ASHLEY; BW BED AND BREAKFAST; 23:01
SIXTEEN HOURS SINCE INCIDENT

It's been a few minutes since we came into the room after checking in. Mr. and Mrs. Washington decided to give us two large rooms—one for the boys and one for the girls—the same rule they imposed whenever we go to the Washington Mansion in California.

Before, it didn't really bother me... but now?

"It's okay. We're going to see each other in the morning, anyway," Chris reassured me when I was complaining to him about the arrangement in the middle of the Blackwood Bed and Breakfast hallway. "Although, I don't think I would do much sleeping," he continued.

"I'm about the same. Maybe I'll be outside later. I don't know," I whispered.

"Text me if you go out. I'll personally try to sleep but I'll go out when you do," Chris told me.

"No, I don't want you to lose sleep because of me," I argued.

"I don't want you wandering alone either," Chris replied. "Just... Think of it as me trying to find some more time to spend with you. Promise me you'll text me, okay?"

"Okay, I promise," I said, blushing.

I kissed him right there and then, not being able to hold it in anymore. Before he could open his eyes, I left the hallway to enter the room where Sam was (Emily was still talking to Matt in the hallway when I went into the room).

It's been a few minutes since then. Here I am, huddled on top of the bed—which is near the door, leaning on the corner of the wall behind me. My legs are folded in front of my chest and my arms are wrapped around them.

Sam is sitting in the middle of her bed—which is in the middle of the room, with her legs crossed and her elbows resting on her thighs with her fingers twiddling with each other in anxiety.

Emily is sitting horizontally at the foot of her bed—which is the one near the window, with her back leaning on the wall beside the said window. Her legs are stretched in front of her.

It's been quiet—awfully quiet.

When Emily entered the room, she gave me a quick disgusted look before claiming her bed, which is on the far opposite side wall where mine is. Sam told me it would be better off for her to be in the middle since there's some tension between me and Emily, and she has never been more right.

Ever since Emily entered the room, no one said a single word. The other two are looking at a distance, not really looking at anything. They're both deep in their thoughts.

I'm just uncomfortable with the silence.

I really am not one for silences, hence, why I talk so much. Or maybe that's because I'm socially awkward or something.

Still, I wouldn't dare break the silence since one of my roommates hates my guts. I can't even look at Emily except for that brief eye-contact we had when she came in the room.

I still hate myself for encouraging Mike to freaking kill her, but I really can't be blamed, though.

I was scared, and I thought she was going to be like those monsters. How are those wendigos any different from a zombie or a monster? Am I to be blamed for mistaking the wendigo's way of infecting everyone?

"Em, what's wrong?" Sam suddenly asks, finally breaking the silence and breaking me out of my musings.

I chance a glance at Emily. She now has her arms wrapped around herself, comforting herself by rubbing her own arms. Her knees are raised up to her chin, letting herself be smaller. I've only seen her like this once—when Mike was about to shoot her.

I've never seen her like this at any other time, but then again, after everything that happened...

"I don't know... Everything?" she replies quietly.

"Em..." Sam whispers sympathetically.

Emily shakes her head fervently. "No, no, it's just... I wish Matt was here with me." She sighs sadly.

Sam only nods in response and looks back at the ground in front of her. And we are silent once more.

"He's right across the hall," I stupidly blurt out as a way to comfort her.

Of course, that obviously backfires.

"Geez, what a fucking brilliant statement, Captain Obvious. Thank you, Brown. I'm all better now," Emily snaps sarcastically at me.

I look away from her cold piercing glare as Sam sighs, "Let's not fight, please."

I hear Emily huff in defeat. "Yeah, whatever. If only she'd stop saying stupid things."

Before I retort, Sam gives me a look and shakes her head, so I back down from saying anything.

"Anyway," Sam continues, "I understand what you mean, Em... about Matt, I mean. And Ash is right: he's just across the hall with the other boys. You're okay. He's okay. You're safe," she comforts.

"Umm, no, you don't. You couldn't understand. I want him here... by my side... comforting me. I want to hear his voice every minute. I want him to say that everything is going to be all right. How can you possibly understand all that?" Emily responds.

Sam doesn't reply.

"That's what I thought," Emily huffs, rubbing her arms.

I take a good look at Sam.

I've never seen her so... heartbroken. Her head is hanging low as she stares at her restless fingers. She looks positively hurt at Emily's words, but she's trying to hide it under a strong persona. It would have worked on me if I didn't know her long enough to see when she's trying to be strong.

Her eyes—there's a sort of longing in them. I know that kind of longing in her gaze. It's the same type of longing I've seen in the mirror whenever I thought of Chris in the past. The type I've seen in my own reflection whenever I wanted Chris to be with me even when I knew that was impossible since I didn't even know if he reciprocated my feelings.

"Sam," I start, "you really understand, don't you?"

She keeps silent.

Who else could it be but—

"Josh," I whisper. Both Emily and Sam look at me at that. "Were you and Josh... you know... Did you guys have a thing?"

Even Emily seems interested at my words. I can see through my peripheral vision how she stops making herself small and decides to sit at the side of the bed with her feet flat on the floor. She has her full attention on us now.

"Sam?" Emily probes after five minutes of silence.

"No," Sam finally replies after a beat or two. "I did, though."

How do you explain what I am feeling? I'm both surprised but also... not? I've been speculating about this for a long time, but it still surprised me to hear that I was right.

"Did you really?" Emily asks in the softest tone I have ever heard her use.

"I don't want to talk about it," Sam whispers.

"Jesus, you sound like Chris," I comment. "It'll help, you know—talking about it."

"Yeah, I won't even deny that the bitch is right," Emily adds, expertly knowing how to insult me even when we are on the same page.

"I've had enough talking from Mike to last a lifetime, so will you please let this one go?" Sam pleads with a sigh.

"Mike," Emily growls with a roll of her eyes, "he doesn't know a thing or two about what to talk about, or how to talk about it to people."

"Yes, well, I've talked to him about this, and I've had enough," Sam replies.

"You're clearly still bothered by it," I point out. "It'll help to talk to us, girls, about it. Maybe, we can even shed some light into it? I don't know. Just talk to us."

"You two really won't let this go, will you?" Sam tells more to her legs than at us. She sighs when both Emily and I hum in response. "Fine," she says, but she doesn't elaborate on anything.

"When did it happen?" I persist.

She shrugs before shaking her head and straightening her shoulders—soldiering on—putting on a mask for us. "I don't know... He and I were always close, especially since the twins used to bring me at their house all the time, you know all that."

"But?" Emily asks.

"But what?" Sam asks.

"I can hear a 'but' at the end there," Emily points out softly.

Sam sighs and looks at the floor. "But... when the twins were gone... when they disappeared... I guess you could say that we—I don't know—ran into each other's arms for comfort. He told me that I was the one person who understood him. Fuck, I hate this," she whispers, raising her head and blinking which could only mean that she is trying not to let her tears fall. "He didn't deserve what he got."

"He hurt us," I remind her, confused at how she seems to already forgive him after everything he did to us—to me, "you especially. Didn't you say he chased you around the lodge while you were practically naked?"

"Oh my fucking God, Ashley, can you be any more insensitive?" Emily snaps.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"I may be a bitch but, at least, I'm honest about it. Not like you, you lying bitch," she continues.

"Excuse me?!" I snap back. "How the hell am I a lying bitch?"

"Guys, come on..."

Emily ignores Sam. "Because out of all of us, you're the most insensitive... heartless... bitch here but you mask it underneath all that fake sweet personality of yours."

"I do not!"

"Yes, you fucking do!" She raises her finger as if to count. "First, you tell Mike to shoot me. Then, you try to hide the fact that the wendigo bites aren't infectious. And now, you fucking tell Sam that Josh deserves to die! What's next? You think Hannah was an idiot for dying?"

I don't answer. Because she's right. Deep down, I do think it wasn't our fault that Hannah ran into the woods, half-naked and upset. She could have gone to her room but no, she overreacted and went to the woods instead.

But I'm not gonna say that, because that's wrong.

Besides, I still feel that we're partially at fault for what happened.

"Oh my God… Oh my God, you do! You do think that, don't you?" Emily asks in disbelief.

"I don't!"

"I knew it," she scoffs. "Ha! If only Chris can hear you now. He wouldn't stay a single minute with you if you showed him your true colors!"

The words hit home. "I don't think that! Hannah didn't deserve the fate she got!" I argue, telling her the truth.

Hannah didn't deserve dying or turning into one of those wendigos. I don't think she's an idiot for dying. I just think that maybe, she overreacted.

"Guys, please, can we not?" Sam stops us from further fighting. She turns to look at me. "Hannah didn't deserve the fate she got, that's true—but neither does Josh."

I look away, suddenly remembering the saws and the gun and the—oh my God, oh my God!

"You weren't there," I finally snap. "You didn't know what he did to me and Chris. There were saws everywhere. There was blood everywhere. He made us think he was dead!"

"I saw him die, too, you know," Sam suddenly says, surprising me and Emily.

"What?" Emily asks. "Oh my God, what?"

Sam sighs. "Before he chased me, he showed me a video—a video of him being sawed in half. You know how that felt?" We don't answer. "Pretty awful."

"Sam, I'm… I didn't know…" Emily whispers in horror. "And you like him?"

Sam nods.

"Fuck, that's terrible," Emily says, moving to sit beside Sam and rubbing her back.

Sam turns to look at Emily and removes her hand. "I'm fine, Em. Don't worry about me."

"You've been holding that back for, about sixteen hours now? Of course, I'll worry," Emily scolds.

Sam chuckles, "Thanks, I guess, but seriously, I'm fine."

"I heard Chris is fine, too," I point out. They look at me, immediately understanding what I'm trying to say.

"Yeah, Sam," Emily starts, "we're all fucking fine here."

Sam groans. "You sound like Mike."

Emily scoffs. "Don't even think about comparing me to that prick."

She gives a little chuckle. "Sorry."

"Yeah." Emily goes back to her spot, probably not wanting to aggravate Sam further.

"Do you… Do you still like him?" I ask cautiously.

Because I, for one, absolutely hate him.

Sam shrugs. "I don't want to think about it."

"I just don't understand how you can forgive him so quickly," I blurt out, completely flabbergasted.

"Who says I forgive him?" Sam points out. "Well, I don't know what to feel about him, if I'm being honest. Maybe I do forgive him. He was just crying out for help, anyways. But it doesn't mean I won't forget what he'd done."

I shake my head.

"Ash, I know it's different with you. I mean, he only chased me. You were tied up and even punched. I understand why you feel this way," Sam continues.

"Yeah, well, I suppose something good happened out of all this," I mutter, thinking of Chris and our newfound relationship.

"Are you seriously going to ignore the fact that two of us are missing?" Emily asks harshly.

"I'm just saying: there are some good things that came out of this hell. I'm not dismissing the bad ones, but I sure as hell am not ignoring the good ones either."

Emily looks away and turns to look out the window.

I sigh. "I'm gonna go out."

"What? Now?" Sam asks in concern.

"Not out-out. Just out in the lobby or somewhere in this place. I don't think I can handle going out at night at this point," I tell them.

"Okay, just be careful, okay?" Sam says. Emily gives me a long hard stare and I can tell for sure that she wishes I'd go out and be eaten by the wendigos.

I take out my phone and text Chris.

Just as I go out in the hallway, the door to the boys' room opens, revealing a tired Chris.

"I think it's a bad idea," he suddenly says.

"A simple hello would be better, Chris," I joke.

"What?" he asks me. "Oh no, I was talking to myself."

"What's the bad idea?" I ask instead, going towards him.

"Leaving Matt and Mike alone. Those two had been fighting nonstop since we were in the same room. How are you and Em?" he asks me, taking both of my hands.

"As okay as it can be with Em angry at you, I suppose," I reply with a shrug.

"That bad, huh?"

"Yup… So, where do you wanna go?"

Chris shrugs. "You're the one who wanted to go outside."

"And you don't? I'm sorry if I made you."

"No, no, not at all!" he chuckles. "It's been difficult trying to stop the fight between the two brawns in there. They're not even listening to me. I've had enough. I wanted to try sleeping but I saw your text. I don't even think I'd be able to sleep with them arguing." He rolls his eyes.

"We can stay at the lounge near the balcony," I suggest.

"Sounds good to me."

We pass through the hallways hand-in-hand, not once speaking to each other before we reach the lounge where the big balcony is. I sit on one of the couches—the one where I won't see the view of the dark outdoors—and Chris sits beside me.

He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in, placing a kiss on my forehead.

I feel him tremble.

"Chris, what's wrong?"

He sighs. "Nothing, really. I just can't stop thinking about everything that happened last night."

"I get what you mean. I can't stop thinking about the saws, and the blood, and the gore. Oh God, I think I'm going to be sick," I whisper.

Chris immediately turns on his seat to look at me attentively. "Are you okay? Do you need to go to the bathroom or something?" he asks worriedly and urgently.

I shake my head. "No, no, I'm fine." I wince at the word. "At least, physically."

Tentatively, I feel more than see Chris raise a hand towards my face. I wince as his thumb brushes the bruise on my eye, and he quickly follows it up with a quiet, "Sorry."

"What's up?" I whisper as he looks at my bruise. I turn my head insecurely, getting conscious about it. But Chris only turns my head to look at him.

"I wish he didn't punch you," he growls.

"I wish he didn't either," I reply. Then again, I did stab him in the shoulder, but who cares at this point? He deserves a whole lot worse than a simple stab with a pair of scissors.

"If it makes you feel any better, I gave him a small punch in the face for that," he replies.

I smile. "Gee, thanks, my knight and shining armor."

He gives out a small laugh. "Always a pleasure to please," he replies, somehow gaining back his sense of humor out of all this.

"How have you been?" I ask him worriedly.

He hasn't been the same since last night. In all honest, none of us are, but he had never had a panic attack before. Watching him struggle to breathe because of a memory was something that broke my heart into pieces. I've had my fair share of panic attacks the past few hours, but the ever-so confident and calm Chris?

"I could be better," he finally answers after a few minutes of silence, the gush of wind from outside the window behind us as the only sound we could hear.

"You never did tell us what you think about when you have a panic attack," I point out.

"Can we not talk about that right now? I mean, I promise I'll tell you… someday, but not today, okay?" he asks me softly.

"Okay," I whisper. "But are you going to be? Okay, I mean?"

"I should be asking you that."

"No, we should be asking that of each other," I point out. "Just promise me to tell me when you're not okay, okay? We're gonna make it through this together."

"Together."

AN: I'm sorry for making Ashley sound bitchier than how she is portrayed, but her honest stats fall whenever she tries to be concerned and what-not towards Hannah's situation, and I have to write it as how the character goes.