𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓 ― rafe cameron

ογδόνταεννέα ; 89

song of the chapter:
BORN TO DIE ; lana del rey

Margarita had been avoiding her phone for days, the screen a reminder of the world she wanted no part of right now. After what had happened with JJ and Kie, it felt like too much to keep up with everyone. The Pogues—her family—felt distant now, like they didn't quite belong in the same space she was in. So, she'd done the only thing she knew how to do: she left the group chat without saying a word.

She didn't want to explain herself. She didn't want to deal with the inevitable messages asking if she was okay. She wasn't okay, but she didn't want to talk about it. Not to them. Not to anyone, really. Not right now.

The past few days had been quiet, almost suffocatingly so. Her phone buzzed from time to time, but she didn't bother to check it. Rafe had been by once or twice, but even with him, she found herself retreating more into her own head. Everything felt too raw, too close to the surface, and she wasn't ready to face it.

But that bubble of isolation burst when there was a knock on her door.

Margarita sighed, hesitating as she made her way down the hall. She wasn't expecting anyone—at least not today. She had been hoping for more time to herself, more time to think—or not think—without being reminded of everything she was avoiding.

When she opened the door, the last people she expected to see were standing on her front porch.

Sarah, Pope, and John B.

Her breath caught in her throat. She felt the immediate urge to slam the door and pretend this wasn't happening. That they weren't here, staring at her with a mix of concern and confusion written all over their faces. But it was too late. They were here, and she couldn't run from them like she had with everyone else.

"Margarita," Sarah was the first to speak, her voice gentle but firm, "why didn't you tell us what was going on?"

Margarita shifted uncomfortably, her hand still on the door, debating whether she could handle this. She hadn't been ready to face them, and now here they were, forcing her to confront everything she'd been running from.

"I... didn't want to talk," Margarita admitted, her voice small.

Pope, usually the calm and collected one, stepped forward, his brows furrowed in concern. "You left the group chat, Mags. You just disappeared. We've been worried about you."

John B stood silently beside them, his eyes locked on her, but not in a judgmental way—more like he was trying to understand.

"I'm fine," Margarita said quickly, though her voice wavered. "I just... needed some space."

Sarah crossed her arms, her expression softening. "We get that, but it's not like you to just shut us out. You don't have to do this alone, you know?"

Margarita bit her lip, the weight of her friends' presence bearing down on her. She had thought shutting them out was the right thing to do—she didn't want to bring them into her mess. But now, standing here, seeing their concern, she realized how much she had missed them. How much she missed them being her safe space.

"JJ and Kie," Margarita whispered, her voice cracking slightly, "I can't—" She broke off, unable to finish the sentence, but it didn't matter. They all knew what she meant.

Pope's face fell, and even Sarah's determined expression softened with understanding. John B, quiet as always when it came to emotional stuff, just gave her a small nod, like he was saying, we get it without having to say the words out loud.

"They shouldn't have done that," Pope said, his voice steady. "We didn't know, Mags. If we had, we—"

Margarita shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to talk about it." Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she was on edge, and the pain was still too fresh.

Sarah stepped closer, placing a hand on Margarita's arm. "It does matter," she said softly. "And we're here. We're not going anywhere, even if you don't want to talk. We just... wanted to make sure you're okay."

Margarita felt the tightness in her chest loosen, just a little. She hadn't wanted them here, not at first, but now she was grateful for their persistence. They weren't asking her to spill everything, but they were reminding her that she didn't have to carry this alone.

"I don't know if I'm okay," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I'll ever be okay after this."

John B finally spoke, his voice soft but resolute. "You will be. It doesn't feel like it right now, but you will be. We'll make sure of it."

Margarita blinked, tears prickling her eyes, but she held them back. She didn't want to cry—not again. Not in front of them.

Instead, she stepped back and opened the door wider. "You guys want to come in?"

Sarah smiled, a small, relieved smile. "Yeah. We'd like that."

--- end of chapter