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
Suki had been to Midsummers a few times. It wasn't a priority, and the only reason she had even gone in the first place was because her friends dragged her there.
Her grandparents didn't struggle in the same way that a lot of people in the Cut did. They were better off than the majority of that side of town. However, they weren't rich—far from it. Her grandma was a teacher, and her grandpa used to be the sheriff for 40 years before he retired.
Despite the social differences, the majority of the town respected the older couple, and that also extended to her and her parents.
The last time she had been to Midsummers was five years ago. She couldn't recall exactly, but all she remembered was her grandpa helping Heyward set up food. She remembered helping his son, who had been just a bit younger than her; she couldn't recall his name, unfortunately. Just two not-very-rich kids serving the elite of their island.
She wasn't supposed to be here. In fact, she wasn't dressed for the occasion. The partygoers were all dressed in suits and dresses that cost more than a semester of college—adorned in florals and laughing without a care in the world. Though, it did make sense. What concerns did one have when the world around was built for them?
See, she was here to drop off her grandma's insulin. Her grandma had originally invited her, but Suki declined. This was the first time she had been back here in four years, and the last thing she wanted to do was hang out with a bunch of entitled people who didn't care that the other side of the island had no running water, no electricity, and no heat.
But her grandma called her half an hour ago, asking her to bring the insulin. How could Suki say no? Her grandma needed it to survive.
So here she was, standing in the middle of a country club, looking for her grandma.
She stood out—not because she wasn't dressed up, but also because of the fact that she didn't dress like how one would on the Outer Banks of North Carolina.
But why would she? She wasn't from here. She was from Seattle, a city literally across the country. She was a West Coast girl through and through.
Suki's dark hair was messy, in various layers reaching down to the small of her back. Her eyes were lined in dark eyeliner, and her peachy lips were painted a wine color. Her freckles brought out the gray in her eyes, as told by her grandpa. She was rather short, barely 5'2", with relatively pale skin. Her breasts weren't huge, but what she lacked up there she made up for in her hips. Her mother used to tell her she had "childbearing hips"—an insane thing to say to a 13-year-old who felt so disgustingly uncomfortable in her own body.
