Mon Amour | Rafe Cameron

CINQ

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She was still in her heavy slumber when a truck pulled up to the house. Rafe stepped out of the truck, recognizing Marks car. He rushed inside going through the large kitchen before entering the living room. He saw Calla, rushing over to her when he saw her serverly brusied face. She was passed out, mascara running down her checks over the bruise, her lipgloss smudged.

"Jesus Calla." He whispered sadly. He stilled and watched for a moment until he saw her chest rise and then fall. He sighed in relief knowing that she was at least breathing.

He thought about what could've happened. He didn't know where she went when she left, just that he caused her to leave after saying those horrible things to her. He shuffled through the bag next to her before finding a small pack of make up removing wipes. He took one out, slowly unraveling it and wiping her face clean, making sure to be gentle over her bruise. Her cheek also seemed to be cut from some sort of ring that the person who did this to her had on. Rafe rubbed his thumb very gently over her puffy cheek. He slid his hand down to her shoulder and shook her softly to see if she would wake up. It was then that he looked over to see the pill bottle on the coffee table.

He sighed, then picked her up with her head resting on his shoulder, bridal style, taking her up the stairs. He took her into his room and laid her down on his bed gently.

He knew he could've put her in the guest room but it was the coldest room in the house and he already felt terrible. It seemed like this was all his fault. He looked her over noticing the rip on the side of her dress. There was also a large scratch under the fabric. He slowly slipped off the dress leaving her exposed in her matching set.

But Rafe didn't look at her in a sexual way.

His heart ached for her, he didn't like seeing her hurt, and in that moment all he wanted to do was help her. He had always saw her beauty and admired her mistreated, but precious soul. Seeing her so vulnerable for some sort of comfort, and how beautiful she looked when she was just sleeping.

He grabbed a shirt from his drawer and slid it onto her. He tried to avoid her delicate, battered face, bundling it up at the neck then slipping it over her head. She had mumbled a few times but didn't wake up.

He had always observed her, noticing how hard she was on herself. He always cared for her, and it was when Rose had started telling him that Calla wanted to stop talking to him, and what her mother, Marie, would say about him that they stopped talking. He didn't understand why Calla wanted to stop being friends, nonetheless why the Whitlocks hated him. Calla had always helped Rafe, even if it was when they were 8 when she got him a bandaid when he scraped his knee. Or when he would cry because he got in trouble. She would play with him to keep his mind off of it.

Now, it was his turn to help her.

He knew her family situation wasn't the same but he didn't know if something had happened there that caused her the injury. He put her arms through the sleeves when he noticed red cut marks on her wrists.

He sucked in a breath. They were pretty faint, explaining why he didn't see them before. He leaned down and kissed her delicate wrist. She was fairly cold, hoping his body heat would warm her up.

He laid down next to her, and just watched as her eyes fluttered, watching her chest rise and fall, feeling relief at every movement.

He admired her beauty but didn't know what would happen in the morning. He finally got out of the bed and gave a sympathetic smile before walking down the hall to the guest bedroom. He laid down, thinking about the things Rose told him that Calla had said when they were younger. He couldn't help but wonder if they were even true.