𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓 ― rafe cameron

πενήνταέξι ; 56

song of the chapter:
THE GOLD - PHOEBE BRIDGERS VERSION ; manchester orchestra , phoebe bridgers

The early morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of Margarita's room, casting soft rays of light across her face. She blinked slowly, her mind still foggy from sleep. For a few brief seconds, everything felt normal, peaceful even. But then reality settled in, heavy and familiar, and the memories of the night before rushed back.

Rafe had stayed until she fell asleep, his presence grounding her in a way she hadn't expected. But now, as she lay alone in her bed, that feeling of security seemed to slip away, replaced by the usual gnawing anxiety she had grown used to.

She rolled over, grabbing her phone from the nightstand, her thumb hovering over the screen. Missed texts from Sarah, Kie, and even JJ flashed in a row, but she didn't feel ready to face any of them just yet. Not after everything. The emotional weight of it all still sat heavily on her chest, pressing down like a stone.

Instead of responding, she sat up slowly, pushing the covers off and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her reflection in the mirror caught her attention. The dark circles under her eyes were more prominent than ever, her skin pale and her hair a tangled mess. She didn't recognize herself anymore. Not fully.

Her thoughts drifted to Rafe again, the way his arms had wrapped around her, how he had reassured her without pushing too hard. He was the first person who made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she wasn't completely lost. But that terrified her too.

Margarita stood up, pulling on a hoodie and a pair of jeans before heading toward the door. She couldn't sit here all day. She needed air, space, something to clear her head. Maybe a walk along the beach again would help, but she wasn't sure.

As she stepped outside, the cool breeze hit her face, the salty scent of the ocean filling her lungs. The world around her was beginning to wake up—locals heading to work, the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. But for Margarita, it all felt surreal, like she was standing in a place she no longer belonged.

She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and began walking aimlessly, her feet leading her back toward the beach. The sand felt soft beneath her shoes, and the sound of the ocean was louder here, drowning out the noise in her head.

But no matter how far she walked, the thoughts still chased her. The memories of her past—the bad nights, the mistakes, the moments she wished she could forget—were always there, like shadows creeping at the edges of her mind.

As she reached the water's edge, she paused, staring out at the horizon. Her phone buzzed again in her pocket, but she ignored it, her eyes fixated on the endless stretch of sea before her.

She had told herself a million times that she didn't need saving, that she could handle everything on her own. But now she wasn't so sure. Maybe the truth was that she didn't want to be saved. Not entirely.

Her phone buzzed again, more persistent this time. With a sigh, she pulled it out, expecting another round of messages from her friends. But when she looked at the screen, her heart sank.

It wasn't Sarah or Kie or JJ.

It was Barry.

The message was short, cryptic:

Barry
I've got what you need.

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes lingered on the screen. A part of her had been trying to escape the pull of old habits, the craving that never really went away. But now, with one message, it was all crashing back.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, indecision washing over her. She knew what this would lead to, where it could take her. She had been down this road before.

But the darkness inside her whispered that it would be easier to numb it all, just for a little while. To forget, even if only for a moment.

She took a shaky breath, her thumb hovering over the reply button.

Everything felt like it was spiraling again, slipping through her fingers like the sand beneath her feet.

And she wasn't sure if she wanted to stop it.

She thought about Rafe—how he had stayed clean for her. He had fought his own battles, made his own choices to walk away from the drugs, and for a moment, she felt a flicker of guilt. He had done it because he cared, because he wanted to be better, not just for himself but for her. He'd made sacrifices she hadn't even asked for, choosing a path that wasn't easy, but one that showed how much he was trying to prove himself. For her.

And then she thought about herself.

Here she was, standing at the edge of the beach, her phone still buzzing with the offer from Barry. She could feel the temptation creeping in, the familiar ache tugging at her like an old friend. She wanted to forget. She wanted to escape, if only for a few hours. But as she stared at the message, something in her heart tightened.

Rafe had stayed clean—for her.

But what had she done for him? What had she done for herself?

Margarita sighed, her thumb still hovering over the phone screen. Her mind spun in circles, caught between the desire to numb the pain and the weight of Rafe's efforts. She didn't want to feel like she owed him, but it was more than that now. It was about how she'd been slowly slipping, how she was losing herself again in a way she never thought she would.

She wanted to be better, too. But she wasn't sure if she even knew how anymore.

The weight of her past mistakes pressed down on her shoulders, and the silence of the beach felt deafening. Every part of her screamed for an escape, but the thought of Rafe—his trust in her, the way he looked at her like she was something more—made her pause.

She put her phone away, turning toward the ocean, letting the salty breeze wash over her.

She stood there for a while, letting the internal battle rage on, the tug-of-war between what she wanted and what she needed. Rafe had stayed clean. She owed it to herself to try, too.