Chapter Fifty Six - A Growing Bond Or Falling Apart?

The nights at camp were a smudged watercolor of grays and silvers — institutional walls that absorbed cries, prayers muttered like confessions into pillows, and lectures so sterile they stripped away all sense of self. But even in the midst of that bleak monotony, Harper had found something unexpected.

Someone.

Riley.

Riley, with her defiant smirk and a fire in her eyes that hadn't been stamped out — not yet. Her knuckles were always scraped and red, evidence of yet another scuffle with a guard or a slammed door, but she wore them like war medals. She moved through the halls like a storm barely leashed, radiating danger and a strange kind of safety all at once.

In the cracks between control — between forced apologies and mandatory hymnals — Riley and Harper carved out moments like tiny sanctuaries. Just a glance across the cafeteria. A whispered joke during a "character reformation" circle. Scrubbing floors until their hands stung, side by side in silence that meant more than words.

"You always look like you're about to punch someone." Harper murmured one night, voice low enough to avoid the counsellors radar. They were hunched over a grimy floor, the bristles of their brushes frayed to uselessness.

Riley shot her a sideways glance, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips. "Only when they deserve it. You, though..." Her voice dropped a notch, the heat in it curling around Harper like smoke. "You make me wanna smile, not punch."

The words hit Harper like a sudden gust of warm wind in a frozen room. Her breath caught. Her heart tripped over itself.

"Ew. You're a terrible flirt." she muttered, trying to mask the curl of a smile, but her voice betrayed her.

"And yet..." Riley leaned closer, bumping her shoulder with the brush. "You're blushing."

"I'm literally not."

She was. She could feel it blooming across her cheeks, traitorous and undeniable.

But for the first time since arriving, since the sickening van ride that brought her here in the dead of night, Harper felt... human. Not a problem to be fixed. Not a sinner to be cleansed. Just a girl. Messy. Lonely. Alive.

That night, during "reflection hour," while everyone else scratched out fake confessions in their journals under the watchful eyes of the counselors, Harper and Riley sat side by side, knees almost touching. Their notebooks were props. Their real truths were passed in whispers.

"What's the first thing you're gonna do when you get out?" Riley asked, voice soft, eyes distant as she twirled her pen between her fingers.

Harper tilted her head back, pretending to think. "Eat something that doesn't taste like cardboard. And sleep. Maybe for a week straight."

Riley chuckled — a low, smoky laugh that stirred something in Harper's chest. "Good choices. Me? I'd get a tattoo. Something ridiculous. Like a giant dragon right on my forehead. No regrets."

Harper laughed — a real one. It cracked through the quiet like a lightning strike. A few heads turned, but she didn't care. Neither of them did.

"Maybe I'll get one too, then." Harper said, arching a brow. "Matching dragons. Only if mines pink, of course."

Riley's face lit up like sunrise. "Matching dragons? Baldwin, that's basically a marriage proposal."

"Maybe it is." Harper teased, her voice a thread of daring. "You'll never know."

Their eyes held. There, in that flickering moment, was something wild and fragile — a spark that defied the walls around them.

Nighttime was when the confessions came.

When the lights dimmed and the building sank into its shallow, artificial hush, Harper sat on the cold floor, eyes locked on the darkness in the hallway. Riley's cell was across from hers, close but untouchable.

"Did you have anyone... before?" Harper asked into the dark, her voice so small it barely made it across the room.

Riley rustled under her blanket. "Anyone? Like... a girlfriend?"

Harper nodded, even though she knew Riley couldn't see it.

There was a pause — not long, but full of unspoken things.

"Yeah." Riley said eventually, her voice stripped down to its bones. "Her name was Sam. She'd sneak into my room at night, climbing through the window like some kinda punk Peter Pan. My parents hated her." A humorless laugh followed. "They were right, in a way. She was chaos. But she made me feel like I could breathe."

Harper's chest ached. "What happened?"

"They caught us. I was gone within the week. Haven't seen her since."

The silence wrapped around them again, heavy and delicate.

"I had someone too.." Harper whispered. "Her name was Josie. She was... light. She made the screaming in my head go quiet."

She stopped, breath catching.

"My grandmother found out." The words were knives. "She's the reason I'm here. She sent me away to this place to be fixed.. I even got into a fake relationship with a boy to get her off my back."

Riley didn't say anything right away. But her presence — her stillness — was a comfort.

"You miss Josie?" she finally asked.

"Every day."

Another pause. Then, softer: "You ever think about... what comes after this? What you want?"

Harper turned her head. The outline of Riley was barely visible in the dark.

"I want to live without hiding." she said. "I want to exist without apology."

Riley's voice was almost a sigh. "Me too."

Then, lighter — playful again. "For the record, if you had a girlfriend out there, she'd be a damn fool to let you go."

Harper smiled into the darkness. "Same goes for you."

They smiled in the shadows — two flickers of hope tucked into the cracks of a place meant to crush it.

But the morning brought reality like a slap.

The courtyard was a slab of pale concrete under a steel-gray sky, the air stale and still. Harper trudged along with the other girls, her thoughts still hazy with dreams of escape and dragons — until her gaze landed on Riley.

Laughing.

With someone else.

A slim, redheaded girl with nervous hands and bright eyes. Riley leaned in close, her hand brushing the girl's arm. Whatever she said made the girl giggle, cheeks flushed with something unmistakable.

Something Harper thought had been theirs.

The jealousy was swift and acidic. She didn't own Riley — knew better than to think she did — but the sight pierced something raw. She practically didn't even know the girl. 

When Riley looked up and caught her eye, it was like a spotlight snapped on. For a moment, her expression faltered — guilt flickering behind the practiced smirk. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and turned away.

Harper stood frozen in place, a sour pit blooming in her stomach. She hated how much it hurt.

But before she could spiral deeper, a counselor approached.

"Visitor for you." he said, his voice clipped and disinterested.

Harper blinked. A visitor?

Her heart stuttered. Thomas? Camila? Harriet, even?

But hope curdled into dread the second she stepped into the sterile visitor's room.

Sitting with perfect posture, coffee in hand, was Cece Baldwin.

Her coat was tailored. Her lipstick flawless. She looked like she belonged at a charity luncheon, not in a correctional facility.

"Sit." Cece commanded.

Harper obeyed, stiff as stone.

"I hope you've used this time to reflect." Cece began, setting her cup down with precision. "On the shame you've brought upon our family."

Harper said nothing. Rage boiled just beneath her skin.

"You were always wild." Cece continued coolly. "Running off with that girl. Disgracing your name. Wasting your future on childish whims."

"I'm not ashamed of any of it." Harper rasped, fists clenched.

Cece studied her like something under glass. "You will be. Soon."

Harper leaned forward, voice shaking. "You're not saving me Grandma. You're killing me."

For a flicker of a second, something passed across Cece's face — a crack in the marble. But then it vanished, replaced by her usual icy detachment.

"Sacrifices must be made, Harper." she said simply. "For the good of this family. You'll understand one day. Or you'll be nothing to us. To anyone. I will be back next week, I hope to see... improvements."

She stood, brushing an invisible speck from her lapel, and walked out without looking back.

The door slammed shut like the closing of a tomb.

Harper sat there long after she was gone, trembling. Something in her chest felt scorched.

When she finally returned to the courtyard, Riley was still there — still laughing with the other girl.

It felt like the final stab.

Not from Riley, not entirely.

But from the universe itself.

Like the world was telling her: even in the places meant to break you, your heart is still not safe.

Riley found her a little while later, sitting beneath the crooked pine tree by the edge of the courtyard, where the shadows stretched long and the scent of disinfectant gave way to something earthier. Harper sat on a splintered bench, arms wrapped tightly around herself like a human barricade. Her nails dug crescents into her sleeves, and her eyes were glassy — not with tears, but with something heavier. Something sharp and splintered.

The world felt muffled, like it was happening behind thick glass. The gray sky loomed above her like a held breath.

Riley approached slowly, hands stuffed in the pockets of her worn-out camp-issued hoodie. There was a nervous energy about her, like she already knew the answer to the question she hadn't asked yet.

"Hey." she said softly, her voice breaking the quiet like a pebble tossed into still water. "I heard the counsellor said you had a visitor... Everything okay?"

Harper didn't look up.

For a long beat, Riley just stood there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, unsure. Then she sat beside her, close but not touching — not daring to.

"I saw you leave the admin building." Riley continued, gentler now. "You looked... shaken."

Harper exhaled, slow and deliberate, like she was trying to smother something with her breath. Her jaw clenched. 

"You mean after my grandmother told me I'm a disgrace? That I'll be nothing if I don't let this place fix me?" Her voice cracked like brittle porcelain, and then she laughed — a cold, bitter sound that didn't belong in her mouth. "Yeah. Peachy."

Riley blinked. "Harper... I'm sorry."

Harper turned then — sharply — her eyes finally meeting Riley's, and there was fury in them now, the kind that came from too many wounds left to rot.

"You're sorry?" she said, voice rising. "Really? Because you looked like you were having the time of your life ten minutes ago."

Riley's brows drew together. "What?"

"With that girl." Harper hissed. "All over her, laughing, touching her arm like you're best friends or something. Do you just do this with everyone?"

The words came out too fast, too jagged. She hadn't meant to say it like that — not exactly — but once the anger was out, it spread like wildfire. She stood abruptly, needing space, needing air.

Riley stood too, confused, hands raised slightly. "Whoa — Harper, slow down. She asked me a stupid question about cleaning duty and I—"

Harper cut her off, stepping back like Riley might burn her. "Don't. Don't act like I'm being crazy."

"I'm not." Riley said quickly. "I just don't understand where this is coming from—"

Harper's fists were trembling now, her throat tight with unshed grief, jealousy, and the sickening echo of Cece's voice still ringing in her head.

"It's coming from being stuck in this hellhole while the only person who made me feel like I could breathe is suddenly flirting with someone else like none of this means anything!" Her voice cracked, raw and exposed.

Riley's face softened. "Harper, I wasn't—"

"You don't get it." Harper whispered, voice suddenly small. "You didn't sit across from someone who's supposed to care about you and listen to them tell you you're broken. That you're... wrong. That you're nothing. We have been here for how long now?"

Silence fell between them like a dropped curtain. Harper's breathing was ragged. The air felt too thin.

"I can't do this." she choked. "I can't care about you if you're just gonna—God, I don't know—leave me hanging while I fall apart."

Riley stepped forward, her expression breaking open, but Harper flinched back.

"I need space." Harper said quickly, her voice barely holding together. "Just... go."

Riley hesitated — clearly wanting to fight it, to say something that would fix this — but she didn't. Maybe she understood now that Harper wasn't just angry. She was unraveling. And she couldn't afford to fall for someone who might vanish the second things got hard.

With a stiff nod, Riley backed away.

"Okay.."

Harper watched her go, her heart a hurricane of rage and grief and want. The second Riley disappeared around the corner, Harper collapsed onto the bench again, burying her face in her hands.

She didn't cry.

She couldn't.

But if she had any strength left, she would've screamed.