𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓 ― rafe cameron

ενενήντατρία ; 93

song of the chapter:
FUTILE DEVICES (DOVEMAN REMIX) ; sufjan stevens

Rafe found her at the beach. He always knew where to look when things went south. The place where they had shared so many quiet moments, where she could breathe, could think. This was her sanctuary—one she had shared with him. But tonight, the air between them felt suffocating, thick with all the words left unsaid.

She stood by the water's edge, her back to him, the waves crashing rhythmically as if they were mocking the chaos in his chest. Rafe hesitated, his heart pounding in his ears. He didn't know what to say, how to begin, but he knew he couldn't lose her without trying to fix this.

"Margarita," he called out, his voice rough.

She didn't turn around at first. Her shoulders were stiff, the kind of tension he knew meant she was trying to keep it together. But finally, after what felt like an eternity, she faced him, her expression unreadable in the dim light of the moon.

"I'm done, Rafe," she said, her voice calm, almost too calm. It was the kind of calm that came after a storm had torn everything apart. The kind of calm that meant there was no more fighting left to give. "We're done."

Rafe felt the sting of her words but stepped closer anyway. "What? You're just going to walk away? Like none of this matters?"

Her eyes darkened, the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "None of this matters? Rafe, everything I thought mattered between us has been a lie. You tell me you'll change, that you want to be better, but you never do. You're the same Rafe Cameron who can't seem to care about anyone but himself."

His jaw clenched. "That's not true. I care about you, Margarita. I've always cared."

Her laugh was bitter, cutting through the sound of the waves. "Care? Is that what you call this? Because from where I'm standing, it feels like I've been the only one trying to make this work. You—" She paused, her voice trembling with the weight of everything she'd been holding in. "You don't get to care when you're busy with another girl, Rafe. You don't get to care when you're always finding some way to hurt me."

"You think I don't know that?" he snapped back, his own frustration boiling over. "You think I don't hate myself for it? I'm trying, Margarita. I swear I'm trying, but every time I get close to you, it's like I screw it up even more."

She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "You say you're trying, but you never actually do anything about it. I waited, Rafe. I believed you could change. I hoped you would." Her voice cracked, the raw emotion slipping through. "But you won't. You can't. Because at the end of the day, this is who you are."

Rafe's hands balled into fists, his eyes searching hers for some way to make her understand. "And what about you, huh? You act like you're perfect, like you haven't messed up. You push me away when things get hard, like it's easier to just leave than deal with the reality that maybe—just maybe—you're afraid of letting anyone in."

Margarita's face hardened, her tears spilling over now. "I let you in, Rafe. I let you into my life, into my heart, and all you've done is take advantage of that. I'm tired of giving everything I have to someone who's never going to give me the same in return."

He exhaled sharply, the pain in his chest nearly unbearable. "So what, you're just walking away? Just like that?"

Her next words came out in a broken whisper, filled with more sadness than anger. "You already walked away from me, Rafe. You just didn't realize it."

The silence that followed was deafening, the only sound between them the crashing waves, relentless and unforgiving.

Rafe took a step closer, his voice softer, desperate. "Margarita, please— I love you."

She froze for a second, the weight of those words crashing over her like the waves behind them. But instead of the warmth she once felt, all that was left was a cold, empty pit inside her. She turned to face him fully, her eyes filled with tears but her expression hardened by the truth she could no longer ignore.

"A broken record," she whispered, her voice carrying a mix of sadness and disbelief. "You've said that so many times, Rafe, but what does it even mean anymore? It's just words. If it makes you feel better to say it, then fine. But it's meaningless. Because love—real love—doesn't look like this."

His eyes widened with regret and desperation, but she held her ground, shaking her head.

"You can say you love me all you want, but that's not what love is. I loved you, Rafe. I really, truly did. And in all the time I've known you, I never once did anything like what you did to me. Because when I love someone, that love means something. It means loyalty, and respect, and trust. My love was never just words."

Rafe swallowed hard, his chest tightening with every word she spoke. He tried to reach out to her, but Margarita stepped back, shaking her head once more, this time more firmly.

"But you..." she continued, her voice trembling now, not with fear but with conviction. "You've hurt me, over and over again. You've made me doubt myself, doubt everything we had. And I can't keep doing this. I can't keep pretending that your love is enough when it's only ever been empty promises."

Her words hung in the air like a sharp blade between them, cutting deeper than anything he had felt before. Rafe could see the finality in her eyes, the way she had already begun to let go, and it terrified him.

But he didn't know how to fix this. Because she was right—he had broken her trust, her heart, and no matter how many times he said he loved her, it wouldn't undo the damage he had caused.

Margarita took a breath, steadying herself as she looked at him one last time. "I always loved you, Rafe. Even when you hurt me. But I can't keep loving someone who doesn't love me enough to treat me right."

And as he opened his mouth to respond, defend himself, she cut him off, shaking her head, her tears glistening in the moonlight. "I'm done. I can't keep hoping for something that's never going to happen. You're not going to change—not for me, not for anyone. And I can't keep hurting like this."

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for the first time in a long while, he didn't know what to say. He could feel her slipping away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

She wiped at her face, her voice steadying as she said the final words that shattered whatever remained between them. "Enjoy your island without me. I'm gone."

With that, Margarita turned and walked away, her steps determined, unwavering. Rafe didn't follow. He couldn't. All he could do was watch as she disappeared into the night, leaving him alone on the beach that had once held so much promise, now filled only with regret.

Back at her house, Margarita moved like a ghost, packing up her life piece by piece. She barely thought as she pulled clothes from her closet, folded them into her suitcase, and emptied her dresser drawers. Her mind was numb, her heart shattered, but she kept moving, kept packing, because if she stopped, she wasn't sure she would be able to go through with it.

She paused when she found the gift box—the one she had brought back from Greece for Rafe. Her fingers brushed over the edges, her chest tightening at the memory of the trip, of how much hope she had carried back with her. Hope that now felt so foolish, so naive.

Margarita placed the box on her dresser and then her eyes drifted to the Polaroid taped to her wall. It was of her and Rafe, smiling, happy—two people who had believed in something more, something real. She peeled it off carefully, staring at it for a long moment before bringing it to her lips. She kissed the bottom of the photo, a silent goodbye to the person she had once thought he could be.

She placed the Polaroid next to the gift box on the dresser, a final act of closure, and then turned away. Everything else in the room had been packed, everything she had built here, every memory she had made.

She was leaving it all behind.

And this time, she wasn't coming back.

--- end of story