Disarm / Rafe Cameron

02. Who Stuck the Knife In First?

Who Stuck the Knife in First?
chapter ii
warnings: mentions of
sex & drugs

     SHE FEELS SICK IN THE MORNING, and has a headache. There were bruises on her hips from when Rafe's grip would get too hard. She didn't like the way he manhandled her, sometimes. Often he wouldn't want to look at her—at least, that was the excuse that she would make to make herself feel better. Or, technically, to make her feel worse. She wished Rafe would look at her, as she wanted to look at him. She liked the faces he made. Layne just liked his face, in general.

Her room felt hot, but she wasn't sure if it was just remembering last night. The back of the car was hot, and so was his skin. Layne always noticed the flush that cascaded over his chest and neck. She stuffed her face further into her pillow to try and stop thinking about him. Her pillow smelt like Luna's litterbox, and she nearly threw it across the room.

She didn't expect herself to wake up this early, six AM, but it worked in her favor. She needed to surf, the waves were calling for her, practically. It was the only way she could free her mind from Rafe and his iron grip. The dirty feeling that she had the first few times they had sex hit her like a truck when she got out of bed. Maybe it was because it had been nearly five months since they had even seen each other—or maybe the familiar feeling of guilt was going to become a permanent reaction in their routine. She really hoped it wouldn't.

Rory was already up, despite the sun hardly going over the clouds, and Layne slightly cursed to herself. She was able to sneak back inside last night, while her parents were asleep (at least she thought they were asleep) change, and crawl into bed. It was an easy task, but being high off of coke and slightly drunk made it more like a ten mile run. Layne had slept in a fetal position that night to stop herself from vomiting, and it only worked slightly, before she had to run to the bathroom to throw up. She was pretty sure her mom had heard that—Layne felt pathetic. She had drank and done lines plenty of times, but she supposed she never really got used to that. Layne made sure there was no white residue around her nose in the hallway mirror before she entered the kitchen.

"You're up early," Rory kept her voice low, as Kurt was still asleep a few doors down. Layne could hear his snores very vividly, as the door was cracked open. She remembered when Rory would buy him nose strips to dwindle the snores when she was little and could hardly sleep, back when she had to keep her door open. Layne supposed her mother had gotten used to it at this point—and so did she.

"Yeah. Thought I'd go surf," she hopped up on the kitchen counting, picking at some of the strawberries.

"You got home late last night,"

"What're you, spying on me?"

"You know I can't sleep until I know you're home safely. Was that the Cameron boy who took you home? What's his name, Robert?"

Layne rolled her eyes. "His name is Rafe. So what if he did,"

She didn't understand why she was getting snippy with her mother, but it was a given. Layne knew that if her mother knew the extent of her and Rafe's relationship, it would end in a second, and she would tell everyone at the surf shop because she could. So many kids from school came in, and Rory wouldn't be able to help herself but ask them what they thought of Rafe Cameron, because he was "dating her daughter." Layne could imagine it in her head clearly.