There's no one left to talk to, honey

If there's one thing that Lux Cassidy has always prided herself on, it's her ability to bounce back from life's myriad and many crushing disappointments. December had been as bleak a month as she'd ever had, probably because she let herself truly wallow for the first time in her life. She'd felt entitled to that, thought it was only fair; there was no precedent for her gaining and then losing biological parents. Surely there isn't any graceful way to deal with that.

January had finally brought the island back to normal, though, as well as her very own sewing machine and accessories. She'd been learning on Kate's, but there was something empowering about having her own machine. Whenever inspiration strikes, she's good to go, and doesn't have to worry about screwing up someone else's settings. Falling into her sewing had been easy, a worthy and much-needed distraction, and by the time February rolled around, for the first time in nearly two months Lux actually felt mostly like herself. There's no doubt that she misses Baze, still misses Cate and Ryan and all the rest, but it feels more like that's okay now. The world isn't buckled under the weight of it anymore.

Presently, she's seated on the floor of her treehouse peering in consternation at several panels of fabric spread out before her as she attempts to decide precisely what needs to be changed in the design. Baze's hut is bigger, has multiple rooms and better amenities, but it hasn't occurred to Lux once to move from the treehouse. Baze built this for her with his own two hands; that makes it worth way more than extra bedrooms.

Never in Lux's life has she been so grateful to get her period. Even with as messy and inconvenient it is, she's been consistently glad for it ever since she became sexually active, but the jubilation from this particular period far outstrips them all. She'd really, genuinely thought for the past few weeks that she was pregnant.

Her euphoria is short lived, however, the relief of not being a teenage mother tempered by the heavy knowledge that Jason isn't likely to take it well. To think, she'd worried he'd be upset with her for being pregnant; now, she's worried he'll be upset with her because she's not.

Sitting cross-legged atop the big, wide bed that helped get them in this mess, Lux stares down at the K-100 ad she'd clipped from the Portland paper months ago, cradled in her lap by careful hands. The night sounds are only just beginning to creep in through the open windows, and she knows Jason will climb through one of them soon. He always does.

For the entire walk home, Lux keeps it together. It had been easier to do in the clinic, feeling like she needed to be strong for Jason. It wasn't as if she'd been the one buried alive, and it didn't seem fair to cry all over him or make a scene. James had been there, so eventually she'd left, and let the numb feeling carry her down the winding paths in the rain.

Telling Baze what's happened is the right thing to do, but beyond that, she just needs to lay eyes on him, to affirm something steady in her life. She keeps it together all the way to the front door of his hut, keeps it together even after she knocks, but the moment the door begins to swing open, everything hits her in a rush.

Standing there, she paints an alarming sight, soaking wet, clothes dirty, and fingertips taped up with bandages. Her face crumples, and before she can stop it, a loud sob pushes it's way free of her throat.

Lux doesn't have a watch. She'd not been wearing one the day she turned up, fresh from a midnight swim, and she doesn't know what time it is aside from that it's late.

Really late. Late enough that Baze might start to worry if he wasn't so busy trying to hump that Kate chick so that he can go make a new family with her and her baby and her stupid hut with its stupid palm fronds.

Distantly, Lux understands that having these thoughts means two things: She's a cliche, and she's drunk.

Neither of those things seem to matter much, though, when held against the fact that it's so damned hot here, humidity creeping up under the thin fabric of her sundress and making her skin sticky. Tromping through the jungle, she pauses to lift the weight of her hair from the nape of her neck and then realizes as she stares into the inky darkness that she's got absolutely no idea where she is.

"Oh, just great," she spits out, dropping her hair to fling both arms out in an emphatic gesture that there is no one to see.