Chapter 31: Cabin 4, Night 3
The air in Cabin 4 was thick with a different kind of tension than the one in Cabin 3. It wasn't the aggressive, competitive buzz of a live wire; it was the heavy, awkward silence of a waiting room. Jim was already snoring softly on his top bunk, one arm dangling over the side, completely dead to the world after the day’s emotional gauntlet.
Thomas, however, was performing sleep. He lay on his side, facing the wall, his breathing a little too even and measured. Every so often, Briv would catch the subtle shift of his shoulder, a telltale sign he was listening, absorbing every word for later use.
Briv sat on the edge of his own bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the worn floorboards. His mind was a reel of everything that had gone wrong. Alya’s face, a mask of hurt confusion when he’d gotten his point from that stupid, meaningless kiss with Patricia. The way Kofi had hovered near her afterward, a vulture sensing a weakening animal. He felt skinny and exposed, the charming facade he usually wore chipped away by sheer, gut-churning anxiety.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor with your eyes,” Carmen said softly. She was curled up in the room’s single armchair, her long limbs folded gracefully. She’d been quiet since they got back, observing the room’s dynamics with a sad kind of understanding.
“Just thinking,” Briv mumbled, not looking up.
“About Alya.”
It wasn’t a question. He finally glanced at her. In the dim ambient light from the window, her pale skin seemed to glow, her tall frame looking somehow fragile tucked into the chair. She gave him a small, sympathetic smile.
“It’s loud in here, isn’t it?” she said, her voice low. “Even with the quiet.”
Briv knew exactly what she meant. The silence was screaming with unspoken strategies and judged interactions. “Yeah. It is.”
“I got my point from Jim,” she said, a faint grimace twisting her pretty features. “He just sort of… lurched. Like a baby giraffe on ice. I think he was trying to be suave.” She let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. “And I did it because I thought, ‘Well, everyone else is, why not?’ Stupid reason.”
“Mine was with Patricia,” Briv admitted, the confession feeling like a stone dropping from his mouth. “It was just… a thing. A game thing. But the way Alya looked at me…” He trailed off, the memory a fresh bruise.
“She’ll get it,” Carmen said, her tone reassuring. “It’s the game. We all have to play it, even when it feels gross.”
“Do we, though?” Briv looked at her, genuinely asking. “That’s what I can’t figure out. Where’s the line? How much of this is just us being us, and how much is us becoming what the show wants us to be?”
Carmen unfolded herself from the chair and moved to sit beside him on the bed. The mattress dipped with her weight. She didn’t touch him, but her proximity was a comfort. It was different from the charged energy of the other women. This felt safe.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, staring at the same spot on the floor he had been. “I came on here because I thought it would be fun. A big, messy adventure. I thought I’d be the life of the party.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “But now I’m in a cabin with a guy who’s probably taking mental notes on my insecurities and another who I’m pretty sure was muttering about anime plotlines in his sleep. And you. You’re just… sad. About a girl you actually love. It’s real in here. And it’s kind of terrifying.”
Briv turned to look at her. The prom queen act was completely gone. This was the Carmen who just wanted to be loved, laid bare in the semi-darkness. She was beautiful, but in a way that made his chest ache with a protective instinct, not desire.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said softly.
“Neither are you.” She met his gaze. Her dark eyes were wide and sincere. “In this whole fake, screaming circus, you feel like the only real person. It’s nice. It makes me feel… safe.”
The word hung between them, simple and profound. In a place designed to dismantle safety, it was the most valuable currency there was.
She leaned in slowly, giving him every opportunity to pull away. Her intention was clear, but it wasn’t fueled by the competitive fire he’d seen in others. It was a gesture of gratitude, of connection, a single, honest moment in a sea of manipulation.
Her lips were soft and warm, a gentle pressure against his. It lasted only a few seconds.
Briv didn’t move. He didn’t kiss her back. He just sat there, frozen, his brain short-circuiting. The feel of her lips was a stark, confusing contrast to the storm of guilt and longing for Alya raging in his head. It was nice. It was pleasant. And that felt like the biggest betrayal of all.
Carmen pulled back, her expression a mix of understanding and slight embarrassment. “Sorry,” she mouthed silently.
A soft chime echoed from the screen on the wall, illuminating the room with a brief, clinical light.
Briv +1 Point.
Carmen +1 Point.
From his bunk, Thomas’s measured breathing hitched for a fraction of a second.