Rogue | outer banks

Flashback 2

A Few Months Later

As I played the pinball machine, the familiar sounds of the arcade room surrounded me. "Topper fricking loves this," I remarked, my fingers dancing over the buttons. "But he's still worried I'll join you on the dark side," I added mockingly, a hint of frustration underlying my words. I knew he meant well, but the constant concern made me want to swing at him. The dynamic between Topper and me had shifted, and not necessarily for the better.

"I'll swing on him for you," Rafe chimed in, a playful smile on his face as he settled onto the couch, cracking open a can of beer, almost like he was able to read my mind.

The bond between Rafe and me had grown stronger over the past few months, while the distance between Sarah and me had widened. It was an unexpected turn of events that left Topper surprisingly pleased, thinking I was leaving behind The Cut and the Pogues.

Little did he know, I still met up with my friends.

Amelia and Rafe — partners in crime. We did everything together: drinking, smoking, indulging in a bit of mischief, having profound conversations, going on spontaneous road trips. Currently, we found ourselves in the arcade room that Rafe had put together for me, a thoughtful gesture that spoke volumes about the connection we had formed.

"No, you won't," I chuckled, dismissing Rafe's offer. "Topper is your bestie," I pointed out, walking away from the pinball game. Retrieving a cigarette from my pocket, I lit it up, the smoke swirling around me as I pondered the intricate web of relationships and loyalties that had woven themselves into my life.

"Doesn't he know you've already joined the dark side? Long before me?" he playfully prodded.

And he wasn't wrong. I had dipped my toes into the murky waters of rebellion long before Rafe came into the picture. It was my way of testing the boundaries society had set, an exploration of the forbidden that I believed everyone should experience at least once in their lives.

I wasn't an addict; I just craved the thrill of having fun on my terms.

"No, because he's a fool," I replied with a smirk, taking another drag of the cigarette. The bitterness of the smoke felt oddly comforting.

"Well, he has nothing to worry about. You know when to stop," Rafe reassured, sipping from his beer.

"Exactly," I affirmed, dropping onto the couch next to him. The plush cushion embraced me as I exhaled a plume of smoke, relishing in the unspoken understanding between Rafe and me.

Rafe set his beer on the table and rested his head on my lap. "I basically stole you from Sarah."

"Sarah fucked up," I stated bluntly, the truth hanging in the air.

"That's Sarah," he shrugged, a nonchalant dismissal. "She has a big mouth and thinks she can get away with anything."

"Yeah, well, her loss," I declared, placing my cigarette in Rafe's mouth. "Let's see where she'll find a better best friend," I added, a hint of defiance coloring my words.

The camaraderie between Rafe and me had solidified into something unbreakable, and as I looked down at him, I couldn't help but feel a sense of liberation — a rebellion against expectations, relationships, and the judgments of those who couldn't understand our unique connection.

As Rafe took another drag and exhaled a plume of smoke, his words hung in the air, "Her loss is my win."

The bitterness of the cigarette mixed with the satisfaction of the moment.

"Maybe you'll hit on her new bestfriend," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm good," Rafe frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in disapproval.