𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒
and the Kooks
have no other choice than
living together, sharing
the same island. But this summer,
rivalries reached a peak, and
there's no going back.
In which Margot Maybank tries to fix her brother's mistakes, but not everyt...
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Outer Banks, Maybank's house August 10th, 2020 1:58am
By the time Rafe arrived, my tears had dried and I had managed to get to my bedroom, trying to stop the bleeding from my nose with tissues. My clothes were stained with blood, and my legs were still shaking. He entered through the front door, not bothering to look around—luckily for him, my father and brother were both gone.
When he stepped into my room, his expression shifted, taking in the sight of me from head to toe. I hated that he saw me looking so miserable, but somehow it didn't seem to matter to him. He looked around, both anger and concern dripping from his face.
"Fuck, did your father do this?" he asked but I didn't even reply, he knew the answer.
He left my bedroom and walked in the living room where I saw him looking for my dad, I assumed, but since he soon realized the house was empty, he gave up. He returned with more tissues and painkillers, then sat next to me, carefully trying to wipe the blood off my body. If I wasn't in so much pain, I would have laughed at how lost he looked since he had no idea how to help.
"My nose just won't stop bleeding," I whined.
"Let me see," he said softly.
I took the tissue away from my nose and tilted my head back gently as he placed one hand on the back of my head and the other on my nose. I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling ridiculous for calling him in the middle of the night about a bleeding nose and bruises—things I was used to handling alone. But for some reason, I hadn't hesitated for a second to call him.
"I think you're good," he said after a few minutes, making me open my eyes and look at him.
"Thank you," I mumbled.
He took the bloodied tissues and tossed them in the bin while I got up and headed toward the bathroom. Before I could leave the room, he gently pulled on my arm, making me turn to face him. He cupped my left cheek and brushed a strand of hair from my face.
"Why aren't you talking to me?" he asked softly.
"I am," I lied, my eyes welling up, betraying me.
"It's okay," he said, pulling me into a gentle hug, but I quickly pulled away.
"Rafe, your polo," I said, pointing at the bloodstain on his white shirt.
We both stared at the stain in silence, and he sighed before pulling me back against his chest, rubbing the back of my head. Tears silently fell down my cheeks, but he didn't notice, so it was fine. He held me close, warming me with his embrace and trying to reassure me with words, though I knew he wasn't particularly comfortable with them.
"You'll be okay. This isn't forever," he whispered.
"I don't think I can take it much longer," I replied, pulling away from his warmth and quickly wiping my tears.
