Drew Starkey Imagines

Pretty and Pissed Pt2

One Week Later

It's been seven days since you walked out of Rafe Cameron's house — seven days since you broke his dishes and his delusions. No texts. No calls. Not a word from you. And that silence? It's driving him insane.

Meanwhile, you're healing louder than ever.

You've been with Sarah and Kie every day. Matching outfits, iced lattes, blasting songs that sound suspiciously like you wrote them yourself. You even posted a mirror selfie that said, "No crumbs left, not even the man."

Let him see it.

Let him feel it.

You never said you were fine. But you were in control now. Hurt, sure — but polished. Powerful. Untouchable.

⸻

Rafe, on the other hand?
He was unraveling.

He tried to play it cool. Pretend he didn't care. But every time he opened his phone, it was your name he wanted to see. Every time he went to the country club, that girl — the one he cheated with — looked a little more like a mistake he couldn't unmake.

The guilt was eating him alive.

He hated how clean the breakup felt. How you just... left. No screaming match. No second chance. No begging. No texts in the middle of the night. Just silence.

It scared him more than anything.

So on Day 7, he broke.

⸻

The Confrontation — Round Two

You were sitting outside on the porch at Sarah's place, scrolling through your phone when you heard it.

The sound of Rafe's truck pulling up.

You didn't move. Just watched him get out.

"Hey," he said, hands in his pockets. "Can we talk?"

You stared at him. Calm. Cold. No welcome in your eyes.

"Talk about what, Rafe? The girl you were calling baby while I was cooking you dinner? Or the fact that I still have a scar on my finger from cleaning up your broken dishes?"

He flinched. "I deserve that."

"You deserve a lot worse."

He nodded, stepping closer. "I know. I know I fucked up. But I didn't realize what I had until I lost you. I didn't think you'd... actually leave."

You tilted your head.

"You thought I'd stay? After a whole month of lying? What, was I supposed to be grateful you came home eventually?"

"No, I— I just..." he trailed off. "I thought maybe we could start over."

You laughed. A short, sharp laugh. You weren't the girl he left behind. You were the girl he could never reach again.

"Start over? Rafe, I was all in. I gave you everything. And you gave her your...everything." You say motioning your hand over him.

"It didn't mean anything."

"Then why did it last a month?"

Boom.

He couldn't answer that.

"You don't love her," you said. "I know that. But the thing is... you don't love me either. Because if you did? You wouldn't have even looked at her."

He stepped back. Like the truth physically knocked him off balance.

"I made a mistake," he whispered.

You stood up.

"No, Rafe. You made a choice. Over and over again, for thirty days straight. That's not a mistake — that's a pattern."

He opened his mouth to argue. But stopped. Because he knew you were right.

"So, what now?" he asked, quieter than before.

You gave him a small, sad smile.

"Now? You go. You go home to your broken dishes, your cheap apologies, and the empty bed you made. And I keep moving on."

"Please," he said, eyes glossy. "Don't say it's over."

"It was over the moment I stopped crying and started breaking things."

You turned to go inside, hand on the doorknob.

"Rafe," you said over your shoulder. "Next time you cheat on a girl, at least be smart enough to not do it where her best friends have VIP access."

And with that, you closed the door in his face.

You weren't the girl left behind. You were the girl who left — and didn't look back.