auroras and sad prose

The smirk that tugs on the corner of Rafe’s lips is intoxicating and magnificently distracting. Case in point: I have completely forgotten that I still  have no idea where the hell we’re going! Or better said, where Rafe is taking me! But one thing’s for sure - this ride of ours is slowly coming to an end because the second he swerves right the GPS person gleefully announces that we have finally reached our destination. 

“Wait here.” I hear him mutter under his breath before exiting the car just as quickly. Now,  I know I should probably do as I’m told, but I’d rather be outside - in the middle of a barely lit street - than stuck alone in his stupid Range Rover. 

The ground beneath my feet is soft; devoid of cement and muddy. I quickly realize that the place Rafe has taken me to doesn’t exactly have streets or lights or houses. Only trees; wild, unkempt shrubbery and a single, lonely trailer. 

“Thought you said you’re gonna be alone.” A tall-ish, stocky dude with combat boots and a ponytail comes swinging out the door, “Or… is this the treat you were telling me about?” My entire skin flushes red. The more he stares at me, the hotter my face becomes and now I’m really regretting the idea wearing this stupid fucking skirt. 

“No. Dude. That’s my stepsister.” I try not to be personally offended by the tone in Rafe’s voice when he says this. Same way I try not to be visibly distraught by the sight of his friend licking his lips while giving me a once-over. 

“Lemme see.” He’s still looking at me when he says this and my stomach twists. But then Rafe steps forward, hand in pocket and I realize - he wasn’t talking to me. 

“Everything’s here. Just like we agreed.” 

“For sure. For sure.” Dude takes the wad of cash Rafe just handed him; wets the tip of his thumb and starts counting. 

“Even the-”

“Ones you owe me?” 

“Y-Yeah.”  

Dude smiles, “Good boy. Knew you’d pull through.” 

I swallow. 

Rafe is staring at me. 

“So,” He says, “We good to go?” 

“Hell yeah Country Club! We good to go!” The smile on Dude’s lips suddenly turns into a full blown grin, as he slides the wad of cash in the back pocket of his tattered, old jeans. Then, just as quickly hands Rafe a baggy full of white stuff. “Nice to meet you-” He leers at me during the same moment a very gruff, “Maisie.Car.Now.” leaves Rafe’s lips. 

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” The leer turns into an abysmally abhorrent grin. “Bet Rafe’s having a lot of fun with you, huh Maisie?” 

“For Christ’s sake, Barry! Leave her alone.” 

I blink. 

Barry. 

This dude’s name is Barry?! 

“Maisie!” Rafe says a little louder now. “Car! Now!” 

I don’t wait for him to remind me for the third time; just silently jump back in the passenger seat and pretend like what I just saw and experienced was some weird daydream. 

“Your drug dealer’s name is Barry?” I manage to blurt a couple of seconds later. Y’know, when I’ve finally gotten back to my senses and Rafe’s driven us far, far away from whatever that was. 

“Now, sis. Don’t be like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Just because Barry lives in a trailer doesn’t mean he sells drugs.” 

“Rafe - I literally just saw him sell you a bag of coke.” 

“Tsk.” I hear him say and there it is again: that pesky ghost of a smile. “S’not coke.” 

“What is it then?”

Rafe’s eyes meet mine, “You’ll see.” 

The first party I showed up uninvited to happened around two years ago. It was hosted by this burly guy, Trevor, that Rory and I vaguely knew from Algebra and was promised to be the party of the year. Last year’s party also got the same title and Rory promised to both herself (and God) that this time round, she wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

By the time we showed up - only an hour and a half late - someone had already spilled their guts out on what once used to be a rather cute welcome mat. Nobody opened the door for us when we rang, but that’s not the embarrassing part of the story. The embarrassing part was us waiting in front of the apartment for additional thirty more minutes before Alisha Jameson opened the door - to leave - and let us know that, ‘We can just waltz right.’ 

So we did and nobody really cared that their space was all of a sudden invaded by two awkward looking sophomores. Rory made out with Percy Warren while I got blackout drunk on two vodka diet cokes, threw up all over the bathroom floor and could barely remember anything other than the fact Patricia Evans told me my hair looked pretty. 

Topper’s party is kinda in the same vein, except no one’s puked on his welcome mat. At least not yet. 

I follow Rafe inside; my head still buzzing from the conversation we had in the car and I don’t know why, but for some strange reason I keep expecting someone to clock my presence, realize I’m not supposed to be here and kick me out immediately.  

No such thing happens of course because the second we run into Topper and Kelce, Rafe hits them with the, “You remember Maisie.” And no - I’m sure they don’t remember me. Hell,  they’ve never even met me and yet here I am: hugging them back, like we’re some good old friends.

Topper asks if I like my new siblings but I never get the chance to answer because the second I open my mouth Rafe is pushing him against the wall to the beat of Party Rock Anthem.

“You hooking up with my sister?” Is the only thing I can catch leaving his tightly clenched teeth.

And then Kelce pulls me to the side. 

He wants to get me a drink. 

“You look like you could use it.”

I want to know what are the things Rafe is threatening his best friend’s life with. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll return you to him once you pick your poison.” Kelce smiles like someone is forcing him to be nice to me. “Or, he’ll just get you himself.” He adds and that very same moment, Rafe materializes right next to me. 

“You seen Sarah?” He asks and Kelce shakes his head. “Wanna help me find her?” Our eyes lock. The way he lets the question leave his lips is so careful, so sweet… How can I possibly say no? 

“Yeah.” I nod and watch as Rafe pull two beers out of the fridge; expertly holding their necks in the space between his long and sturdy fingers while using his free hand to guide me through the crowd. A splash of something familiar bursts inside my chest. A strange feeling of pride; the kind you’d only get from being accidentally spotted chatting with the most popular guy in school. 

Rafe presses his palm harder against my lower back and for a moment I let myself forget what we actually are. I let my consciousness flutter; push all rational thinking aside and completely devote myself to the fantasy that is Rafe Cameron’s girlfriend.  

We step outside and the surprisingly cold breeze serves as a cold awakening. The bottle of beer that MY STEPBROTHER is pressing against the nape of my neck as an even colder one. 

“I thought we were going to look for Sarah.” I say daftly. Rafe pulls out a joint. Stucks it between his lips and finally, shakes his head. “Aren’t you worried?”  

“I could care less about what my sister does.” And yet… 

I furrow my brows, “Are she and Topper hooking up?”

“Tsk - I mean… that’s what I thought, but Top’s a fucking pussy, so-” A thick cloud of smoke escapes his lips, leaving his sentence unfinished. I watch him inhale - one, two, three - short puffs before lazily passing the blunt in my direction. 

I take it.  

“I think he and Robyn might be dating.” 

Rafe shakes his head again, “Did Robyn tell you that?” Our eyes meet and the way he’s looking at me right now can only be described with one word: diabolical. I swallow. Then take a large hit. “You’re so-”

“What?” 

He shrugs, a ghost of a smile gently tugging on the corner of his lips, “Naive.”

“Naive?”

“Yeah. A little. But then again, you also happen to a pervert so-” I punch his arm and Rafe laughs. “Ouch. Violent too.” I roll my eyes, turning to leave, but then a pair of long calloused fingers wrap themselves around my wrist, “Hey, no. Wait. Come here. Stay.” A part of me knows better than to do what he tells me, but I’m not yet immune to his charm. Nor that lazy grin of his. “How about this?” 

He’s got me standing so close to him, I can practically feel the heat radiating off his body. His hot breath too and maybe it’s the weed talking, but at this very moment I swear we’re the only people left on this goddamn burning planet. 

Rafe’s fingers are still tightly wound around my wrist; thumb gently brushing over the several dozen goosebumps that have suddenly manifested across the entirety of my skin and I know he’s not going to. We might be high and stupid, but we also know better and Yes! Every atom in this silly, awkward body of mine is begging, screaming for him to crash his lips against mine-

“You do something for me and I’ll forget about the whole pervert thing. Okay?” 

I can’t stop staring at his mouth, “M’kay.” 

With his free hand - the one that isn’t drawing tantalizingly slow circles against my burning, needy skin - Rafe reaches over to the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out the same small baggy Barry handed him mere hours ago. 

“Pills?” I guffaw, “You were buying pills?” 

“No. Not just any pills, Sweetheart.” He grins, selfishly pulling back his touch and using it to expertly fish out a single white tablet. “Rohypnol.” 

Rohypnol? 

“Rohypnol?” I let the word roll down my tongue. “Why the fuck would you need Rohypnol?” 

“Oh no. Not me. You.” 

I blink, “Me?” 

“Yeah. I mean, how else are you gonna help me teach my baby sister a lesson?”

The reason I don’t talk about the events regarding this past week is because I don’t want to remember the events regarding this past week. 

I am embarrassed.

What happened was embarrassing and I know talking about it with a friend (or a therapist!) would make all of this so much easier, but I just can’t bring myself to fucking do it! That being said, Rory and Jason sure do like to remind me every now and then. Especially at night - when I already have a hard time falling asleep! 

Rafe is… hot. 

No. 

That’s not right. 

Rafe is my step-brother. 

My hot step-brother. 

My hotheaded (aha!) stepbrother who has an attitude problem and could most definitely blackmail me at any given time of any given day, but for some strange reason chooses not to. 

Which could only mean one thing. 

Well - two things.

Number one: he might be doing all of this on purpose. Stalling until my guard’s down and he’s completely blindsided me. And two: he really does not give a fuck. I hate to admit that the second option pains me more than the first. 

“Would you say you know Rafe well?” I ask Layla the second the rest of the girls are out of earshot. 

“Well, I did date him for six months, three weeks and thirteen days.” She loves saying this. She also loves spontaneous shopping sprees - hence the reason why I’m trying out capri pants at eleven am on a random Thursday. 

“Right so, hypothetically… let’s say he walks in on you while you snoop around his things.”

“Oh - yeah, no. That’s… that’s bad. We’d probably break up very soon after.” 

I nod. 

Layla hands me a peach colored blouse that she swears would look amazing with my complexion. 

“And, what if - hypothetically, you two weren’t dating during this scenario?” 

She pauses for a second - lips pursed as if this is something she has to think real long and hard about. “Then there’s absolutely no chance of us dating after that. Like, ever.”

I don’t like the way my stomach flips at that statement. 

Just like I don’t like the dress Layla is convinced would make my boobs look three times bigger.  

“Would you say that he could use it as something to hold over you? Or even like -  I dunno - blackmail you for? Hypothetically, of course.”

Her eyes meet mine again. I can’t really tell what she’s thinking, “Probably. Yeah.” 

Well, fuck. 

“Why are you asking me these things anyways? Did Rafe catch you going through his things?” 

I can feel the entirety of my body shut down. The only thing keeping me alive in this very moment is that single chill running down my spine. 

Layla is staring at me. 

What’s the fucking point in lying? 

“Yeah.” I frown.

“Oh Maisie… that’s bad. I’ll pray for you.” Her tone is casual but the look in her eyes is far from it. I can tell she’s trying to shake it off; distract me by throwing a bunch of pretty dresses my way, but my mind refuses to budge. 

Obviously, my mood tanks afterwards. Not even a Caesar salad with truffle fries and Diet Coke can fix it. Things progress from bad to worse when everyone gets a text about some kind of an end of summer party. That is, everyone but me. 

The pity in Layla’s eyes grows bigger and I hate myself for it, “You probably didn’t get it because you’re new.” She says and the rest of the girls nod in agreement.

“D’you want me to tell Topper?” Robyn exclaims, her pink phone already in hand, “We’re like, really close. I’m sure he won’t mind-” 

“No, no, no. It’s fine. Really! I wouldn’t be able to make it anyways.” I take an enormous bite from my salad, stuff a couple of fries for good measure while they all stare at me like I just got diagnosed with something terminal. What I just said is not a lie. At least not technically. I can make it. I could make it. Facetiming Rory and Jason has pretty much now become an everyday thing rather than a rare occasion. I’m sure they won’t mind if I cancel on them! 

“You were gonna cancel on us?” Jason is really starting to piss me off. Like, astronomically. I try not to let my face show just how frustrated I am with his reply, but it’s not that easy. Something has shifted in the past couple of weeks; something I can in no way talk to Rory about because she might start having flashbacks from that time her parents told her they are getting a divorce. 

“Maisie, are you busy?” Jason’s long (and boring) tirade is cut short by Sarah’s sudden stumble into my room. Her hair is neatly put up in rollers; her lips glossy and eyelids shimmering. I shake my head and she closes the door behind her. “Can I borrow some of your jewelry? Mine is all… boring.” 

“Uh yeah. Sure.” 

“Thank you!” She flashes me a big toothy grin and almost immediately dives towards my desk. My jewelry is haphazardly scattered all over it, along with crumpled up receipts and this morning’s unfinished Sudoku. 

I can’t stop staring at her. 

And neither can Jason - hence the reason why I finally put a stop to our conversation and shut off the laptop. 

“Your rings are so cool.” She stacks a couple of them on each of her fingers; admires them like one would admire an engagement ring before taking them off and finally picking those she likes best. There’s a strange, almost blooming feeling in my chest. Is this what it feels like to be an older sister?

“I have a really fun top that would go really well with that-” I tell her (a little too eagerly). 

“Oh I-” Sarah shakes her head and I can tell she’s trying really hard not to hurt my feelings when she says, “I already have an outfit. I just needed… jewelry. But maybe next time?” I nod and she thanks me again and am I really the only one not invited to this stupid party? 

My conversation with Jason and Rory continues. This time Rory is animatedly telling us about this cute college freshman that keeps showing up during her shift at Starbucks when the door to my bedroom is practically bulldozed by a very scary looking Ward, “Maisie. My office. Now.” 

Fuck. 

Fuck 

Fuck

Fuck.

I am so fucking fucked! 

Ward’s office is massive; almost as big as the dining room we almost never eat in and on the complete opposite end of the house - practically miles away from where my bedroom is. So, when I finally drag myself inside, the conversation has already started; Sarah and Rafe have taken the only available seats and I am left with no other choice but to hover awkwardly in the empty space between their chairs.  

“Maisie…” Ward says my name as if he didn’t just order me to come here. “I hear you’re going to a party.” The tone in which this is phrased is bizarre. Uncomfortable. Like he wants to be friendly, but something from deep within him won’t allow such a thing to happen. 

I scramble for words, “Uh… no? Not really.” 

“Hm. That’s strange. According to Sarah everyone is going to be there.” 

“Everyone who is invited.” Rafe mutters and it’s only then when I notice the distance between our bodies. Or better said, the lack thereof. 

“I’m invited!” Sarah shouts. 

“Bullshit. Freshmen never get invites!”

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the host!” Sarah puffs out her cheeks pompously while I stand there, carefully observing the way Rafe’s entire face turns from normal to a very dangerous shade of red. Almost immediately he says something under his breath, but his jaw is clenched so tightly, the words remain stuck somewhere behind his teeth. 

“The host?” Ward asks. 

“Topper.” Rafe and Sarah reply in unison. 

I’m still awkwardly hovering between them until Ward says my name again and suddenly all eyes are on me, but I can only pay attention to a certain pair of icy blue ones. 

“Why aren’t you going?” 

“I have… plans.” I lie, even though technically - like I said - this is not a lie. I do have plans. Very important and interesting ones, but I’d rather not elaborate because elaborating might make me sound like a loser. Which, I definitely am not! 

“Okay.” Ward nods. “Sarah, you can go.” Sarah begins a round of deafening squeals that fall silent the second her father adds, “Only if Maisie does.” 

I swallow. 

I… wasn’t expecting this. 

Well, what I was expecting is a lot worse than whatever punishment this may be, but then again, being forced to go to a party is not exactly a punishment. Unless you are like me and really hate all forms of this sort of social interaction and would rather be at home, Facetiming your actual friends… 

Sarah’s gaze is bothering me. She’s practically boring holes in the side of my face and I really, really, really don’t want to go, but I also don’t want my brand new step-sister to hate me.

“Sure. Why not? I can raincheck.” 

Not even half an hour later, I’m not only in one of Sarah’s tightest mini skirts, but also in the passenger seat of Rafe’s Range Rover. Never in my life have I ever felt so… Well, uncomfortable isn’t a decent enough word to describe just how uncomfortable I am feeling and the silent treatment both of my stepsiblings have going in this very moment is making it even worse! 

“That’s fine, you can drop me off here.” Sarah says just as Rafe is about to turn left on a random street (I still have no idea where we’re going). She unbuckles her belt. He hits the brakes - hard- and I can feel Sarah’s face make contact with the back of the passenger seat. “What the fuck Rafe?! I could’ve broken my nose!”

“But you didn’t.” 

“You’re literally such a freak.” 

“Hold on a moment.” I don’t think she will. She is far too pissed off to and yet, there Sarah is, holding on. For a moment. Just like her brother told her to. “Thought you were going to Topper’s party?” 

“I am.”

“Then why’re we stopping here?”

“None of your damn business.” Sarah sticks her tongue out and practically throws herself out of the car. “See ya at the party!” 

It takes me a couple of minutes to realize that Rafe and I are alone now.  And when I do, my entire body tenses up. My palms begin to sweat and my chest tightens and all I can think about is ways to put an end to this awkward silence! 

“You know… I don’t really have to go to this party, right? Like… you can just drop me off wherever and I will just find my way back home.” I smile, but it’s really a grin. A weird, crooked, toothy grin. Great. 

“Oh, you are going.” He says, flicking those icy blues in my direction and I stop breathing for a second. There’s a smile there, I notice. A faint, barely visible one, lazily tugging in the corner of his pink, wet lips…

I pinch myself. 

Bad Maisie. Bad. 

“No, really-” 

“You. Are going.” And that’s when he looks at me. Long and hard and probably for the first time since we first laid eyes on each other. Just then, something clicks between my ribs. Something strange that makes my heart lose focus and skip a beat or two and I swallow. 

The car is no longer moving. 

Just how long have we been standing still? 

Rafe is looking at his phone and simultaneously pressing the buttons on his car’s GPS. 

“Where are we-” For the second time, he doesn’t let me finish my thought. Just looks at me. 

“You’ll see.”

Before

A plantation. 

Mom moved us from a two bedroom apartment in Cobble Hill to a fucking plantation. 

The thing is huge. Massive to be exact and whenever I’m left all alone in it I swear I can hear all kinds of muffled sounds and footsteps echoing in the distance. Having to live with ghosts is fine. A welcomed surprise at this stage of my brand new life. What is not fine is Mom being totally obsessed with all of this. 

She actually loves the house. And the pool and the big green lawn and the boat named after her… 

She loves it!

Like, all of it.  

The biggest hater in the world is suddenly head over heels about the most boring basic shit. But that’s not the reason why tufts of hair are falling out of my head. The reason why I’m practically bald has something to do with the fact that everyone seems to be totally okay with this. Call me crazy, but wouldn’t you, Aunt Gladys from Minnesota that loves Andrea Godderidge like her own daughter, be at least bit concerned when your so-called favorite niece suddenly posts a bunch of photos on Facebook about eloping with a man she met on Match-dot-fucking-com!?

Ugh.

Look, I’m trying not to be angry about it. 

I know it sounds like I am and believe me - a part of me might probably always feel that way- but it’s been a while since I’ve seen Mom this happy and when she’s happy, I’m happy, so… I’ll bite. I’ll even nod and smile when she eventually tells me she’s decided to go through with Ward’s suggestion to stop looking for a job and dedicate all her time to making art. 

Just like she’s always wanted to. 

In the meantime, I’ll do my best not to lose my mind. 

Or drown or whatever way people disintegrate on this godforsaken island. 

Every day, I wake up to this nightmare and remind myself that it’s just one year. 

Nine months to be exact. 

Nine months until I get accepted to Berkley, graduate and never again have to step foot in this stupid fucking place or pretend to like my brand new family. 

Okay, that’s a lie. 

I happen to like Wheezie. And Sarah’s not so bad once you get her far, far away from all her snotty, vapid friends. Ward’s not too horrible either and Rafe… well, the most I know about him is that we’re the same age and that he’s on some sailing trip around the coast or whatever. Maybe if I had paid more attention to what Ward was telling me that day, I’d know more about my stepbrother. Too bad I was too busy trying to find ways to survive the island. 

I don’t like beaches. Or pools or nature trails… gossiping strangers on the other hand, that’s something I can get behind. The less I know about them the better, so, every Saturday for the past five weeks I’ve been packing my essentials (phone, house keys, ten tubes of sunscreen)and joining Sarah and her friends at their usual hangout spot: The Island Club.

At this point, I’ve lost so much of the plot, I can’t tell what’s worse: getting a fresh start weeks before my senior year, hanging out with a bunch of freshmen girls or being a member of a fucking country club. 

“Are you Rafe Cameron’s new stepsister?” 

Scratch that. 

This is the worst. 

My eyes meet a pair of golden brown ones. The girl standing before me is tall, tan, skinny and almost friendly enough I don’t feel too threatened about having her corner me in the bathroom. 

“I’m Layla.” She says, still smiling. “Rafe and I used to date sophomore year.” 

“Neat.” It’s the only thing that comes out of my mouth and once I hear myself say it I realize just how rude it may sound so I smile, but that doesn’t go too well either. “I’m Maisie.” 

“You’re also a senior right?” 

“Yeah.” 

Suddenly I find myself extremely underdressed and sitting on a very fancy table with Kildare Academy's entire cheer squad. At least I think they might be part of a cheer squad. They sure do have the prep and enthusiasm for it. They also have lots to say about my new stepbrother. Like, for example, how all five of them happened to date him at one point of their (very) short lives. 

“Like… all of you?” I can hear the judgement practically ooze from my mouth and wince internally. With the corner of my eye I catch my reflection in one of the windows and yikes. Mom always said I have a very expressive face; one of the many reasons I have a hard time keeping friends, but none of these girls seem to notice. 

They’re far too busy reminiscing which one of them kissed Rafe first (Tana); rode shotgun in his brand new Dodge (Robyn); drunkenly asked him to be her first at Topper(?) Thornton’s sweet sixteen (Iris); blew him - ew - in the middle of a fucking golf course (Ava); actually dated him (Layla -  six months, three weeks and thirteen days, “And let’s not forget, I broke up with him! Not the other way around!”).

“Wow - you are literally hanging out with the worst people in the world.” It’s what Jason tells me later that day when he, Rory and I are in the middle of our weekly Facetime call. 

“I wasn’t hanging out with them! They were hanging out with each other and I just happened to be there!” I skip the part where I talk in great detail about all the ways I actually enjoyed myself. Or the relief that washed over me once I realized I’ve just made new friends. Age appropriate friends that actually like me! 

“Just like they all happen to have history with your brother!”

“Stepbrother.” I grumble. 

“Show us photos. I wanna see what he looks like.” Rory grins. The twinkle in her eye is… concerning. “Actually, wait - no. Show us the whole family!” My mind almost immediately races back to all of the photos Ward’s got hanging around the house. The smiling faces, almost matching clothes and the boy whose grin wains as he gets older. He’s pretty in that generic all American kind of way: blue eyes, dirty blonde hair… truly nothing to write home about and yet, I always catch myself staring at his face a little bit longer than I do with the others.

Rory and I exchange knowing looks when Jason stays quiet for a second longer than he usually would. We both saw the way he was ogling at that photo of Sarah and her dog Milo, but when I start making fun of him for it, all he’s got to say is, “No way - Sugar also has a new stepbrother?”

“Oh my god he is such a boomer I love him!” Rory says and all three of us spend an eternity stalking Ward’s cringey Facebook. I never understood old people’s obsession with posting every single photo they have on their phone. Or their extensive use of pointless hashtags, but for Ward? It kinda makes sense.

“Mais - I thought you said you have a stepbrother.” Jason squeaks. His shit eating grin is both enraging and familiar. I roll my eyes and continue scrolling down, down, down. 

This man likes to POST.

Like, a lot. And then, just as we’re about to give up and look up his Instagram profile, y’know like normal galaxy brained people - there he is.

“Well… at least now we know who the favorite is.” 

I can’t help, but feel bad for him. 

A person I barely know. 

A person I’ve only heard semi-horrible things about. A person that is so douchey… so offputting… so… infuriatingly… blindingly… hot.

Now it’s my turn to be suspiciously quiet. 

He wasn’t supposed to be this goodlooking! He was supposed to be a generic, bumbling manwhore who dated an entire friend group before sailing away to the Bahamas with his bros or whatever! I’m so confused and consumed by my stupid fucking thoughts, I completely miss out on the entire roasting session Rory and Jason have just done on him. Especially the part where Rory has dared me to go into his room and snoop through his things. 

My face in the thumbnail is beat red. Redder than the worn out tee I wear to sleep and because I’ve missed out on my chance to protest, I get up and head towards the only room in the house I haven’t been in yet. 

The doorknob clicks open and almost immediately I’m struck by the smell of stale weed and woody cologne. There’s dirty clothes everywhere: on the bed, on the floor, on the chair and I struggle; the room is too dark and cluttered and I’m scared of misplacing things or worse: breaking them. Rory tells me to go through his drawers and like the good little curious soldier that I am, I do. 

There’s all kinds of homemade bongs and lighters and… socks. Heaps and heaps of mismatched dirty socks whose fate I really rather not think about. Especially not after accidentally touching one of them. 

Rory’s cackling ripples across the entire room and there it is again - that sound. That bonechilling echo of feet walking somewhere in the distance. It’s Jason’s turn to speak now, but judging from the snarl that’s slowly tugging on the corner of his lips I can already predict the bullshit he’s about to spew. 

The laughter grows louder: I’ve just been dared to take a peak inside one of those socks. 

“Wait, let me find a good one.” I humor them as sardonically as possible, but my eyes are actively on the hunt. Rory suggests I pick the one with the goofiest print and that’s how I find myself with my hands and knees on the ground, crawling under the bed like a total idiot. “Give me a second though. It’s so fucking dark in here… I can barely see-”

The lights come on and I can feel my soul slowly slip away from my body. There’s a faint throbbing in the back of my head, exactly around the place where I hit it when trying to come out from under the bed and-

“How bout now?” 

My phone slips straight through my fingers. Much like Rory and Jason and all that’s left is the person standing before me. 

Rafe. 

“Fuck.”  

He’s even hotter in person.