//Rafe Cameron\\
"You don't make deals with the devil, not unless you want to dance with him and maybe I did"
Lily Grant has spent her whole life slumming it with the pogues, being that she is one.
They're her day ones, her best friends. Life coul...
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My eyes grow dry enough that a sting strikes across the gloss of their surfaces. Being the only thing shocking me back to the present and pulling me from my blank state of staring at the screen of my phone.
At one point I was rereading the texts between Rafe and I. Over and over until I could recite their order like a script. I'm frustrated, irritated to say the absolute least.
He's stressed, angry and on the edge of exploding. Those things don't mix very well and as expected, they've clashed. Him being distant hasn't soothed my inner war, only added gasoline to its fire. It isn't his fault, he doesn't have a choice while dealing with John B and Ward. And maybe it's selfish but the weight of it all has been crushing me and he hasn't been there to lift it.
God knows I've never been capable of finding the strength to do it myself, instead I let it break me until I'm shoved under the surface and drown in its ocean defeat.
Our string of texts started after I hung up on him. Neither of us possess the ability to control our temper, though I'm the only one whose ever lost it with him. The entire argument began because of me. It isn't about not having his attention, it's about the inner war raging inside of me to push him away and I can't fight it any longer. It's claws are beginning to poke through my skin. Peel it away until it's spirit possesses me and speaks its irreversible damage off my tongue.
He's on his way over now, I should apologize but I can't do anything right now but breathe. I'm trapped. The trauma of my past has been built off of self protection, fear and guilt, coiled into a ghost holding a gun to my head and forcing me into something I don't want deep down. But I can't reach grasp it, pull it to the surface and wrap myself in its warmth. Instead I'm forced to watch its spark die and dowse it in freezing cold water.
My body pulls me from my seated position on my bed. Dragging myself to my dresser and pulling the top drawer open before rifling through it. If Ella were here she'd wrap me in a hug so tight that it squeezed any pain out of my veins. Tiffany would use her power of equally comforting you while still being realistic and giving you the harsh reality of things. Enough so to open your eyes and steer you in the right direction. But again, if either of them were here..none of this would be happening to me. I wouldn't be the broken mess I am, taped together and teetering on hope that I won't shatter farther.
Tears fill my eyes when I finally find what I'm searching for. The white square inked with a memory I wish so desperately to crawl into a relive. I sink to my knees, falling onto my butt and staring down at the Polaroid. It's presence equally angering me and stretching a smile on my lips. Curly blonde hair framing a bright smile, Ella's arms draped around my shoulders. My fingers curled around her arm. Tiffany's dark hair pops against the pink background. All three of us huddled into the tiny prom picture booth. Her cheek pressed against mine, eyes squeezed shut in a radiant smile. My own filling my face with such innocence it sends a drop of warmth melting off of the muscle in my chest. I don't recognize myself, the girl looking back at me isn't filled with guilt and baring the weight of killing her best friends. She's happy..
