sunburn - rafe cameron (outerbanks)

9 - the wreck

chapter 9
the wreck

angie hadn't left her bedroom for two days. her phone kept buzzing on the nightstand, each vibration a reminder of everything she was avoiding. she knew who it was—sarah. a string of messages: "where are you?", followed by several question marks. angie glanced at the screen a few times but never replied. the last of what she'd gotten from barry was gone, and it had provided the escape she needed to sleep off the guilt and everything else gnawing at her.

when she woke up, sunlight was streaming through the thin curtains, almost blinding her. she groaned, burying her head under the pillow, when she heard the door creak open. she peeked out to see sarah standing by her bed, arms crossed, her face set in that unreadable expression that only sarah could manage.

"are you seriously still in bed?" sarah asked, her tone neutral but pointed.

"obviously," angie muttered, pushing herself up with effort. her voice was thick with sleep, and she rubbed her eyes before leaning back against the headboard.

sarah sighed, walking over to the window and yanking the curtains open. light flooded the room, and angie shielded her eyes with her hand. "rafe told me what happened at the movie," sarah finally said, cutting straight to the point.

angie's heart sank a little at the mention of rafe, but she kept her face blank, choosing indifference. "so?" she replied, trying to sound casual.

sarah studied her, her expression softening slightly. "he said you were high, angie. what were you on?"

angie rolled her eyes, trying to laugh it off. "snitch," she muttered, shaking her head. "i wasn't high—i just took some anti-anxiety meds. it's not a big deal." angie felt a wave of defensiveness rise in her chest, but she forced it down. "maybe rafe should mind his own business," she replied, her voice clipped. "i'm fine, sarah. seriously."

sarah was quiet for a moment, and angie could tell she was weighing her words. instead of pressing further, she just nodded. "okay," she said softly, almost like she didn't believe her but was letting it go. "but if it is anxiety, maybe you should talk to someone, like a real doctor?"

angie scoffed, letting the suggestion roll off her. "sure," she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "i'll get right on that."

sarah didn't push any further, but her silence spoke volumes. she sat on the edge of the bed, not looking at angie directly, just fiddling with a loose thread on the comforter. they stayed like that for a moment—sarah's quiet presence filling the room, angie's mind buzzing with a thousand things she didn't want to say.

"angie," sarah finally said, her voice quiet. "if something else is going on, you can tell me."

angie swallowed hard, resisting the urge to say anything that might crack the wall she'd built around herself. she just nodded vaguely, trying to look more together than she felt.

the silence between them wasn't hostile or filled with unresolved arguments; it was just heavy, full of all the things angie wasn't ready to admit and all the things sarah seemed too afraid to ask directly.

"okay," sarah repeated, finally standing up. "just... text me back next time, alright?"

"yeah," angie said, her voice barely above a whisper.

sarah climbed into the bed beside angie, settling in with an ease that came from years of doing that exact thing. she turned the laptop, balancing it between them as the screen came to life. without needing to ask, angie knew what they'd be watching—it was part of their routine. as the familiar show intro played, sarah sighed dramatically and leaned her head back against the headboard.