𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 | RAFE CAMERON

Twelve | N I G H T S L I K E T H I S

The truck rumbled its way up the hill, the sight of Rafe's house coming into view. He pulled into the driveway, his car idling as the boys continued their banter.

I waited until they had all stepped out of the truck before I slowly slid out of the backseat. Rafe, who had been watching me, approached hesitantly. "You alright, Scar?" He asked again, his voice softer this time, concern flickering in his eyes.

I nodded, unable to look at him. "I just... need some air," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

I sank onto the steps of the porch, the cool stone a welcome contrast to the heat of the day. The weight of my betrayal pressed down on me.

I tried to justify it, to tell myself that I hadn't really betrayed them, not truly. That I was just playing the game, that I was on the winning side. But the truth, harsh and unforgiving, echoed in my heart. I'd chosen the Kooks over the Pogues, the life of privilege over the life of honesty.

Rafe sat beside me, his presence a silent comfort. He didn't speak, just sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"Sarah's got some extra clothes in her room," he finally said, his voice low. "If you want, you can change. Looks like you got some mud on you from when you fell."

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. Standing up, I walked past Rafe and into the house and up to Sarah's room.

I found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in her closet. I quickly changed and folded up my clothes to bring with me.

As I walked downstairs, the sounds of the boys' laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air. They were already back to their usual selves, oblivious to the internal battle raging within me.

"Hey, you need a lift home?" Rafe asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need to grab something from this guy named Barry."

"Yeah." I nod.

When we got to Barry's, it was like stepping into a time capsule of the 90s. Beer cans littered the floor, a football game blared from the TV, and a haze of smoke hung in the air.

"Hey Barry," Rafe greeted him, his voice  friendly. "Got any of the good stuff?"

Barry, a man with a low man bun and eyes that seemed permanently glazed over, nodded. "Of course, country club. What's your pick?"

Rafe, without missing a beat, said, "Give me a gram of the usual, Barry."

"And you, sweetheart?" Barry asked, turning to me.

I hesitated to speak. I was still a newbie when it came to the whole "recreational substances" thing.

"I'll... I'll take some weed," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I'd never bought it before, let alone smoked it. But it felt like the perfect time to start. I didn't care if would effect the way my medication worked. I just needed to get high.

"Coming right up," Barry said, disappearing into the depths of his house.

We paid, and then Rafe and I headed back to his truck. He pulled out a small bag of white powder and began to line it up on a rolled-up twenty dollar bill.

"You wanna try some?" he asked,  "Just a little bit."

"No thanks, not my cup of tea." I said, my mind already buzzing with anticipation for what my first smoke session would be like. I dug into the bag Barry had given me and started to roll a blunt, my fingers clumsy as I tried to mimic the movements I'd seen in countless movies.

Rafe shook his head and chuckled. "You're doing it all wrong, Scar."

He took the joint from me and, with a few deft movements, shaped it into a perfect cylinder. "Here," he said, handing it back to me. "Try this."