Rafe Cameron Imagines

Shut Up and Let Me Go🤍

you'd been fighting for weeks.

the kind of fighting that didn't even feel like fighting anymore — just tension dripping into every conversation. every text. every breath.

nothing was ever resolved. nothing was ever talked through. it was just blow after blow. slam a door. roll your eyes. sleep in separate rooms. rinse, repeat.

and every time, you told yourself it would get better.

but it never did.

—

you brought someone home tonight.

not out of spite.

not to prove a point.

just to feel wanted. just to remember what it felt like to laugh, to breathe, to be seen.

so when you walked in through the front door — the same door you'd walked through a thousand times with rafe beside you — and saw him standing in the living room with her, you shouldn't have been surprised.

but your heart still dropped.

his hand was on the girl's lower back. your jacket was still half off. and for a second, everything stopped.

rafe's eyes met yours.

and it was like someone struck a match.

—

"i didn't know you'd be home," you said flatly.

he raised a brow. "same."

you looked at the girl beside him — all pretty and giggling and clueless.

"this her idea or yours?"

he shrugged. "does it matter?"

"depends. are you gonna fuck her on the same couch we used to fall asleep on or are you gonna class it up and take her to the guest room?"

the girl blinked, awkward. "um—"

"leave us," rafe said, not even looking at her. "now."

she hesitated.

"now."

she walked out without another word.

you turned to the guy behind you. "go wait in the car."

he didn't argue.

door shut.

silence.

then—

"this is where we are now?" rafe asked, voice low. "bringing strangers home like we're in some competition?"

"i'm not competing with you," you snapped. "i'm surviving you."

he laughed. laughed. "that's rich. you? the victim?"

"don't start."

"no, please, let's hear it. what did i do this time? exist? breathe too loud?"

"you stopped showing up!" you exploded. "you stopped caring about anything except being right."

"because i'm always wrong when it comes to you," he said. "doesn't matter what i say — you've already decided i'm the bad guy."

"maybe because you act like one!"

"i act like someone who's tired of being told he's not enough."

"you aren't!" you yelled before you could stop yourself.

his face dropped.

you stepped back. "rafe—"

"no," he said, voice flat. "say it. you've been thinking it, haven't you? you've been waiting to say it."

"you want honesty?" you shot back. "fine. you don't listen. you don't try. you make everything about you and then cry victim when i don't bend over backwards to fix it."

"because i always fix it," he growled. "every fucking time. i'm the one who chases you. who apologizes. who begs. and you? you give me silence."

"maybe because i'm tired of hearing empty words from someone who clearly doesn't love me anymore."

he flinched. "don't you dare."

"then prove me wrong," you whispered. "say something real for once."

"real?" he asked. "okay. you're selfish. and cold. and you only love me when it's convenient."

you blinked. "fuck you."

"you already did," he said bitterly. "right before you let him into our house."

"and you think you're any better? how many girls did you kiss behind my back before you finally stopped hiding it?"

"none of them were you," he spat. "none of them meant a goddamn thing."

"and you think that makes it better?" you asked. "i hope she felt just like me. i hope she made you remember every inch of what you ruined."

"don't talk to me like i'm the only one who ruined this."

"you were the one who stopped choosing me."

"you made it impossible to choose you!"

"then why didn't you leave?"

"because i still fucking loved you."

silence.

your chest heaved. tears were threatening now, burning at the edges of your eyes.

"and i think that's the worst part," you said, voice breaking. "because i still love you too. and i can't fucking stand you."

rafe's jaw clenched. "then why are we still doing this?"

"because neither of us knows how to let go."

you were both crying now. quiet. angry. exhausted.

he stepped back. ran a hand through his hair. stared at you like he didn't recognize you anymore.

"we're not good for each other."

"i know."

"we haven't been for a long time."

"i know."

"so say it," he said. "say we're done."

you swallowed hard.

then:

"we're done."

he didn't speak.

he just nodded.

you reached for the doorknob.

he didn't stop you.

and as you stepped into the doorway — voice barely holding, hands trembling — you looked over your shoulder one last time.

your voice was soft. final.

"shut up... and let me go."

he didn't follow.
he didn't say a word.

and this time — neither of you came back.

Author's Note:
so.
this is it.

i've decided to end it here — right on this one.
this was my last imagine for this book because... i've officially hit the 200 range. two hundred.
i honestly didn't think i'd write that many, let alone feel this much through all of them.

to anyone who's been reading these — even just one or two — thank you.
seriously.
these were loud and messy and soft and heartbreaking and a little chaotic sometimes (okay, a lot chaotic), but they were mine.
and if you ever saw a version of yourself in them, then they're yours too.

i'll be making another book of imagines soon — don't worry, i'm not done — but for now, i'll be shifting my focus to my new story. i'm really proud of where it's headed, and i hope you'll love it just as much.

until then... thank you. for reading, for screaming, for crying, for feeling.

see you in the next one.

— b.
(aka your favorite little bitch who writes kissing boys in cars and breakup scenes that hurt like hell)