there was just something so utterly divine about the way the deep violet bruises looked on her soft skin, Rafe couldn't get enough of it.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝
The first time she meets Rafe Cameron is when she's 8.
Her little bruised-up legs, covered in band-aids and scrapes, marched through the sand. The little plastic box made of fine mesh net with a little top opening clanked against her thigh every time she took a step forward.
She was on a mission—determined and driven to do what she came here for.
She paused once she came across the rocky part of the beach—her white Converse covered in sand. She took leisurely steps, her small hands gripping jagged rocks. Climbing such rocks would be easier if you were a little bigger. But she was smaller.
Once she finally crossed the biggest rock, she stood tall, looking down into the small pools of trapped ocean water, buzzing with life.
She began to make the trek down the large rock when she heard a sniffle. Her dark hair snapped in the wind as her head turned a full 90 degrees to the right to see a boy sitting on a rock, eyes red and glazed over.
Her gray eyes widened at the sight of him. Why was he crying? She paused, stared down at the pool in front of her, and began to feel the rocks toward the right side of her.
"Hey, can you help me?" she called out, her hat rocking in the wind, way too big for a small kid like her. He looked up, eyes widening as blue met gray.
His eyebrows furrowed as he stood up; his knee was bloody and jagged-looking. Her eyes trailed over him and rested on the scrape.
"Help you with what?" he asked; his voice was deeper than hers. He stood taller from what she could tell from the distance—he was probably older than her.
