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CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT guilty hands, troubled minds
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"WE NEED TO talk."
Rafe and I barely gathered ourselves before Ward swung the door open, the words he spoke coming of no surprise to either of us. His blood ridden hands- rather literally, as opposed to the metaphorical blood on ours- left a crimson print to taint the white wood. I stared at the stain with growing remorse, realization starting to creep its way in through whatever window of vulnerability was creaked open.
"Figured." I spoke back, masking my boyfriend's deafening silence when it came to facing his father.
"Camille, take him to my office. I'm sure you know where it is considering what you stole from it. I won't be long." he instructed, traces of hatred and disgust in the tone of his voice.
"Please, take all the time you need." I muttered under my breath, timing the speech just when he'd turned around to avoid further confrontation but maintaining enough volume to make the boy beside me slip a chuckle.
I stretched up from the mattress I'd been sitting on, expecting Rafe to subconsciously follow my lead. Instead, his head remained hung towards the floor, similarly to how it was when tears were flowing from his eyes just minutes ago. Though I previously thought it best to not say anything that could push him into deeper sadness, I couldn't simply stand back and watch him wallow in the guilt of something that was equally the fault of mine as his.
My hands caringly caressed the sides of his face, bringing him to an angle where I could meet his lips with a tender kiss. I indulged in the affection before we mutually pulled away, our foreheads and noses continuing the touch that our lips broke. Tangling my fingers in the strands of his roughed hair, I closed my eyes and intended to focus on each happy memory we shared, in hopes that the remembrance would hinder the return of my dreadful feelings.
In the past, I always thought either me or him would've killed the other, clouded by the feud we had based solely on our societal status. But, now it seems we're the death of those around us, and that very change was one I'd never prepared to face.
"We're okay." I whispered, convincing myself in the process, "We're okay. You're okay, I'm okay. We're okay, Rafe."
"No, we're not." he unexpectedly broke his silence to also break my chain of lies.
"Shh, we're gonna be just fine. Nothing's gonna hurt you, and nothing will hurt me."
"You don't know that." he shut me off again.
I laughed for a single second, unaware of how condescending the act was, "Yes I do."
"No. I might be fine, but I don't know what's gonna happen to you. What if I do something again? What if you end up on the other end of the gun because of me?"
