Pretty When You Cry ୨୧ Rafe Cameron

eleven

'Rafe,' Isla pulled out of the kiss. She felt a bit more sober now, more awake, more aware.

'Yeah?' Rafe pulled back slowly, he didn't want her to pull away, ever.

'We're tripping out. That was because we're high. So high,' Isla said.

Rafe couldn't tell if she was trying to convince him or herself. He knew that they would have never in a billion years ever kissed sober. He remembered who she was. He just didn't care. In this moment she was all he wanted, but if he said that he'd seem weak. He didn't wanna look like an idiot in front of her.

'Right,' he answered.

Isla didn't know how to feel. There was so much going through her head right now. Emotions rushing through her so fast she was getting whiplash. When she looked in the rear view mirror she couldn't even recognize the girl staring back at her.

'I'll um, I'll walk home. Thanks for um, everything,' Isla said, getting out of the car before he could object. Rafe placed his head on the steering wheel in frustration. What was happening to him? Rafe kissed lots of girls. He didn't care what they wanted, or if they got up and left— although he was rarely rejected, but this time it hurt. Why did it hurt?

———

'Jesus christ Isla,' John B exhaled relieved when she walked through the front door of the Chateau at two in the morning. All of the Pogues, including Sarah, were gathered around the table looking anxious.

'I'm sorry,' Isla said. She was clearly on something. Her brother notice.

'Where have you been Isla, what have you been doing?' John B asked confused.

'I don't know I'm sorry,' Isla babbled. They all stared at her waiting for an explanation, but she never gave one. She just joined them at the table.

Then guilt rolled into her like a wave on the sand, tugging so tightly then releasing her, only to repeat the same cycle again. She had kissed the son of the man who killed her father, the boy who lost them the gold, the Kook King. And she was Isla, Pogue, outspoken, the funny one, the loyal one. And here she was, having the nerves to sit around the table with her friends like she didn't just do something they would never forgive her for, rather she was high or not.

The truth was Isla understood Rafe. She could empathize with him, for whatever fucked up reason. She understood why he took the gold; he wanted to prove something to his dad. He wanted to show him why he should be the favourite child for once. In all honesty, half of Rafe's problems, the jagged, brutal, boy he had become, was just his father. His father's way of parenting— or lack thereof.

'Isla,' Sarah said. When Isla heard this was Sarah speaking, her stomach dropped, 'You can tell us where you were. Nobody's judging you.'

Isla let out a sigh that said 'oh thank god'. 'I just went off and got high. That's all. I'm stupid, I know,' she lied through her teeth, which made her feel even worse than before.

'You really left us out of the fun,' JJ laughed, clearly not understanding the extent of what she was talking about. She didn't go off and get high as a leisurely activity, in fact she'd planned to do much worse than just get high off a joint.

'We were just about to start the party here ourselves, you in?' Kiara asked.

'You know it,' Isla said, faking her usual bubbly personality.