angel - rafe cameron (outerbanks)

1 - bullshit

chapter 29
bullshit

angie hadn't looked in the mirror. she didn't need to. the reflection wouldn't show her anything she didn't already feel—hollow, broken, raw. the kind of pain that wasn't just emotional but physical, searing through her chest with every breath. it was like her body couldn't carry the weight of everything anymore. every muscle felt taut, every second a reminder of what had been lost. two days. two days since the storm swallowed john b and sarah whole. two days since shoupe had stood there, heavy with the responsibility of breaking the news, and said the words that kept echoing in her skull: "they're gone." it didn't matter how he'd phrased it or how gently he'd tried to soften the blow. it all came down to the same brutal truth. they were gone.

the world hadn't stopped spinning, but for angie, it felt like everything had.

her alarm blared from across the room, cutting through the heavy silence. the sound grated against her ears, sharp and unforgiving. school. like that even mattered now. she rolled over, staring at the ceiling, her body weighed down by exhaustion. she let the alarm ring on and on, its insistent screeching refusing to be ignored until finally, with a groan, she slapped her phone screen and silenced it.

no way. no way was she going to school today—or any day soon, for that matter. what was the point? how was she supposed to sit through maths or history while her brain screamed at her to do something. anything. for the past two days, angie had been fixated on maddie's box. its presence on her bedroom floor was like a living thing, heavy and oppressive. she'd spent hours rifling through the contents, laying them out in patterns and configurations that didn't make sense, no matter how much she tried to force them to. the burner phone. the screenshots. the fake id. every item felt like it was whispering a secret she was too slow to understand. she'd scrolled through every text, every call log, combing through it for answers. but there was only one saved contact ':) '

it gnawed at her like an itch she couldn't scratch. it had to mean something. maddie wouldn't have saved it otherwise.

angie swung her legs off the bed, her feet hitting the cold floor. her body moved on autopilot, reaching for the same joggers and hoodie she'd worn yesterday, wrinkled and unwashed. she didn't care. she had bigger problems right now than wearing the same thing twice.

her eyes flicked to the burner phone on the floor. she stared at it for a moment, the tiny screen blank and lifeless. then, with a sharp breath, she picked it up, sliding it into her pocket. she didn't know what her next step was, but she couldn't sit here anymore. the box would stay. for now.

she grabbed her car keys and headed for the door.

the dishevelled house loomed ahead, a crumbling mess of chipped paint and cigarette burns on the front porch. it was as chaotic as the man who lived inside it. angie parked her car at the edge of the driveway, the tyres crunching over loose gravel. she sat there for a moment, gripping the wheel, staring at the house like it might swallow her whole. finally, she got out, slamming the door behind her. her shoes clicked against the pavement as she marched up the steps. she didn't hesitate. she raised her fist and knocked—hard.

the door creaked open a few seconds later, revealing barry. he leaned against the frame, shirtless and dishevelled, his shorts hung low on his hips. his hair was a mess, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"god, angie," he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. "how many times do i have to tell you to call first?"

"it's important," she snapped, brushing past him without waiting for an invitation.

inside, the stale stench of cigarettes and cheap beer hit her like a wall. the living room was a wreck—empty bottles littered the floor, and the ashtray on the coffee table was overflowing. her eyes swept the room, landing on a half-dressed girl sprawled on the sofa. the girl's mascara was smudged, and she looked more annoyed than embarrassed.