’s it feeling?”
“Fine.” It throbs with every heartbeat.
“Good, we’re meeting our guide bright and early.” She pats my knee. “Roger will be here at five sharp to go over our route for the first week.”
“Five? That’s early.”
“Early starts are best in the mountains. Let’s get washed up.”
When she disappears into the bathroom, I open our group chat one more time, scrolling through last night’s messages. The way they ended after Winston’s update makes my skin crawl.
“Your turn.” Mom emerges in flannel pajamas, skin freshly washed.
I go through the motions like a robot. Brush teeth. Wash face. Avoid the bruise. Change into sleep shorts and a t-shirt that smells like home.
When I return, Mom’s already in bed, her lamp off.
“Goodnight, honey.” She sounds halfway to sleep already. “Get some rest. Tomorrow will be challenging.”
Perfect. “Night, Mom.”
Something scurries in the walls. The bed frame groans when I sit down.
I slide under sheets that smell like mothballs. My fingers find the bee charm, the only piece of them I have left.
Mom’s breathing deepens into soft snores.
Outside, wind rattles through pine needles. A branch scratches against the window over and over.
I don’t want to be here. Part of me wants to shake Mom awake and demand we go home.
I close my eyes. Try to breathe. In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
Tomorrow, maybe there’ll be a break in the trees, a moment of cell service. An opportunity to talk to them.
For now, I lie awake in this unfamiliar bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling weirdly empty as my thoughts spin in circles, waiting for sleep to drag me under.