Pretty When You Cry ୨୧ Rafe Cameron

twenty nine

The morning arrived after a night of tossing and turning, leaving Isla and Rafe both feeling unrested. Even in that cushiony bed after all those nights sleeping in a cave, Isla found herself still exhausted as she opened her eyes. Rafe was awake, pacing, which is probably what woke her.

'Rafe pacing around this room like a lunatic isn't gonna get us out of here,' Isla sighed.

'I know, I know, you're right, but I've been thinking and—' Rafe started.

'No Rafe. I can already tell you're gonna say something stupid,' she cut him off.

'Can't you just listen to me?' he retorted.

'Fine,' Isla gave in.

'We can yell out, tell them we need something, and beat down and tie up whoever comes to the door. Then, we can go downstairs and go out through the back door in the kitchen. There's been trucks coming back and forth dropping stuff up all morning. That could be our way out of here Isla!' Rafe explained, seeming like he truly believed that plan would work.

'And when it doesn't work? You get yourself shot, or we get caught making the run for it?' Isla inquired.

'Getting shot is a possibility even if we don't try to leave, Isla, since you don't have that dumb journal,' Rafe said.

'Fine, fine! You know what dying might be a nice treat anyways, try your luck, get us killed!' Isla answered in disbelief, talking with her hands as she got out of bed and began to walk back and forth.

Rafe went to the window and started to knock on it, saying that Isla was 'sick' and needed some medicine or a bucket to throw up in. One of the guards came upstairs and opened the door, and Rafe immediately kicked him to the ground, taking his gun and pointing it at him.

'Isla, get two towels,' Rafe instructed. Isla went to the bathroom and got two large yet thin bath towels and threw them to Rafe, who quickly started to tie the man's hands together, making makeshift handcuffs. He put the other around the man's mouth so he couldn't call for help.

'Come on,' Rafe said, stepping over the man and heading down the stairs. Isla quickly followed without a word, even though she felt uneasy about this plan.

The pair moved stealthily through the dimly lit corridor, making their way to the kitchen as silently as possible. Carefully, they opened the back door, ensuring it didn't make a sound. Rafe silently counted down from three, and as soon as he reached one, they bolted towards the unoccupied pickup truck.

They jumped up into the back of the truck and hid under a tarp. Momentarily after they heard a man get into the truck, then a man got into the back. The truck took off and they had done it— they successfully escaped. As the truck sped up, Rafe sneaked out from under the tarp and shoved Singh's man off of the truck, making him curse.

Rafe chuckled as if he hadn't just injured a man and sat back down next to Isla, moving the tarp completely off them.

'I told you this was a good plan,' he smiled.

'Ok, maybe that worked. You were right,' Isla admitted hesitantly.

They eventually reached somewhere close enough to Rafe's boat to hop off the truck. They got to the boat, which was basically a luxury yacht to Isla. The wealth of the Cameron family never failed to impress her.

'What about my friends?' Isla asked as they got onto the boat.

'They'll find their way back. Isla, we need to get out of here. Singh seems to control Barabados,' Rafe said as he untied the ropes.

She realized that he was speaking logically and making a valid point. However, having spent weeks closely connected to her friends, the thought of parting ways with them in Barbados, with the uncertainty of their safe return to Outer Banks, was difficult to fathom.

'Ok. You're right,' Isla admitted, her face staying in a frowning position.

'It's gonna be alright,' Rafe said, his voice and expression both gentle and assuring. He had a hard time feeling bad for his sister and her stupid Pogue friends, but Isla could always warm his cold, bitter heart.

As the night in the sea went on they tried to keep their distance from each other, or at least Isla did. The sun set over the sea like a watercolour painting. Isla sat on the edge of the boat with her feet hanging down, deep in thought.

Rafe watched her from a distance as he drank a beer. He noticed her shoulder blades sticking out of her skin. She had been dealing with the effects of starvation. He went into the cockpit and grabbed a bag of plain chips and brought them to her.

'Here, you need it,' he passed her the bag of chips, sitting down next to her. The initial impact of his words felt like a sharp sting, causing her to feel even more insecure than she already did.

'That's what happens when you get stranded on a deserted island. You starve a bit, Rafe,'  Isla snapped back, yet dug into the back of salty snacks. 'But thanks for the chips.'

'I wasn't trying to be rude. You're beautiful Isla, you're always beautiful,' Rafe answered, staring into her deep eyes as she glared into the horizon, keeping her head straight forward. She didn't know what to make of his comment.

'You buzzed all your hair off,' Isla replied, smoothing her hand over his head, feeling the absence of his old hair that fell onto his forehead. This was her awkward response to his compliment since she was trying to avoid the complexity of his words.

'Yeah, wanted to try it out,' Rafe answered dully.

'Looks... good,' Isla replied. The truth was, he looked better than he ever had. He looked fresh, new. Along with his tan and its contrast to his icy eyes, he looked gorgeous. She just had too much resentment for him to let herself acknowledge it.

'Thanks,' Rafe said. He hated how casual this conversation was. It was like they hardly knew each other when in reality he knew almost everything about her.

He knew the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she laughed, the way she felt like a shitty daughter, how every time she got upset she got the urge to do something incredibly stupid, her favourite flavour of ice cream is mint chocolate chip, her favourite flower is a hydrangea, she always wanted a golden retriever— he could go on for days.

Even though the circumstances he learned these things about her under were wretched and painted him more of a villain and less of a lover, he couldn't help but feel his heart flutter when he looked at her— sunburnt, hollowed out, and all.

'Isla I uh— I'm not gonna tell my dad anything. I'm not gonna let him find you guys,' Rafe mentioned. He meant it, Isla could tell. She just didn't know why he wouldn't share this newfound information with Ward. After all, his alliances clearly lay with his father, considering he killed for him. Just for a second Isla entertained the idea that maybe his alliances were changing.

'Thanks, I guess,' Isla answered, not realizing the frustration showing through her voice.

'Don't be like that,' Rafe replied, not appreciating her lack of gratitude.

'What, Rafe? Do you expect me to get on my knees and thank you that you don't want me dead? That's the bare minimum, Rafe,' Isla replied harshly. It might've seemed aggressive, but it was the truth. She needed Rafe to realize what a terrible person he was, even if he was currently being nice.

'Fuck, Isla, can't you see I'm trying?!' Rafe recoiled.

'Trying doesn't change the things you've done. Do you have any idea the fucking grief you've caused me?? Almost every night sleeping in that stupid cave I had nightmares of you with that blade to my throat!' she explained, raising her voice.

He didn't realize how much of an impact the things he did had on her, but he'd wait for her to recover. He'd hold love for her silently, from afar, until she was ready for it.