Outer Banks Imagines

Violent || angst

Summary: You're tired of Rafe constantly being aggressive and violent, but Rafe can't stand to lose you.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: fighting, talk of drugs, angst(lots of it), blood, hints of self harm, fluff(if you squint), possibly some un edited work

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A knock came to your white trimmed window, at 2:30 am. It had to be Rafe, he'd been doing this a lot recently.

He kept getting in trouble, with the law, with his dad, with anyone at all at this point. He wanted a reason to fight, any reason would do. He always ran to you, of course, you didn't mind, but it was getting too much.

He had started to lash out at you, never physical. That boy could never hurt you. Ever. Not a single finger would ever hurt you.

You got up from your bed to open the window, his back facing you.

"You can't keep coming this late love," you pushed it open and he turned around. His face covered in his own blood, his shirt stained from his and probably another's.

He grips the window seal to hoist himself over and into your room. His ring-clad fingers cut up, his knuckles raw and bloody.

You frowned, why did he have to keep being so violent? Why couldn't he just be normal Rafe anymore?

He was standing staring at you, his eyes dark, his hair frazzled.

You placed a hand to his chin, rubbing your thumb along the jawline, where a large bruise was. He flinched slightly, your frown growing bigger as you drop your hand to take his. You bring him to your bathroom.

"I wish you wouldn't keep doing this," Sitting him on the closed toilet.

"What else was I supposed to do?" He said, a harshness in his words. You grabbed the hydrogen peroxide out of the cabinet.

He was picking at his scabbed knuckles frantically, not looking you in the eye.

"Rafe," you said, kneeling in front of him and taking his hands from him.

You took a hydrogen peroxide-soaked cotton ball and dabbed the wounds. He tensed at the feeling but still never looking up.

"Rafe?" you say this time with more annoyance in your voice.

Finally, his head slowly moves up, his eyes meeting yours. There's a sadness in them now.

"Tell me what happened please?" You asked, your hand moving to his neck, rubbing your thumb to comfort him.

"I-I don't even know," he said, his eyes filling with sadness and the slightest bit of rage.

You took another cotton ball, dabbing the cut where his cheek had split between the puncher's hand and cheekbone. He winced before continuing.

"Some guy told me that- well that-" he paused and tensed his jaw while you kept dabbing the wound, "well he said that you were well I don't want to repeat the things he said about you,"

"And so you got into a fight?" You asked, now applying a topical cream to the wounds.

"I couldn't just let-" you cut him off.

"Stop getting into useless fights, I don't care what someone says about me. You're just hurting yourself," your frown grows, and you can feel the corners of your mouth dropping more.

"But," he said standing up.

"No, no but Rafe. Now sit back down and let me put a Band-Aid on it," Your temper grew shorter and shorter the more you think about the past week. He was here every single night after a physical fight.