𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

63. seeing a pile of shit.

S I X T Y - T H R E E
seeing a pile of shit.

I hate Rafael Cameron.

Really. Truly. With every fibre of my being.

He's dumb, but sometimes he makes an unexpected and painfully smart move.

For a long time, he managed to convince the majority of people that he is at least a semi-decent person. That is nothing short of genius. Everyone who got close would quickly realise the façade, but usually, by that time, it's too late. Once you're pulled into the tangled mess of being involved with a Cameron, you can't really escape.

The occasional smart move kept him out of trouble. Like when he threw a pocketknife at me, the seconds after the silence that followed were crocodile tears and pleas for forgiveness. Then, after that, he moved on to the practicalities. Concocting a story that made sense.

I tripped and hit my head on the corner of the chest of drawers. If pushed, we'd say I'd had a drink. It was to be my fault. Not only that, but he had to be my saviour.

The jokes that came from that were like slaps in the face, Ward would laugh about needing to baby-proof the house, that I was more clumsy than a toddler, that I was fifteen, not three. Rafe found them funny, I think part of him convinced himself it was true.

There were other annoyingly smart moves, like having a fake cross put on the train. If he could see us now, driving back, not a word being said, all having had a slap to the face, he'd be ecstatic.

Some of us literally. The rest of us figuratively.

Topper drops JJ and me back at the front of my house. It's almost morning, the sun is going to come up in a few hours, and I'm running on next to no sleep. I was too pissed to sleep in the truck.

We get all the way up to my room before anything is said.

"I really thought we had it," I admit, sitting down on the bed, pulling off my shoes and throwing them at the space near the door where they usually sit neatly. I'm too pissed to be neat.

"Me too," JJ agrees.

Leaning over, I grab my pyjamas from under my pillow and get up. "I'm gonna take a shower, then knock out," I explain as I walk over to the bathroom. JJ nods. Getting inside, I take a shower, my exhaustion makes it short, a quick scrub, then out, brushing my teeth, I spit out the paste and exit the bathroom. We don't exchange any words as JJ walks in, starting his own quick shower.

This time, felt different. We felt so close, the entire time we were chasing some concrete-filled tyres. This is worse than actually having it in your grasp and losing it, we know we risked so much for Jack shit.

I walk over and turn the fan on as high as it goes, then get into bed. Under the cover, I listen to the rhythmic click, click, click of the blades.

The shower turns off, and a few minutes later, JJ walks out, his hair damp. He doesn't look too pleased either. He gets in beside me, both of us lie on the bed, staring up at the fan as it swings around. The creaking isn't as bad as it was last night.

"Did you do something to the fan?" I ask, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, I didn't want it chopping us up into little pieces, one of the bolts was loose. I tightened it up and it's good as new," He explains.

My eyes pull away from the newly fixed fan and over to JJ. I think I may miss the loud ass noise. You can only hear it if you're listening now. "Are you going to be here tomorrow morning?" I ask.

His face turns to look at me, "I will be. I'm not going anywhere, this bed is dead comfortable."

"We don't have to be done, in any capacity," I whisper, pivoting the topic.