𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓 ― rafe cameron

πενήνταεννέα ; 59

song of the chapter:
APOCALYPSE ; cigarettes after sex

Rafe leaned back in his truck, staring at the message he'd sent to Margarita over an hour ago. No response. He sighed, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat, the knot in his chest tightening. He had grown used to her going quiet sometimes, but this felt different—like she was slipping further away, and he couldn't reach her no matter how hard he tried.

The early morning light filtered through the windshield, casting long shadows across the dashboard. He had been driving aimlessly for the past hour, trying to clear his head. Lately, things had been better—at least for him. He had kept his promise to stay clean, for her and for himself. But every time he looked at Margarita, he could see the weight she carried. The way her eyes didn't quite light up like they used to. The way she smiled less.

She was cold, distant, even when she was right next to him.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustration building. He hated feeling helpless. He had spent so long trying to fix himself, to prove he could be better. But now it was like they had switched places. Margarita had been his anchor when he was falling apart, but now... now she was the one sinking, and no matter what he did, he couldn't pull her back up.

He grabbed his phone again, scrolling through their recent messages. They hadn't been the same lately—shorter, more distant. He sent another text.

Margarita, talk to me.
Please.

After hitting send, he tossed the phone aside once more, his eyes focused on the road ahead, the quiet hum of the engine filling the silence. He wanted to go to her house, to check on her, but he knew how she got when she needed space. Pushing too hard might make things worse.

His mind wandered back to when they first started spending time together. She was always the one with the warmth, the one who could make him laugh even when he didn't want to. He remembered their late-night talks, the way she looked at him like he was more than just Rafe Cameron, the mess-up. She made him feel like he was worth something. Like he could be better.

But now, something had shifted, and Rafe couldn't figure out how to fix it. He hated watching her struggle, knowing that she was keeping so much hidden. He had been there before—feeling like the world was too heavy, like no one could understand. But this wasn't about him anymore. This was about Margarita.

He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, the frustration bubbling over. Why wouldn't she let him in? He knew she was hurting, but every time he tried to talk to her, she brushed it off, telling him she was fine.

He wasn't buying it.

"I'm not going to lose you," he muttered to himself, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "Not like this."

Rafe's phone buzzed again, and he grabbed it, his heart racing for a moment, hoping it was her. But it wasn't. Just a reminder of some meeting his dad had set up for him. Ward Cameron had been on his case lately, pushing him to focus on the family business, on keeping the Cameron name untarnished. But Rafe had other things on his mind—like Margarita, like keeping her from slipping further into whatever darkness she was fighting.

He thought about the last time he had seen her, how her body had trembled when he hugged her goodbye. She looked healthy on the outside, her skin kissed by the sun, her hair lighter from the summer, but the way she pulled away from him, the way her body shivered even in the warmth, told him everything.

She was colder than ever.

Rafe let out a long breath, his mind racing. He needed to do something, to help her. But how could he, when she wouldn't let him? She had always been so strong, so independent, but now he saw the cracks. And no matter how much he wanted to fix things, he couldn't do it alone.