after hours. | r.c.

eighteen

-☆-

every word rafe had thrown at me that night was still lodged in my mind, echoing like a broken record. each insult, each accusation, it all seeped into my bones that night in august, sinking deep into my soul like some irreversible stain. no matter how hard i tried to scrub it away, the hurt clung to me, a ghost that lingered in every empty room, every silent moment. it was like i'd become a part of it now, like it had fused with my very blood.

the last few weeks with the pogues had been a small mercy. being with them gave me room to breathe, a break from the suffocating memories. they didn't know how much i needed their laughter, their stupid jokes, their wild plans. they didn't know they were saving me. but now, somehow, rafe was here. in my house. in my room. in my bed.

i hadn't slept all night. every time i started to drift off, i'd wake up, his presence pulling me back to reality. he was just inches away, breathing softly in the dark, and i could feel the weight of him, the danger of letting my guard down. being close to him again was terrifying, like walking a tightrope with no safety net. i was a fool for letting him in, for thinking i could handle this. because i couldn't.

when the first slivers of light crept through the curtains, i slipped out of bed as quietly as i could, my bare feet cold against the floor. distance—I needed distance. i needed to put space between us before i lost myself again. i tiptoed down the stairs, my mind racing with everything i wanted to say to him, but knowing that the words would only fall apart if i tried to speak them out loud. i could barely even think straight with him here.

hours passed as i sat there, the house silent around me. i'd pulled up my laptop, half-heartedly scrolling through a list of rehab centers, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. it was stupid, maybe, but i was desperate. i couldn't watch him tear himself apart anymore. he'd hate me for it, of course he would, but what choice did i have? if he stayed like this, he'd destroy himself. and if i didn't try to save him, then what was left of us?

by eight, my phone buzzed, and john b's name lit up the screen. he had some half-baked scheme to get kie and sarah to talk things out, and he wanted me to help. a part of me didn't want to get involved, didn't want to risk losing more friends over something that might not even work. but then again, the thought of them reconciling—it gave me a sliver of hope, like maybe not everything had to stay broken forever. if they could find their way back, maybe there was still hope for the rest of us.

but before i could even start to think about it, i heard the soft creak of the stairs. and there he was—rafe, standing at the bottom, looking around like he didn't quite know where he was or why. he looked...lost, almost, like he'd forgotten how he'd ended up here.

"morning, vale," he said, his voice low, tired. he gave me a half-hearted smile as he shuffled into the kitchen, his shoulders slumped, his movements slower than usual.

i barely looked up, pulling my knees to my chest. "hi," i mumbled, forcing a smile that i knew didn't reach my eyes. pretending things were okay felt like a betrayal, like i was lying to myself. things weren't okay. he'd broken me, left me to pick up the pieces, and i wasn't about to let him do it again. but even now, with him standing there, i could feel that old pull, that stupid part of me that still wanted to believe he could change.

"i used your shower. hope you don't mind." he leaned against the counter, looking at me with that familiar smirk, the one that used to make me feel safe. now it just made me feel sick.