Franchesca Ryans met life altering events after hooking up with Rafe Cameron at Midsummers last year. The seventeen yr old alcoholic finds herself back in her old ways after being released from rehab to come back home this summer.
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Last year
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11:02 am
A storm was coming.
Kildare's forecast predicted it all weekend, but that didn't really hinder her from coming over that Tuesday.
She wanted to see him. Whenever they were together, she liked pretending that they were actually this couple, undeniably smitten but too complicated for anyone else to understand. It made it easier to overlook all the backstabbing that came with being with him.
It also made it easier to forget words exchanged that morning, merely toppled beneath groans and whimpers while Rafe fucked her soullessly into his California King.
To Franny, no matter how careless it sounded or if it was all just a veil to mask meaningless sex, she couldn't help but find a sense of solace in the idea of being yearned for. And whenever she was with him, he made her feel that way.
It was ironically liberating, considering the circumstances.
However, life always did have a way of painfully reminding her how optimistic she was to think this would end any other way than purely detrimental.
Since the moment he laid eyes on her at Midsummers, it was destined to be a cocktail of utter fucking chaos. But God, it was beautiful while it lasted.
Blue hour was imminent.
A low source of luminous light came from Rafe's window, causing a dark-blueish tint throughout the entire bathroom. Warm water rained over them as their bodies stood close in a spacious shower. The air was thick and steamy, but an angelic smile was still vividly written on his lips while peering down at her.
Wet strands of dark blonde hair kissed his forehead while water traced down his face, dreamy blues stagnantly fixated on Franny's big brown eyes. Her pruned fingers combed through drenched curls falling orderly behind her ears with canines sunken into her bottom lip, stunned at the moment at hand.
She thought she was dreaming — she had to have been.
Never in a million years would she have thought she'd be showering with Rafe Cameron after being face-down in sheets that cost more than the clothes she owned. Franny could laugh. She remembered a simpler time when she was revolted by the cocky older boy who wore a God complex like a golden medal.
It was funny how much had changed over the summer.
And it was low over the sound of pressured water hitting Tuscany French tiles in his shower stall, but Franny still heard it. " You're really fucking pretty, y'know that?" His words bounced around in her head, causing the dimples in her cheeks to deepen.
