what now? | outerbanks

• one hundred twenty •

Sofia

Dinner is cold on the kitchen counter. I tried to enjoy it by myself, but I'm too anxious to eat. Too angry.
Wheezie is out for the night, spending time with Sarah and John B. before the school year starts up and she gets too busy to show face, Rafe is completely M.I.A., and I'm at home. Waiting.
He said he'd be home three hours ago. This is the fifth time he's said that in the past two weeks, and he's fallen through every time.
I try not to pry when it comes to Rafe. I've learned how his mind works. I know he gets scared and closed off and protective, but we're married. I married him because I want to know the pieces of him that no one else sees.
When he comes inside, I stand immediately. I want to run to him and wrap my arms around him and kiss him. I want to be happy that he's home. I am happy that he's home. But I'm mad too.
"Hey," he says, already walking past me to the staircase.
"Hey," I respond sarcastically, mocking his casualty as if he hasn't ignored my past six texts.
He doesn't make eye contact once. "I think I'm gonna shower."
I follow him up, hand gliding along the glossy wood bannister. "Can we talk, please?"
He looks up the stairs and then back at me like he actually has to think about his choices. Does he think I'm an inconvenience?
"Uh, sure," he says easily.
I jump right in. "Where were you?"
He turns all the way around now, towering over me from a few steps above. "Today?"
I roll my eyes. "Yes, Rafe, today. Today, and yesterday, and those days last week."
"Things came up."
"Things? What things?"
He slides a hand down his chiseled face. "I don't know, babe. It's a busy season right now at work. There's always going to be more business to do."
I stare at him. "That's what you're going with?"
His brows pull together. "What do you want me to say?"
"The truth would be nice."
He sighs and shakes his head as if I'm totally invalid and walks past me back down the stairs. "I don't want to fight right now, Sofia."
"I don't want to fight either, Rafe, but—"
"Then don't."
I let out a disbelieving laugh. "You don't get to disappear and ignore me for hours and then expect me not to ask any questions. I'm your wife!"
"I don't want Wheezie to hear us fight." Another excuse.
"She isn't home. You would know that if you weren't late."
We walk into the kitchen together, now staring at each other from opposite sides of Tannyhill's grand marble island.
He grips the edge of the counter, leaning into his hands. "Look, I'm sorry I was late. I will try to be more mindful of coming home on time. Is that better?"
Half of me wants to accept his apology that easily and forget this ever happened, but I think that half is also afraid of what she'll find if she keeps fighting. Yes, I'm scared, but I have to do this for myself.
I take a deep breath. "Are you sleeping with someone?"
He physically recoils. "You think I'm sleeping with someone?"
"I know that you're lying to me about where you are."
"No, I'm not sleeping with someone."
"Then what is it, Rafe?" I step around the island, my voice rising despite my effort to keep it steady. "What are you doing? Where are you going every night? Why do you come home looking like you haven't slept in a week?"
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"I am."
"You're lying to me."
His jaw clenches.
I move closer. "Just tell me."
"Sofia—"
"You can tell me, Rafe. Whatever it is."
"I don't want to talk about this."
"You don't get to decide that." I take another step towards him. "We're married. Whatever is happening to you is happening to both of us."
His eyes flash. "Back off."
I don't, even though he's scaring me. I hate that he's scaring me.
"What are you so afraid of telling me?"
"Sofia, get away from me."
I shake my head. "No."
Something changes in his face so quickly I almost don't see it. His shoulders pull tight and his hands curl against the edge of the counter. His breathing changes, suddenly deeper and rougher, like something inside him has been shoved awake.
"Rafe—"
"GET AWAY FROM ME!"
The sound is enormous and doesn't sound like him—not the version of him that he is now, anyway. It comes from somewhere so deep and furious that for one awful second, I don't know what he's going to do next.
I flinch. My whole body jerks before I can stop it, and then I freeze. The silence afterwards is even worse. Tears spring into my eyes so quickly I don't even have time to fight them. I stare at him, completely still and shocked, hands hanging uselessly at my sides.
Rafe sees it. I watch the anger drain from his face. His eyes widen. "Sofia." He takes a step towards me.
I instinctively take one back.
He stops immediately. "Shit, Sof." He puts both hands up, like he needs me to understand that he isn't going to come any closer. "I didn't mean to do that."
My lips part, but nothing comes out.
"I swear to God, I didn't mean to scare you." He looks sick now. Like he can't stand what he's seeing. "I just—" He shakes his head hard, struggling to find the words. "I didn't want to hurt you."
My stomach drops. "You would hurt me?"
"No." His answer is immediate. "I wouldn't hurt you."
"Then why did you say that?"
He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Sometimes I just—I get overwhelmed and I don't know how to handle—"
"I know that, Rafe! I know. We're married. But you can't just flash out like this because I asked you to tell me the truth."
"I know." His voice is barely audible. He looks down at his hands with hatred and disgust, then back at me. "I just needed you to get away from me."
"Why?" He doesn't answer. "Rafe, why?"
He swallows. "There's a lot of fucked up shit you don't know about me. I've done some stuff I regret. Now, I'm stuck with it."
I wipe beneath my eyes, frustrated by the tears. "Like what? What don't I know about you?"
"I'm not the same person I was before," he says. "You know that."
I nod.
"I used to be... really angry. All of the time. And I used to be violent. I think I learned it from my dad, but the drinking didn't help. Or the drugs." He looks away. "I really love you."
The words catch me off guard.
"When I met you, I sort of immediately knew I'd have to change, you know. Like, I was still doing... everything, but a part of me knew I had to stop for you. And it took a while, but I did it. I stopped."
I nod because I don't really know what else to do besides cry.
"And I guess I thought that once my dad passed, and I stopped drinking and using and fighting, that guy would be gone for good."
My arms fold instinctively across my stomach. I watch him carefully. "What happened?"
His shoulders rise with a deep breath. "My mind started running again. And I had a dream about something I did a long time ago." He rubs the back of his neck, his fingers pressing into the muscle there. "It was like I couldn't turn my brain off."
"And then what?"
He sighs. I do too. I know what's coming.
"I went to the bar. I thought I'd have a drink and come straight home. I wasn't trying to get drunk."
I lean back against the counter, and the edge presses uncomfortably into my skin. "So, you've been getting drunk instead of talking to your wife."
"I know. Okay?" His voice is quiet. "I know how this sounds."
He pushes himself upright and walks towards the other side of the kitchen, but he doesn't go far. He just needs somewhere to put the nervous energy. His hand catches the back of one of the dining chairs, gripping it tightly.
"Then I had another, and I started remembering what it felt like when I didn't have to think." His eyes close. "And that scared the shit out of me, but it also felt really good."
I don't say anything.
"I took something, too."
My breath catches. "Shit, Rafe."
He opens his eyes. "Only twice."
"What?"
"Coke."
"Jesus Christ, Rafe, do you know how stupid that is?"
"I don't need a lecture right now."
"Are you sure? Because I'm pretty certain I remember begging you when we got married that you would come to me first before doing something reckless like this. You promised that you would quit for me." I shake my head. "Can you even imagine how disappointed Sarah would be if she knew? She kept narcan on hand for the past year because she was so afraid you'd kill yourself being stupid."
"Please, Sofia. I already feel terrible."
I finally muster up enough confidence to ask, "What aren't you telling me?"
    He looks up.
    "What in your head is so bad that you relapsed instead of just having a conversation?"
    There's a long gap between what comes next. I'm still shaking, and so is he. We're both scared.
    "I killed someone."
    Time stops. My legs get weak. I think I might throw up. I choke on a sharp breath.
    "No..."
    "Sheriff Peterkin."
    I shake my head. "Ward killed Sheriff Pete. It was in the news, Rafe. He confessed."
    "Ward took the blame for me."
    "I don't..." The rest of the sentence disappears.
    I can't make my brain fit the words together. Rafe killed Sheriff Peterkin. Ward took the blame. Ward—the man everyone on this island has spent years believing was responsible. My husband is telling me it wasn't him.
    "There's more," he says quietly.
    I look at him. He looks sick.
    "What do you mean, there's more?"
    His eyes drop to the floor. "Sarah."
    My stomach twists. "What about Sarah?"
He swallows. "I hurt her. A few times."
    I don't understand. "What does that mean?"
    His jaw tightens. "She and John B. stole the gold from us. I was angry. I had a gun." His voice shakes. "And I shot her."
    My hand flies to my mouth.
    "You shot Sarah?"
    He nods.
    I stare at him, horrified.
    "And there was another time," he continues. "I tried to drown her."
    I feel like the floor has disappeared beneath me.
    "You tried to kill your sister?"
    His eyes squeeze shut. "Yes."
    I take a step back.
    He looks up immediately. "It's all the same, Sofia. It was for the family, okay? That's what I thought. I thought that by doing the things I did, somehow I was being loyal to my father."
"Sarah is your family."
    "Sofia, you have to understand. I wasn't okay back then."
    I shake my head, but I don't even know what I'm trying to deny.
    "There was something wrong with me," he says. "I was angry all the time. I was drinking. I was using. I wasn't thinking like a normal person."
    "I know," I whisper. My voice barely makes it out.
    "I asked for help." He takes a shaky breath. Now there are tears in his eyes too. "I asked for help, Sofia. I did. I told my dad something was wrong. I told him I was scared of what I was becoming. I told him I couldn't control my anger and that I needed someone to help me. And he didn't."
    I stare at him.
    "He didn't listen. He didn't care. He made me think that being angry was just who I was. He gave me money, gave me a gun, told me to handle my problems myself." His voice breaks. "I asked for help, and no one listened."
    I nod slowly. "I know." I know what his father was like. I know what Rafe went through. I've heard pieces of it. I've seen the scars it left behind. I know he wasn't okay. But knowing doesn't make any of this disappear. Rafe takes a hesitant step towards me.
"It wasn't my fault." I look at him. He says it again, quieter this time. "It wasn't my fault, Sofia. I tried to get help."
My chest aches. "I know you did."
He reaches for my hands.
I instinctively pull them towards my chest.
He stops. The hurt on his face is immediate.
"Sof—"
"I can't."
"Please."
    "I can't do this right now." I turn away from him, pressing my hands to my face, trying to feel something real. My whole body is shaking.
I don't want to be afraid of him. I don't want to look at my husband and see a gun in his hand. I don't want to picture Sarah. I don't want to picture Sheriff Peterkin. I don't want to think about what he could have become.
I can't make the images stop.
"I love you," he says.
My eyes close. "Please, stop."
"Everything changed when I met you."
A sob catches somewhere in my throat, but I force it down. "I know, Rafe."
"You made me want to be better."
I turn towards him. He looks completely broken.
"And I am better," he says. "I swear to God, Sofia, I am. I haven't been that person in years. I don't want to be him."
I believe him. That's what makes this so much harder. I believe him, and I'm still terrified.
"Then why did you go back?"
"Because for a few hours, I didn't have to feel anything."
I shake my head. "I need to go."
His expression changes immediately. "Sofia—"
"I need to leave."
"Please don't go."
I keep walking.
"Sofia, please."
I reach for my purse on the chair. "I can't stay here right now."
He follows me but keeps several feet between us. "Where are you going?"
"I don't know."
He looks toward the front door, then back at me. "Then I'll leave."
I stop. "What?"
"I'll go somewhere else tonight." His voice is careful now, almost pleading. "You can stay here. I'll get a hotel or stay with somebody. Whatever you want. Your call. I'll come back tomorrow."
I shake my head. "Rafe—"
"I'm serious." He gestures towards the house. "You shouldn't have to be out somewhere by yourself. Stay here. I'll give you the space you need."
"I don't want to stay here."
He goes quiet. I can see the realization settle over his face. "Okay," he says softly.
I reach for my purse again.
"Please don't leave alone."
"I need to."
"Let me come with you."
I shake my head. "No."
"Sofia, please."
"I just need space." I reach for the front door.
His hand closes gently around my wrist. I freeze. He isn't hurting me. His fingers barely even tighten. But after everything I've just heard, I can't stand the feeling of his hand on me.
I pull away. "Rafe, please."
He lets go immediately. I turn to face him. His hand falls to his side.
"Do not touch me right now."
Something in his face breaks. "Okay." His voice is barely there.
I look at him for another second, and despite everything, despite the fear and the shock and the sick feeling still sitting in my stomach, I can see the man I love underneath all of it.
I love him. I love him so much that leaving feels like tearing something out of myself. But I can't stay.
"I love you," I whisper.
His eyes fill again. "I love you too."
I swallow. "But I can't be with you right now."
He nods slowly. He doesn't try to argue. Doesn't ask me to stay again.
I open the door. "I'll call you."
"Okay."
I step outside. The door closes behind me, and for a moment I just stand there on the porch with my hand pressed against my stomach, trying to breathe.
Then I walk away.