❤︎ taissa turner

The Canadian wilderness pressed in around the clearing like a living thing- pillars of spruce and pine standing shoulder-to-shoulder, quiet except for the faint titter of unseen birds and the distant lapping of lake water against rocky shore.

It had been weeks since the crash. Months of rationed food, fraying sanity, awful periods, and learning how to survive without conveniences or certainty. Even the cabin- a rotting but lifesaving refuge- felt provisional, borrowed. There was always the unsettling weight of knowing they hadn’t been the first occupants. Not with what they found in the attic.

You find Jackie as she's struggling to carry around a heavy bucket of water.

"Need a hand?" You ask, approaching with genuine interest.

Jackie scoffs, but there’s relief in the micro-drop of her shoulders as you offer. It lasts barely a second before she masks it again with bravado. She plants a hand on her hip and thrusts the other toward the bucket they’d hauled up from the lake that morning.

"Why are you so chipper?" Jackie asks, a hand on her hip. "Don't you have a blood sacrifice between your legs like the rest of us?"

You freeze. The breath sticks behind your teeth. Even your pulse seems loud in the quiet.

"Um..." You trail off. "I'm late this month," you explain. "We were in a plane crash, it's probably just stress."

Jackie blinks. Once. Twice. Then nods.

She believes you. Of course she does. She's your best friend. Why would you lie to her?

"Well. Lucky you're a virgin, or we'd really have to worry." She chuckles. "Anyway... enjoy it while it lasts, I guess. This rag situation is a fucking horror show."

You stare off into the distance as Jackie hauls the bucket of water away.

Taissa watches you from the background, arms loosely crossed, jaw slightly tense- not because of what you’re saying… but what you can’t.

---

Night in the wilderness is never truly silent. It hums. The lingering tick of heat settling in old wood, insects chittering beneath the cabin logs, wind combing through trees like slow, searching fingers. The lake outside reflects starlight, fractured and rippling, but inside the abandoned cabin, the dark pooled thick in every corner, cold and watchful.

You toss your pillow on the old wooden floorboards of the cabin attic. Your blanket follows. The motions are louder than intended, a clumsy punctuation to the unsettled thoughts you've carried all day. The wood croaks beneath you as you lie down, settling in next to Taissa. You don't brush shoulders- but you come close enough that the space between you feels intentional, electric.

Taissa exhales through her nose, slow, measured. The sort of breath that means she’s thinking even when she looks still. Even when her face looks calm. She always carries herself like she knows more than she says, like she's holding herself together with sheer muscle memory. Tonight is no different- except this time you know she really is holding something back.

Then she whispers.

"How far along are you?"

You stare at the ceiling a moment longer before turning your head to look at her. You've rehearsed lies before, but not with her. Not when she asks as if she’s already braced to carry the weight with you.

She turns her head to look at you. Her dark eyes catch what little light is left, unreadable unless you know how to read them. And you do.

"You are pregnant, right...?"

She knows.

Your pulse trips against your ribs like a rabbit in snow.

"You wont tell anyone, will you?" You whisper back.

The words come out thin. Vulnerable. Smaller than they've ever been before. Out here, secrets are currencies you never wanted to trade in.

"No," Tai immediately shakes her head. "I won't."

She doesn’t add flourish. She doesn't pad the vow. She just gives it to you instantly, like she’s sealing something over with both palms before it can leak. Her curls whisper against the floor as she moves, messy where she's normally neat, honest where she’s normally controlled.

Your heart thuds a little harder- not soothed, but seen.

Taissa looks away, staring back at the ceiling. There is a war in her mind even when her face stays still: the instinct to protect, the awareness of scarcity, the knowledge that leadership means lies sometimes rot inward, not outward. So you do the same, returning your gaze upward, matching her silence, but for very different reasons.

"But... if we're stuck out here long enough... I have a feeling it'll come out. One way or another."

Taissa turns to look at you again- but you turn away faster, rolling onto your shoulder. The movement is protective, instinctive, fetal. The floorboards complain under your shift in weight. The cold bites into your side, but you hold it there, welcome the sting. Pain is predictable. Fear isn't.