𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

53. rafe's a method actor.

F I F T Y - T H R E E
rafe's a method actor.

I'm a very good sleeper. Anyone who knows me for more than six hours would become aware of that. But I couldn't sleep last night, thoughts of my life and possible death filtered through my mind without stopping.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, looking out the window I don't wish to look out of, I think.

I need to do something, be proactive.

Not really thinking up a plan, I get up off the bed, almost tripping over where Rafe is sleeping on the floor. The poor fucker is using a blazer as a pillow. Getting to the window, I knock on it, trying to get the guard's attention who stands at the ready on the balcony.

"Hey!" I whisper forcefully, continuing to knock, he turns around with an unimpressed look. "Hey. I need to talk to Mr Singh," I request without thinking, but it's too late to back up now, I continue knocking. "Hey, go get Mr Singh," I insist as he doesn't make a move to do anything. The man still just gives me a judgmental side eye. I go from knocking to pointing at the door, hoping he gets my message.

Rafe must wake up to the knocking. "What are you doing?" He asks groggily.

I ignore him. "Hey, you! I need to talk to Me Singh," I continue asking.

I hear Rafe scrambling to get up, whispering for me to shut up, "What the hell. What the hell are you doing?" He repeats quietly.

Looking at him as he stands a foot away from me. "I don't owe you an explanation," I tell him, walking straight past him and toward the door, hoping Singh is going to come and get me.

"Think for a second! Francesca, what are you doing?" He hisses. Pulling out the full name, ooh, I'm in big trouble.

I start banging on the door now. "Hello?" I shout, I'm not stopping until I get to talk to Singh.

"Hey! What're you doing?" Rafe asks again. Walking over to where I stand now, he looks freaked out.

"Don't fucking talk to me!" I shout, holding a hand out, telling him to back off. When he stops walking toward me, I turn and begin banging on the door again.

When I turn around, he continues to walk over to me, standing a foot away, a dangerous look on his face. When he's mad, it feels like he gets taller. "You're lying about this diary thing," He accuses. "You know where it is."

I shake my head at him, "No, I don't," I deny. I don't technically know where it is right now. Once again, I walk away from him, he doesn't seem to understand when someone doesn't want to be close to him. Consent is just a word to people like him.

"You don't?" Rafe asks sarcastically, catching onto the fact that I do know something about the diary.

"You wish," I mumble.

He shrugs, getting sick of my shit. "Okay, listen, I wouldn't tell me either." He talks as I begin hitting on the window again, I really am not stopping until I talk to Singh. If only to get away from Rafe, "But he's never gonna believe we don't know something, all right?" Rafe keeps speaking despite my really not showing any interest in what he's saying. He gets close to me, touching my shoulder, "Singh killed that–"

I slap him across the face, a smack echos around the room, "Back the fuck off." My hand radiates hot pain, the prickling feeling that pulsates across my palm must only be a fraction as painful as his cheek. I don't even feel guilty.

He shuts his eyes, struggling to keep his composure. Likely involuntary tears well in his eyes. "Look around, Franny," his words are slow and deliberate, "I'm the only friend you got."