𝔅𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔦𝔢 - Rafe Cameron

⑧

...

Rafe drove Jazmine back to the house in silence. The rain poured heavily, drumming on the car's roof, and Jazmine hadn't taken her eyes off the window since they left. She looked distant, almost like she was trying to disappear into the downpour outside. Her face was pale, her hands trembling slightly in her lap, and it broke Rafe's heart to see her like this.

"Jaz, talk to me," he said softly, his voice edged with worry. He hated seeing her like this, knowing it was all because of Sergio. If he could, he'd make Sergio pay for what he did to her, for turning her into this shell of herself.

"There's not much to say," Jazmine replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She sounded drained, like all the fight in her had vanished.

"I know what you're feeling," he said, almost pleading, as if he could take some of her pain onto himself.

"I've never been this scared in my life," Jazmine admitted, her voice cracking, her breath coming in short gasps. She clutched the fabric of her jacket, trying to hold herself together, but her composure was slipping.

But what she didn't say was that it wasn't just the fear of what she'd done; it was the blood. The sight of it, the thick, dark crimson staining her hands, had brought back memories she had spent years trying to bury.

She could still see it so clearly—the sterile white of the hospital room, the coldness of the tiles against her feet, and the lifeless form of her mother lying on that bed. Blood everywhere.

The moment she'd walked in and seen it, her whole world had shattered, and she'd never been able to look at blood the same way again.

She was four years old, standing in that hospital corridor, staring at her mother's lifeless body. Her mother's face was so pale, her lips tinged with blue, and there was nothing but silence where her heartbeat should've been.

The doctors had said it was too late. All Jazmine remembered was the blood seeping through the white sheets, the stain spreading wider and wider like it was swallowing her mother whole. Since that day, blood had become more than just a color—it was the proof that life could slip away in an instant, that people you love could vanish forever.

"I shot him, Rafe," she said, her voice cracking as fresh tears threatened to spill. "He was bleeding so much... What if he dies because of me?"

Rafe turned to her, his heart aching at the sight of her anguish. He gently cupped her face in his hands, his touch warm against her cold skin. "Hey, look at me," he said, his voice soft but steady. "He's not going to die, okay? No one dies from a bullet wound to the leg. It's going to be alright."

"I was so scared," Jazmine whispered, her voice trembling as a tear finally escaped down her cheek. "I thought I—" She stopped herself, choking on the words, the image of her mother flashing in her mind again, the blood pooling on the ground.

"Shhh, it's okay," Rafe interrupted, brushing away her tear with his thumb. "You did what you had to do. You were brave."

Jazmine nodded weakly, her eyes red and filled with so much pain that it made Rafe's chest tighten. He wished he could do more than just hold her; he wished he could take all that fear and hurt away.

"Come on, let's get you inside," he said softly, guiding her out of the car. The rain soaked them as they made their way to the door, but Jazmine barely seemed to notice.

"Do you want to eat something?" he asked gently.

"No," Jazmine said, her voice hollow. "I'm just going to go upstairs, take a shower, and sleep. I'm really tired."