Chapter Text
A Moment of Weakness
JadexTabitha
The air in the diner was thick with tension, not just from the town’s usual ominous atmosphere, but from her. Tabitha. She sat across from me, sipping coffee from a cracked mug, her hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. She looked exhausted, like all of us, but there was something about the way her eyes scanned the room—searching for answers, always searching—that had started to pull at me.
It felt ridiculous, really. I wasn’t the type to get "feelings" for anyone. I didn’t do butterflies or stolen glances. But for the past week, every time she was near, I found myself struggling to focus. And now, with her so close, I was fighting to keep my face from betraying the thoughts that echoed through my mind.
“Do you think any of it means something?” she asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
“The symbols?” I replied, trying to sound casual. “Of course they mean something. It’s just a matter of figuring out what.”
She nodded, her brows furrowing in that determined way she had. I hated how endearing it was.
“What if we’re looking at it the wrong way?” she said, leaning forward, her voice lowering like we were conspiring. “What if the tunnels connect to the symbols somehow? Like they’re a map?”
I blinked, surprised at how quickly my mind latched onto her theory. “That’s… not the worst idea I’ve heard.”
“Gee, thanks,” she said with a soft laugh, and the sound hit me harder than I wanted to admit.
We worked in silence for a while, going over notes and sketches, but I could feel her presence, a weight and warmth that I couldn’t ignore. At some point, our hands brushed as we reached for the same pen.
“Sorry,” she murmured, pulling back.
“It’s fine,” I said quickly, but my heart was hammering in a way that felt anything but fine.
I tried to focus, to push down whatever this was, but then she looked at me. Really looked at me. Her eyes were softer than I’d ever seen them, like she’d dropped some of her defences.
“Jade,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
I didn’t know what possessed me to do it—maybe it was the way she was looking at me, or maybe it was the fact that I’d been imagining this for days—but I leaned in. And to my surprise, she didn’t pull away. Her lips met mine, hesitant at first, then more certain.
It was everything and nothing like I expected. Warm, grounding, and terrifying all at once.
But just as quickly as it happened, she pulled back, her hand going to her mouth as if to catch the words she was about to say.
“Tabitha—” I started, but she shook her head.
“No,” she said, her voice cracking. “This… this was a mistake.”
Her words hit like a gut punch. “A mistake?”
She stood abruptly, looking anywhere but at me. “I shouldn’t have… I can’t. I’m sorry, Jade.”
And then she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her.
I sat there, staring at the empty space where she’d been, my mind a jumble of confusion, frustration, and something I couldn’t quite name. The only sound now the pounding of my heart in my ears.
A mistake. She thought it was a mistake.
———
I found her near the edge of the forest, standing by the fence, arms wrapped tightly around herself. The early morning light softened the edges of her silhouette, but her tension was unmistakable. She didn’t turn when I approached, though I knew she’d heard me.
“You’re up early,” I said, my voice quieter than usual.
“So are you,” she replied, her gaze fixed on the woods ahead.
The silence stretched, and I hesitated, unsure of what to say next. This wasn’t like me—this uncertainty. I hated it. But this wasn’t about logic or puzzles I could solve. This was her.
“About last night…” I began, keeping my tone measured.
“Don’t,” she said quickly, cutting me off. Finally, she turned, but she avoided my eyes. “We don’t need to talk about it.”
“Like hell we don’t,” I said, my voice sharper than I’d intended. “You kissed me, Tabitha. And then you walked away like it didn’t mean anything.”
Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she took a deep breath, her arms tightening around herself.
“It didn’t mean anything,” she said finally, her voice flat, practiced. “It was just a moment of weakness. It shouldn’t have happened.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and wrong.
I stared at her, searching for some crack in her armor, and then I saw it. She still wouldn’t meet my eyes. Her gaze was fixed somewhere over my shoulder, and her hands trembled slightly where they gripped her elbows.
“You don’t mean that,” I said, the realization hitting me like a jolt.
“Yes, I do,” she insisted, her tone more forceful now. But there was a slight waiver to her voice, just enough to make me doubt.
“Look at me and say it,” I challenged, stepping closer.
She didn’t.
For a moment, I let myself believe that I was right—that she did feel something, that she was just scared or guilty or whatever else was going through her head. But then, that doubt crept in.
What if I was wrong? What if this really was nothing to her? What if I was just some convenient distraction in a town full of horrors?
I wasn’t used to this. This vulnerability. I’d spent my whole life building walls so I wouldn’t have to deal with it. And now here I was, hoping for something I didn’t even understand.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice quieter now. “Why are you pushing me away?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” she said, finally looking at me. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and for a moment, I thought she might say something more, something real. But instead, she shook her head and stepped back. “I can’t do this, Jade. I just… I can’t.”
Her words felt like a slap, but it wasn’t the pain I’d expected. It was worse. It was the uncertainty—the not knowing if she was lying to me or herself or both.
“Fine,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “If that’s how you feel, then fine.”
She hesitated for a fraction of a second before she turned and walked away, leaving me alone by the fence.
I watched her go, my chest tight with emotions I didn’t want to name. I wanted to believe that she didn’t mean it, that the kiss had meant as much to her as it had to me. But a small, nagging part of me wondered if I was just fooling myself.
Because the truth was, I didn’t know how to feel like this—about anyone. And the idea of letting her in, only to be pushed away again, terrified me more than any monster lurking in the woods.
———
I stayed by the fence long after she was gone, staring out into the trees. The answers I usually sought were rooted in logic and reason. But with her, nothing made sense.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted it to.
———
The day dragged on in a haze of half-hearted conversations and pointless distractions. I went through the motions—scribbling notes, analyzing symbols, pacing the diner like I was looking for answers—but none of it stuck.
My mind kept circling back to her. The way her voice cracked when she called it a moment of weakness. The way she couldn’t meet my eyes when she said it didn’t mean anything.
I wanted to believe she was lying. Every instinct screamed that she was, but doubt gnawed at the edges of that certainty. What if I was wrong? What if it really had been meaningless to her, just a fleeting slip in a moment of exhaustion and fear?
I hated how much it mattered.
———
By evening, the diner had emptied out, and I was left alone with my thoughts. My hands fidgeted with a pen, tapping it against the notebook in front of me. I hadn’t written anything useful all day. The symbols, the tunnels, the riddles of this place—they all felt distant, overshadowed by something I didn’t even want to admit to myself.
The door creaked open, and for a split second, my chest tightened. But it wasn’t her. Just Jim, her husband, walking in to grab something for his kids. He gave me a nod, casual, clueless, and I nodded back, my throat tightening.
I didn’t like the man. Not for any real reason, other than that he was the reason she was untouchable. He was good enough, I supposed—steady, reliable, the kind of person who’d build a safe world for her if we weren’t trapped in hell.
I wasn’t that. I was the opposite of that.
As Jim left, I clenched the pen tighter, forcing the thoughts out of my head. I needed to stop. Stop thinking about her. Stop wondering what she was feeling. Stop wanting something I couldn’t have.
———
Later in the day, I found myself at the edge of the forest again, the same spot where we’d spoken that morning. I didn’t know why I was there—maybe some part of me thought she’d come back. Maybe I just needed the space to breathe.
The edge of the forest always felt different as the day stretched into evening—quieter, darker, the tension in the air almost suffocating. I came back here anyway, as if I was waiting for something. Or someone.
I wasn’t sure what I expected. Maybe a sign. Maybe her.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the clearing. I lingered longer than I should have, watching the treetops sway in the wind. I knew it was stupid, standing here with nothing to say if she did show up. But I couldn’t help myself.
I waited for for a while but she never came and so my pride told me it was time to leave.
I turned, shoving my hands into my pockets, ready to head back into town before it got too dark. That’s when I saw her.
Tabitha was walking a few houses down, her husband Jim at her side, and their kids trailing behind them. Ethan was talking excitedly, waving his hands, and Julie laughed, shaking her head at something he said.
Tabitha smiled.
It wasn’t the tired, guarded smile I’d seen in the diner or at the edge of the woods. It was softer, lighter, like she’d forgotten the weight we all carried for a moment.
I stopped in my tracks, my chest tightening. She looked… happy.
Happy with him.
The realization hit me harder than I expected. Of course she was. She had a family, a life. She didn’t need… whatever this was. Whatever I thought we could be.
I forced myself to keep walking, my footsteps heavy against the gravel road. It was stupid—thinking she felt the same way. That kiss? It was just a moment, like she said. A slip. Nothing more.
For the first time in years, I’d let myself believe something could be different. That maybe I wasn’t as alone as I thought. But looking at her now, I realized how wrong I’d been.
She already had everything.
——————
Tabitha’s POV:
——————
By the time we got back to the house, the sun was almost gone, the shadows stretching across the floor as we stepped inside. The kids were still talking, their voices overlapping as they relived the day. I should’ve been grateful for their energy, their resilience. But all I felt was exhaustion.
Jim closed the door behind us, his expression unreadable as he set down the bag of supplies he’d been carrying.
“Dinner?” he asked, his tone flat.
“I’ll take care of it,” I replied, already moving toward the kitchen.
“I can do it,” he said, his voice following me.
“It’s fine,” I snapped, sharper than I meant.
He followed me anyway.
“What’s going on with you?” he asked, leaning against the counter as I pulled a can of something off the shelf.
“Nothing,” I said, focusing on the can opener in my hands.
“It’s not nothing, Tabitha,” he pressed. “You’ve been on edge all day.”
I froze, gripping the can tighter. He wasn’t wrong, but the last thing I wanted was to explain why.
“I’m fine,” I said finally, setting the can opener down with a little too much force.
“No, you’re not,” he shot back, his voice rising. “And I’m tired of pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not. If something’s wrong, just say it.”
The frustration bubbled over before I could stop it. “You want to know what’s wrong, Jim? What’s wrong is that we’re stuck in this nightmare of a town with no way out. What’s wrong is that every day I feel like I’m falling apart, and I can’t let myself because the kids need me to hold it together. That’s what’s wrong.”
He stared at me, stunned into silence, and I immediately regretted saying anything.
“I’m sorry,” I said, softer now. “I didn’t mean…”
He shook his head, looking away. “No, I get it. You’re frustrated. We all are.”
But his words didn’t feel like understanding. They felt like resignation.
———
Later, when the kids were asleep and the house was quiet, I sat at the table, staring at the half-empty cup of tea in front of me. My argument with Jim played over in my head, the guilt pressing down like a weight on my chest.
I wanted to blame him, to tell myself he should’ve handled it better, but I knew the truth. It wasn’t just him. It was me.
And it wasn’t just the town, or the fear, or the exhaustion. It was Jade.
I didn’t mean to think about him, but there he was, his sharp wit, the way he looked at me like he could see through every wall I put up.
I shouldn’t have kissed him. I shouldn’t have let it happen, shouldn’t have wanted it to happen. But I did. And now I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I ran a hand through my hair, leaning back in my chair with a sigh. What was wrong with me? I had a family, a husband who was trying his best to keep us all together. I had no right to feel this way.
But no matter how hard I tried to push it down, the memory of that kiss lingered, tugging at the edges of my mind.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was holding myself together.
I felt like I was falling apart.