N🐼T

Ruthie had finally graced the party with her presence it seemed. Sofia turned around and saw her approach, that ravenous smile of hers already in place. She really made an effort, huh, Sofia thought, grinning prettily as Ruthie swooped down to give her a hug. The silver sequins—glittering like hot sun on metal—dug into Sofia’s skin making her itch.

She quickly pulled away, as if she couldn’t bear to touch Sofia for longer than a second and the heavy drapes of her dress swished demandingly with every move.

Sofia suddenly felt ridiculous standing beside her—like a little girl playing dress up. The cold satin of her baby pink halter dress (with no cleavage on show), did nothing to cool her body that seemed to have plunged into a burning mortification.

Rafe had said she looked sexy. He was a liar. She looked like a child. And now she had the petulant scowl to match as she eyed Ruthie strutting off into the kitchen.

Is that what people thought when they saw her?

Look at the strange girl with strange clothes who’d somehow wormed her way into Rafe Cameron’s heart…She tugged at the plain hemline, wishing she’d worn something else instead.

“Happy birthday Sofia,” a voice floated in from her right. Sofia glanced up to where Topper was stood, dressed in a polite smile, holding out a pretty box wrapped in a lemon-yellow ribbon.

She warily accepted, her mouth opened slightly. She clammed it shut again and filtered the shock from her face.

Don’t be piteous. It makes them feel uncomfortable.

“You didn’t have to,” she said with a smile, running her thumb over the embossed patterns on the box. It felt expensive.

“It was nothing,” he shrugged casually, in that faux-relaxed manner. She’d noticed how strung up Topper was—back as straight as a board—and suddenly wondered what him and Ruthie talked about when no one was around. Her with her loose tongue and watery body, and him with his stiff limbs and clipped words.

Did people think that when they looked at her and Rafe? What are they even doing together?

Sofia opened the box, carefully undoing the slippery ribbon she’d be stowing away for later (she could sew it on to one of her blouses maybe).

Inside was a neatly laid array of teas. Chamomile, early grey, pink and purple exotic blends—berries, fruits and rose—packaged luxuriously in illustrated sachets. It was the perfect gift. Impersonal enough to be cute, but still thoughtful and warm.

“You like tea, don’t you?” He added, nodding his head, sifting for her reaction.

Sofia couldn’t help but smile, wide and shiny. Definitely way too enthused; as if Topper meant more to her than he actually did. “I do! Thank you Topper, I appreciate it.”

“No worries. You know where Rafe is?”

Sofia closed the box carefully, trying to hide the disdain in her answer, “he was by the drinks table last time I saw.”

And with another polite smile, Topper slipped away.

Sofia walked upstairs to the bedroom and placed the box next to the gifts Rafe had got her (some new records for her collection, a bottle of expensive perfume and big bouquet of lilies and roses). The little yellow package added to her bounty made her smile softly to herself.

Sofia sighed and looked in the mirror, tucking a stray ringlet behind her ear. She couldn’t get changed now…they’d all seen her in this already.

Breathe. Calm down.

Cool air filled her lungs.

It didn’t matter anyway. She’d mostly ruminated on what lingerie to wear, wanting nothing more for the party to end and Rafe to be hers again.

Sofia dragged her hand across the yellow ribbon one last time before exiting the bedroom, getting ready to plunge back into her gift-less birthday party that no one seemed to care she’d disappeared from.

Fall 2025 / 10:25 AM [RAFE’S HOUSE]

Her birthday was coming up again. She was looking forward to celebrating it with Rafe when he returned, but that little wish fell through after he’d kicked her out on her ass.

Pack your shit and get out of my house.

After drowning in his bottle of vodka, she complied, dragging her feet meekly across his cold tiled floor.

She gathered up her belongings like they were simply unwanted cobwebs she was dusting away: hiccupping with crushed up cries…floating from room to room…drifting from cupboard to cupboard.

She’d managed to lug half of her things into her car before she’d crumpled into a little ball, sat crouched on the hot porch steps, sobbing into her arms.

His house was far enough away from the neighbours that she could be as loud as she wanted. But she still found herself muffling her pathetic mewls with her forearm, twisting the skin against her wet lips.

The cries eventually stopped—like they always did—and she was left standing outside the white painted house, that engulfed her in its shadow. The keys rattled against each other, feeling cool against her sweaty palm.

Sofia let the breeze sweep over her, swaying gently, watching as the samaras whirled down from the tree tops.

Fall 2024 / 12:15 AM [SOFIA’S PARTY]

The party was over. And Rafe was drunk. Again.

Sofia was in the kitchen, trying to clean up a bit. Rafe would hire a cleaner in the morning, but she had a hard time getting used to these lurid displays of wealth. If there was shit that needed cleaning, you cleaned it up yourself.

From the living area, she could her Topper’s voice trying to get Rafe into bed. Warm and sweet. He always helped out with him, which she was grateful for.

Topper was quick to straighten him up, never leaving her alone to flail with a stumbling and stubborn Rafe.

When he got really drunk, Sofia hated it. He’d get so…volatile. Going from pulling her in to pushing her away. She recalled the sensation of his hot stinking breath that would fan her skin and shuddered. The kisses were even worse.

Looks like there’d be no birthday sex tonight.

“Sofia! You there?” Topper called out. She put down the black trash bag and left the kitchen.

She found Topper standing over Rafe’s body, half sprawled on the couch and the rest of his limbs spilled all over the floor.

“Sofia!” Rafe announced when he caught sight of her, “happy birthday…” he warbled, devolving into an indecipherable, slurred song. Sofia bit the inside of her cheek, playing with the soft flesh between molars.

“I could use some help,” Topper sheepishly admitted, palming the back of his neck.

Sofia smiled, but was disappointed. She’d hoped that Rafe would lay off the liquor at least for tonight. But it seemed he’d been drinking more than usual. Biting down on her tongue so Topper wouldn’t see her glower, Sofia nodded and approached the two, digging her nails into her palms.

“Come on baby, let’s get you to bed,” she murmured, dragging her fingers through his scalp. She tried to sound encouraging, but the words felt too sweet on her tongue, cloying and sickly. She didn’t want to call him baby right now, and she didn’t want to go to bed with him.

“Rafe? Come on, it’s late.”

He was so completely out of it. Usually he’d listen and let her wrap herself around his torso and meander slowly up to the bedroom. But today, all he did was smile stupidly at her, playing with her curls, twisting and untwisting a strand of her hair around his finger again and again.

“Yeah I don’t think he’s even registering what you’re saying right now,” Topper spoke from above her.

He was right. So she got up, ignoring Rafe’s outstretched hand pawing for her hair and straightened the wrinkles in her dress.

“Can you help me get him upstairs?”

Topper jumped into action mode straight away on seeing her uncharacteristic frown, “yeah, sure thing.”

Sofia couldn’t help but smile at that. Eager Topper, so ready to please.

Fall 2025 / 10:50 AM [ENR TOPPER’S HOUSE]

The leaves were beginning to change and drop away from the branches, orange and brown littering green lawns.

Sofia found herself driving towards Topper’s place.

The silver of Rafe’s keys were strewn on her dashboard, catching the sunlight and flashing like an irrevocable reminder of her fuck ups.

She sniffed and looked away, and instead focused on the smooth Figure 8 roads lined in the colours of a fast approaching autumn.

Topper’s house was like a second, more grander version of Rafe’s. She didn’t bother passing the gates, and parked up outside.

Slipping her phone out of her pocket, she clicked on Topper’s number, biting at her thumb nail. The ringtone droned. Sofia watched the shifting leaves tumble down from the wide blue sky.

The static buzzed. “Sofia? Is everything alright?”

She burst into tears.

Fall 2024 / 12:36 AM [SOFIA’S PARTY]

He’d began to swat at her. Not harshly or meanly. But in the way of an annoying fat handed baby, his fingertips trying to push her away.

“Come on, man, just lie down.”

Rafe was halfway on the bed at this point. Topper was trying to help, his arms coming out from behind Sofia and onto Rafe’s shoulders, while Sofia stood sandwiched between the two, the cold buttons on Topper’s shirt digging into her back.

She tried not to shudder at the proximity, focusing on the task at hand— putting Rafe down.

“Jeez…I’m fineee Top, go home so I can give Sof her real birthday gift.” Rafe mumbled, managing to stumble through a half coherent sentence, his smirk slippery and languid.

She stepped back from her boyfriend’s touch—that was beginning to feel more and more repulsive by the second—and into the warm embrace of Topper’s chest, shaking her face away from Rafe’s fingers.

She felt him tense up behind her. She wondered if it was because of her being so close to him, or was it because of what Rafe has just said? Was he imagining her now in this bed, receiving Rafe’s ‘gift’ ? Was he thinking about her naked and ready? About his best friend’s girl getting fucked on her birthday?

Sofia had to stop herself, swallowing a mouthful of dry air to settle her somersaulting stomach. “Yeah well the birthday girl is tired, so whatever your little gift is Rafe, it can wait.”

Topper stifled a laugh behind her. His tensed arms brushed past her own, and she could smell him, all musky cologne and fresh linen.

Topper was nice.

And he could handle his drink.

Sofia hated the wicked thoughts in her head wishing that she was with him instead of Rafe. What would life had been like if she had flirted with him at the bar instead?

He’d been too hell bent on Sarah though…everybody knew that.

But what was he doing with Ruthie then?

He’d managed to get Rafe to lie flat on the bed, and within seconds, Rafe stumbled into a deep fitful sleep, his mouth opened slightly, wet with the remnants of whatever drink he’d had last.

Sofia finally turned around to face Topper, a sigh of relief escaping her snarled chest. “Thank you so much. I’m sorry for keeping you around. Ruthie’s probably going to be annoyed.”

Topper gave her another cordial smile. He had the type of manners which seemed practiced and taught. Where any situation was considered and accounted for. Helping your buddy’s hapless girlfriend deal with her wasted man? Here’s your guide on how to remain the picture of a perfect Southern gentleman!

“She left a while ago. It’s okay, and it looks like you needed the help.”

Sofia ran her fingers through her hair, not knowing what to do with her hands. There was no ribbon-wrapped present between them—or the messy blur of Rafe’s thrashing limbs—and she was left unraveled, wanting to touch something. “You always help out with him…I appreciate it. I do.”

“No worries. Sorry that your birthday ended up like this. Rafe…he’s trying his best.”

His best? Sofia scoffed, shaking her head. But her expression was subtle enough that it could’ve easily been misconstrued as a sympathetic grimace. Her manners weren’t as refined—she was no southern belle that’s for sure—but Sofia knew politeness was a necessary tool for survival. “I know.”

Topper reached a consoling hand out, grabbing her by the shoulder. His palm was smooth and unmarred.

“I’m always around if you need anything, yeah?”

She giggled, all light and airy, fixated on the way heat bled from his hand onto her bare skin. “really? You’re not above helping out a pogue?”

“You don’t count. You’re nice.”

He didn’t remove his hand. His touch was warm. Everything about him was— golden locks, picture perfect tan…

Like Rafe’s. But different. Rafe was so sharp, with his shorn hair and pointed smile that could be so mean. She couldn’t imagine Topper like that. Mean.

At least not to her.

“Nicer than Ruthie?” Sofia couldn’t help the quip. She bit the inside of her cheek as she leaned further into his touch, chests inches apart.

He’d tensed up again, mouth opening and closing like a flailing fish. Sofia rested her palm on his torso, where his heartbeat thudded, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to do, “it’s okay, I won’t snitch on you.”

She watched as his eyes flickered down on to her hand and back to her face, pupils dilated, turning his stare black, “I don’t think nice and Ruthie pair very well.”

Sofia laughed, and then suddenly felt ashamed for laughing. She needed to get back to her sleeping boyfriend, not gossip with his best friend.

She sighed, her shoulders deflating slightly as her body curved further into his stick-straight silhouette. “I don’t think nice and Rafe, pair very well either. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten this drunk on my birthday.”

“He’s had a tough year.”

“Well, so have I,” she huffed indignantly, and the sense that she was just a tall child—dressing up and playing house—settled on her skin again, coating the shame that already encased her.

Topper shut up, and seemed to drop the facade of wingman trying to defend his friend, his glassy blue eyes injected with apology. Though he didn’t say it.

Sofia shook his hand off her shoulder. “Sorry. I’m being a bitch.”

“No, you’re not. I’d be mad too.”

“If Ruthie did this to you at your party?”

“She’d do worse. This is nothing.”

Sofia couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m keeping you, aren’t I?”

“No, it’s okay. It’s nice to actually have a conversation without Rafe interjecting with his crap.”

She laughed again. And it wasn’t that bubbly aerated laugh she faked around these kooks. It was abrupt and nasally. Rafe liked it when she laughed like that. Maybe if he hadn’t drank himself to sleep, he’d have gotten to hear it.

Topper stepped back, breaking eye contact with her. “But I should probably get going.”

“Okay.” She tried not to sound too disappointed “Well thank you again.” Sofia reached up to hug him, trying to grasp at some semblance of comfort. She was looking forward to everyone leaving and for it to be just her and Rafe. It could’ve been like her first birthday they shared together. With the lowlights of the candles illuminating the planes of his face as he kissed slowly up her thigh.

But he’d decided to lose himself in the bottle instead of her.

Topper froze for a second, before he slowly wrapped her with his arms. He smelled even nicer this close— expensive and sweet. Not enlaced with the bitter tang of sweat and stale alcohol like Rafe’s embraces.

She hated herself for thinking such horrible things.

He’d thrown this party for her.

And here she was cozying up to his best friend. The guilt eventually dissipated inside her, still lingering, but separate and floating, so she couldn’t really feel it. She was used to that— splitting and severing parts of herself, the way you’d take a pickaxe to weeds.

Sofia stood on her tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek. It was instinct to her at this point. She didn’t think much of it.

But when Topper kissed her back, her heart swelled again, the same way it did when she first used to kiss Rafe. Throbbing ridiculously in her chest, with all the blood pumping across her, telling her she needed more.

Fall 2025 / 11:00 AM [TOPPER’S HOUSE]

He didn’t invite her inside. They stood next to the tall gates that looked so ugly nestled in the green enclosure of manicured trees and mown grass, bodies at a reasonable distance.

“Here’s Rafe’s keys. Can you give them to him when he comes back?”

Topper nodded, his jaw strained, more than it usually was. It looked like he wanted to cough or be sick. He received the keys from her and stashed them in his pocket.

“What happened? He broke up with you?”

Sofia nodded slowly. She decided not to tell him about the impromptu engagement. She’d look even stupider.

“Yeah. Kicked me out of his house too.”

“He find out?” Topper murmured, suddenly growing shifty, like a the shivering stalks of long grass rustling in the breeze.

All Sofia could think about was Hollis. Dead, murdered Hollis who’d decided to drag her down too. How did Topper know about that? She knew his grandfather was a judge, his family close to the law— the small of her back suddenly grew hot and clammy, thinking about police and lawyers and judges.

“Find out what?” She asked, the words coming out in a hoarse rasp as she peered at him through her dark lashes.

Act normal. Calm down. Breathe. Her chest shuddered, but he didn’t notice, probably chalking up any tension to Rafe dumping her.

“About…me and you?”

Sofia sighed and looked down at her ratty trainers standing opposite his shiny boat shoes, the gold eyelets glinting in the sun.

Topper was just saving his ass. Understandable. When he wanted to, Rafe could be a scary guy.

“No. He doesn’t know. He ended things because of…something else.”

“What? What happened?” Topper stepped closer to her. He sounded genuinely concerned, “did he…do something to you?”

The shift in tone made her dizzy. She glanced down at his hand, now floating in the space between them, as if he was going to reach out and hold her again. Her tongue dried out and she was now the one who looked nauseous.

No. No. Rafe hadn’t done anything. She was the one who stole from him. She’d been the good for nothing pogue bitch who’d robbed him of millions.

Inside, her chest bubbled with a festering guilt that clawed up again, trickling through her oesophagus and into her nostrils, making it hard to breathe. Her sternum undulated, as if she was about to heave and wretch up her breakfast, while her puffed up lips wobbled uncontrollably.

Tears started to fall again, but this time, Topper bundled her up in a hug. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what she was letting him believe. That Rafe had been the one to hurt her. That he was the reason they’d broken up. He’d done something nefarious and unsayable. She wondered what Topper believed Rafe could do.

“Shhh it’s okay, it’s okay. Shhh.”

Fall 2024 / 12:52 AM [SOFIA’S PARTY]

“Shhh Sofia, keep it down.”

They’d ended up in the en-suite, whilst Rafe slept in the room next door.

Topper’s shorts were pulled down to his knees, and Sofia had finally ripped off her dress that now lay in a satiny pool beside her feet.

She bit down on her lip as Topper fucked her on the basin, his hand coming to hold her up by her hip, and the other tangled in her hair.

She smiled when he’d stared at her lingerie...That was meant for Rafe’s eyes.

But she’d gotten past the point of caring now…he wasn’t the only one who’d had a couple of drinks.

He’d traced his shaky, petal-soft hands over the hot pink lace. Like he was scared to touch her.

But he was doing just fine now, repressed moans reverberating across his chest as Sofia sucked on his bottom lip. She threaded her fingers through his hair—something she couldn’t do with Rafe—tugging at the long strand like they were simply loose strands of fabric.

“You’re not scared he’s gonna find out?” Topper murmured in her ear after a particularly loud whine. It wasn’t her fault he was being so relentless— didn’t Ruthie let him fuck her at home?

He intended to sound cautious…wary…trying to get her to quieten down, but the way his syllables dragged, his voice ragged and panting, Sofia could feel herself tighten on his dick.

Topper muffled his groan in the crook of her neck, his lips pressing against her jugular. Sofia wrapped her arms around his back, and closed her eyes, focusing on the sensations her body felt, and not the burgeoning guilt that welled inside of her.

Topper quickened his pace. The guilt continued to swell. She hooked her legs around him, pushing him to go harder.

“Yes. Yes. More. More.”

She pulsed and surged—guilt, pleasure, spite—gushing around him until everything snapped and she came undone, unraveling like the yellow ribbon she’d tugged at hours earlier.

Fall 2025 / 11:16 AM [TOPPER’S HOUSE]

Topper walked her to her car.

He said he’d invite her inside but his mom was home. She didn’t bother question why that would be a problem.

“Thanks Topper.”

“No worries.”

“You were always my favourite of Rafe’s friends, you know.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded, smiling as she leaned against her car door.

“I mean, you’re the only one I fucked— didn’t that tell you anything?”

“Okay now, let’s calm down,” he held his hand out, all calm and authoritative in that way of his. But she could tell he was just messing about. So she laughed, abrupt and nasally.

“Bye. Thanks for picking up when I called.”

“I did say I was always here if you needed anything.”

“You did.”

“Bye Sofia. I always thought you were too good for Rafe anyway. He’s…he’s not…” Topper trailed off, eyes disappearing behind her head, as if he was thinking about something dark and profound, blue eyes wide and blurred. “Let’s just say maybe it’s a good thing you’ve ended things now. Before it was too late.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Drive safe, okay?”

Sofia just nodded, wanting to probe and pick at his words a bit more, but he’d open her car door and held it open for her to sit inside. Always the perfect gentleman.

So she slid it and smiled as he shut it, watching as he turned back around to enter his sprawling house with the white fence and baby blue slats.

Sofia burned with a lingering shame eating her from the inside out. What if she’d chosen Topper? She could’ve been on the other side of that gate now and not driving back home, her belonging rattling about in the trunk.

Leaves the colour of fire whipped past her windscreen.

She began to cry again. Not only for Rafe, but everything else in his life she was leaving behind too.

She’d made her rounds and still found no one. Maybe she should call Harper? She was always game for some down low making out in the back of her Lexus. And if Kiara played her cards right, a lot more than just making out.

So she headed to the bathroom to fix up her hair before she drove over to Harper’s place. The line to the downstairs one was too long, so she snuck upstairs, making sure Kyle didn’t spot her. He already hated her guts. Apparently guys didn’t like it when their girl was hooking up with another girl behind their back. Kiara didn’t feel too bad— Kyle was an asshole. And besides, it was ancient history.

Kiara reached the first floor landing and pushed past the bathroom door, her heart dropping slightly at the sight.

A girl was sat crumpled on the ivory tiles, her back pressed against the tub, glass bottle loosely held in one hand.

“Oh shit— sorry I didn’t think anyone else was in here.” Kiara stepped back, but stopped when the girl looked up, her eyes wet with the sticky residue from tears and glittery eyeshadow, smeared all over her pretty face. She didn’t say anything. She just waited for Kiara to leave, not bothering to correct her lamentable position.

There was something off about the whole picture. Where were her friends? Kook girls always moved in herds, whether they were laughing or crying. Kiara learned that the hard way when they’d always single her out.

But here she was alone, much like Kiara was during her tragic year at the Kook Academy. The sight was pitiful. So she stepped back into the bathroom and shut the door behind her with a soft sigh.

The girl sniffed, mouth twisting in a disgusted frown, “what are you doing?”

Her voice was soft and low. Guarded and raw. Like she’d been crying for a while.

“Seeing if you’re okay?”

That’s when the girl pulled herself up, stumbling slightly, bottle of tequila still in clutch.

“Hey, hey take it easy girl.” Kiara approached but was shooed away as she stumbled to the countertop.

“I’m fine.”

Kiara scoffed, muttering under her breath, “sure you are.”

She watched as the girl tried to hoist herself up on to the bathroom counter, her apricot dress that grazed her mid thigh swishing with each shaky step. Kiara let herself stare at the way the diaphanous fabric ghosted the curve of her ass. She was cute. Not exactly her type— she preferred bitchy blondes if she was going to be picky. But still, she was pretty with enough curves to make Kiara look twice.

“Need a little help there?” Kiara teased, stepping closer so she was tailing her.

The girl snapped her head back, dark curls bouncing on her head like organza ribbons. “I said I was fine, didn’t I?” Kiara smirked to herself. Well, at least she was bitchy.

Eventually she managed to bypass her thin heels that slipped all over the glossy tiles, and hopped onto the countertop like a straggler kitten, all the while holding onto that half empty bottle. She took a swig of it, like it was her reward for not falling straight onto her ass, and Kiara just watched keenly with a hungry glint in her eye, the back of Harper’s Lexus wholly forgotten about.

“Why are you still here…Kiara?” The girl slurred, words thick with a sarcastic drawl.

How the fuck did she know her name— and more importantly, was she…making fun of her?

Kiara’s eyes narrowed “you know me?”

“Everyone knows you— intrepid treasure hunters. Finders of El Dorado. You’re like island royalty.”

Kiara rolled her eyes. She was making fun of her.

“What? You not a fan?”

The girl laughed. Bubbly and sweet. You’d think it was almost kind. “Must be nice to find a whole city of gold. That surely buys you out of this island. Gets you some sorta freedom.”

Kiara thought back to her parents. She still didn’t feel free. A small scoff escaped her throat, “you’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

The girl blinked like she was confused, but didn’t let anything else up. She just put the glass bottle down with a soft clink, leaning back against the cold marble.

Kiara was close enough now so she could see the tears streaking her face, dragging down the glitter so it looked like she’d been weeping stardust. Her face coruscated in the dim bathroom light— she’d been crying a lot.

Pretty kook girl like her? It must be some shitty boyfriend— it almost always was.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kiara’s tone softened, trying to hold on to eye contact with her. But she constantly evaded her efforts, looking down, her head bowed as if she was in prayer.

Well, if she wanted to be alone…Kiara turned to leave.

“Hey— wait!” Kiara felt a small warm hand wrap around her bare arm.

The girl began rooting through her purse and eventually pulled out a neatly rolled joint, “smoke with me.” She smiled impishly at her, lips in between her teeth.

Kiara could tell she was trying to remain cool, but beneath the wobbling smile and cocky slant of her head, she sensed the pervasive clinginess in her gesture. The need for attention.

Kiara didn’t call her out on her bluff. Didn’t pick at her armour. She knew how it felt to force your lips into a smile and hold your breath, begging not to be torn to shreds. So all she did was mirror the girl’s glee. Who was she to turn down free weed?

Kiara grabbed the joint from the girl and lifted it up to her pouty lips. Her eyes lingered over the girl’s pink, bitten skin, wet with saliva and remnants of tequila, her mouth opening slightly. The girl reflected her action, allowing Kiara to slip the joint in between her teeth.

Her trusty lighter, decorated with a peeling Bob Marley sticker was quickly fished from the back pocket of her jean shorts, lighting the joint in one effortless attempt.

Smoke billowed between them, their faces mere inches from each other. Kiara’s stomach brewed with a nervous restlessness. She missed this. The uncertainty. The newness.

“What’s your name?” Kiara asked, her voice soft, dripping over them like crushed velvet.

The girl passed over the joint, “Sofia.”

It fit her perfectly. Pretty. Melodious. Melancholic.

Kiara smiled, feeling some sort of victory at the concession. “Sofia,” she parroted, taking a long drag.

She looked down at the joint, withholding her cough. “Where’d you get this?” It was good. Better than the shit she got when she was waiting for her own to dry out.

Sofia snatched the paper back, “Barry.”

Goosebumps raised on Kiara’s neck, remembering the man who’d corralled them with a shot gun, beating them up in the boat hangar. Rafe’s left hand man who’d nearly knocked out JJ with just his fists. How the fuck did Sofia know him? Didn’t kook girls get their stash from Stoner Steve? Unless she wasn’t a kook. And with the way she smoked— slowly, holding the smoke like she was savouring it… the boys would do that. A habit from when they were low on reefer money and had to make every joint and every blunt count.

Was Sofia a pogue? But what pogue was dressed in some glitzy dress that was probably worth a couple hundred, crying in a bathroom of some measly party at Kyle’s house. If it was a Thornton party or some rager at Tannyhill, Kiara would understand. Tons of pogues would sneak into those just to float some beer and steal some shit. But this? This was some irrelevant house party on a random Tuesday.

Kiara just nodded her head, hiding her suspicions. “Barry? How’d you get to know him?”

Sofia rolled her eyes, “oh y’know, a friend of a…friend.” The last word got swallowed up on her tongue like a bad taste. Bitter and pungent. She handed back the joint.

They didn’t say anything else, just passed the joint back and forth, listening to the music seep up from the floor, letting the weed drip into their bloodstreams.

With Sofia sitting on the counter and Kiara standing up, their eye-lines were level. Each puff of smoke greatened the traction between them, tension swelling like a wave rolling closer and closer to the coastline, ready to crash and fragment into sea and foam.

Kiara felt butterflies travel downward, right to the pit of her stomach, when she noticed Sofia’s golden eyes glaze over. She took her in shamelessly, like she was simply admiring her clothes. But Kiara only wore a thin tank top that cut above her navel and just about scooped her tits up, leaving little to the imagination. Whatever admiration Sofia was feeling, bled beneath the fabric— every inch of skin available licked up by her curious gaze.

“You’re pretty,” Sofia murmured, her finger raising up to graze Kiara’s stomach. Her touch was soft and ticklish and made her breath lurch. She trailed a snaking pattern until her finger hooked around her belt loop and pulled her in with one, insistent tug.

Fuck. Kiara really missed this.

“So are you.” Kiara did the same, her gaze disappearing into the extensive dip of her dress. She could see the lace of her bra peek between the tanned plush of her tits— a bright red lattice of swirling flowers, that surfaced with every other breath.

“I look like a mess,” Sofia joked, making Kiara laugh. She put out the stub on the basin.

“A hot mess.”

Sofia giggled again. This time decisively not bitchy, like that hyena caterwaul of the kook girl herd. This time it was comfortable.

Her thighs parted, inviting Kiara in. Her dress rode up with the movement. She wanted to rip the material with her teeth, just so she could see some more.

Sucking in a quivering breath, Sofia let out a nervous giggle. “Thanks for staying. Sometimes I feel so…invisible at these parties…so thank you…for noticing me.”

The way she said it. It was so small. She was so small. Kiara felt a fiery guilt eat at her. Her eyes quickly snapped away from the delicate flesh of her thighs and met her big round irises.

She should ask what was wrong. Try and help her— not fuck her in some bathroom at a party.

But maybe that could help. And with the way Sofia was looking at her right now, it seemed like she was thinking the same thing.

Their lips neared, Kiara’s nose brushing against her cheek. She could now smell the jasmine in her perfume and the fruit in her hair. Looking at her, you’d think she’d smell like candy— something gourmand and rich. Like vanilla cheesecake or dripping praline. But she smelled warm and floral and woody. Something bitter amidst the sweet.

The kiss started off silken. Experimental. Kiara always preferred kissing girls. Their lips were always bigger. Plumper. Wetter. She could tell this was somewhat new for Sofia with how tentative she was being. Or maybe that was just her? She tried to imagine her with a guy. Would she be sweet and submissive, doting and innocent. All wide shiny eyes and murmured pleas under a heaving mass of skin?

It didn’t take long for things to devolve into a messy overlap of tongues and saliva, the earthy taste of the weed still on their lips. Sofia became more tenacious: teeth sinking into flesh, tongue lapping harder and deeper. Kiara broke away for a breath and saw her previously light and honeyed eyes darken and muddy.

Or would she be like this? Unremitting and desperate, dominating and hungry. Breathless moans and writhing body, pushing against bulk and bulges to steal her own pleasure.

Sofia’s hands roamed up and down Kiara’s back, following the curve of her hip. Her fingers brushed past the line of her shorts, grazing the band of her underwear, borderline kneading her ass. Her palms were hot and pulsing, sending tremors straight down her legs, making it a task to stand up straight. Fuck, she could just collapse on top of her right now and lap at her dried tears.

Kiara decided to take it a step further, after gauging just how much Sofia was enjoying this.

So she let her hand travel from the back of her head, sliding through bunched up curls. Her touch descended the slope of her breasts and onto the sequins of her dress, fingertips drawing a firm line down her body until it reached her lower abdomen.

She broke apart, breathless, “can I?”

Sofia nodded at her request. A little too quickly and a little too eagerly, “please.”

And Kiara was happy to comply, hand disappearing under the gauzy pleats of fabric.

Sofia’s mouth opened, forming a pert little circle, as Kiara brushed past lace. She thought back to how Sofia held the smoke in her mouth, on the precipice of inhalation. Exhalation. Bordering the high hitting her. Here she was holding self-gratification in between her thighs, Kiara having to work apart her cunt with her long slender fingers to get to it.

She didn’t even mind how Sofia’s hands dropped completely from her body, clutching at the counter. If it was someone else Kiara would’ve thought them greedy. But whatever this was, it looked like Sofia needed it. A moment where should could hone in on her own pleasure.

She eventually seemed to realise she was leaving Kiara out, because she hooked her lips with hers again, her hands coming up the her shoulders, traipsing all the way to her chest. Kiara melted into her touch, feeling electric as these new hands explored her, warm fingers slipping past her neckline.

They stayed like that for a while, Kiara’s movements getting faster and sharper with each flick of the wrist and Sofia’s grip tightening, her gasps muffled against Kiara’s pursed lips.

That was until her phone began to vibrate in her purse.

Sofia broke away, her makeup smeared all across her face, “shit.”

Kiara stepped back to give her some space, as she fished her phone out, scrambling to answer.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, catching her breath.

Sofia nodded, “everything is fine.”

She’d seemed to slip back into that deflective armour, cold and covered up, as if she wasn’t squirming on Kiara’s fingers seconds earlier.

The phone continued to ring.

Sofia jumped off the counter, her legs wobbling slightly. Kiara bit back a smirk, as she walked across the bathroom, watching Sofia’s knees try not buckle. It looked like she still got it.

She tried not to look too pleased with herself, as Sofia answered the call.

Kiara attempted to snoop, but couldn’t hear anything on the other line. So she jumped up on to the counter where Sofia was just sitting, watching her intently, the taste of her mango lip balm still coating her mouth.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Kiara raised an eyebrow at how quickly her tone nosedived into consoling and sweet.

Sofia listened more than she talked, gnawing at her bottom lip as her free hand played with her hooped earrings, rubbing and twisting and tugging. That provoked another quirked up brow from Kiara. How did her whole demeanour just change…? Kiara could never fathom that level of shapeshifting. She was never good at playing pretend, her true feelings and emotions always threatening to push through. Concrete binaries of black and white, right and wrong, real and fake, were always so clear in her mind. There was never any grey. There was never right and wrong.

“Baby don’t worry about it. Let’s just go home yeah?”

“Okay I’ll meet you downstairs.”

And with that, she ended the call.

Sofia glanced up to see Kiara watch her, her cheeks flushed and hair moussed. She tucked a strand behind her ear, as if that was going to fix how debauched she looked. “Sorry I couldn’t uh…return the favour.”

Kiara just shook her head, “it’s all good. Maybe we could… y’know…continue this another time? Or…do you have someone waiting for you?”

Sofia’s face flashed in embarrassment, her eyes fixating on the tiles.

“I’m sorry.”

Kiara scoffed, grabbing the discarded tequila bottle on the counter.

Sofia’s eyebrows furrowed, shame giving way to insecurity, seeing Kiara annoyed at her. “What?”

But Kiara again just shook her head, taking a quick sip before answering, “you were just crying on the floor of this bathroom and now everything is okay?”

“I— I— I don’t see how that’s any of your concern?” After stumbling through her attempt of being assertive, Sofia’s mouth trembled into a frown.

“If he’s making you cry like that, anyone would be concerned, Sofia.”

“You don’t understand— he’s going through a hard time. He didn’t mean it.”

“Mean what?”

“The things he says— he— they’re not true. When he’s sad he gets angry. Not at me. But…I get pushed to the side. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“I don’t expect you to understand okay?” She suddenly snapped, angry and exasperated.

Kiara scoffed again, settling easily into self-righteousness that felt like a second skin. “I think I understand just fine.”

“No you don’t. You have it easy. You’ve won, Kiara. He’s my chance out of here okay? And he’s nice. He treats me good. He’s not perfect but no one is. I’m definitely not. I wasn’t crying because of something he did— I was crying because I messed it up!”

Kiara was stunned to silence.

Sofia’s eyes began to tear up again, but this time she wiped them away with the back of her hand in one harsh swipe, like some sort of forceful declaration. But that self-advocacy was short lived; Sofia quickly resigned herself to sniffles and regulatory breaths.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout,” she rasped, bowing her head so her curls shrouded her face.

Kiara wondered what she’d done? What elicited this level of guilt? How did she mess it up?

“It’s fine.” The words felt large and uncomfortable in her mouth. Not exactly a lie, but not the truth either. It wasn’t fine. But she didn’t know what else to say. What else could she say? Maybe there was a grey area. And Sofia fit right into it.

Sofia calmed herself, levelling her raggedy breaths. Her hands smoothed down her hair and tried their best to wipe away the amalgam of glitter and tears, before she flattened her palms at her sides, “bye Kiara.”

Kiara nodded her head, feeling an immense sadness eat at her for the girl, that same pity she felt walking into the room, returning tenfold. “Bye Sofia.”

And with that she left the bathroom.

Kiara waited a moment, drinking some more of her discarded tequila, recalling the phantom feel of her fingers sheathed in her warm cunt, wondering what grievous crimes Sofia had committed, before she finally followed suit, descending back down into the party.

Kiara was going to mingle a bit longer but decided against it, wanting nothing more than to go back home to her friends and forget about the strange girl she’d found in the bathroom.

So she left the house, and breathed in the cool night air, palming for her car keys. She thought about what Cleo and Sarah were up to. Maybe they’d go catch a movie with her— there was a midnight screening of some new horror movie in town.

As her mind endeavoured to forget Sofia, that’s when she spotted the familiar flicker of orange fabric and head of dark curls, standing between a grove of trees and bushes that lined the street.

Her eyes followed to see who she was attached to, her arms tangled up with a tall figure, stark against the streetlight.

No way. No fucking way.

Sofia stood looking up at Rafe Cameron, who was stooped down low, cradling her by the forearms.

In the soft halo of the fluorescent glow, he seemed almost…warm.

Not cold and calculating and hateful. His hands were nurturing, not mangled up into fists and chokeholds. His eyes were kind, not closed off into two subzero slits.

And the subject of his affection? The girl Kiara just fucked in the bathroom.

A million notions and questions hurtled through her head.

Instinctive thoughts that implicated Rafe.

Darker thoughts that interrogated Sofia.

Sofia.

The way she looked at him…caught between capitulation and restlessness. Between genuine sentiment and some murky duplicity. Oscillating between fixed points…thriving in a grey area. She mirrored her back and forth between self-flagellating misery and full blown pleasure— going from crying alone, tequila as her only companion, to squeezing her thighs between Kiara’s hips, arching into her body heat…

Kiara shuddered.

She reached into her pocket, ready to call Harper.

She’d forgotten how messy girls were. How fucked up and pernicious. Like pretty fruits rotting from the inside out.

Yet Kiara always wanted taste more, getting enveloped in their moreish skin. Or was it just Sofia? She couldn’t remember feeling quite like this before.

Rafe leaned down to kiss Sofia, cushioning her cheeks with soft, tender fingers.

Kiara felt sick. Finally tasting the rot. She had the urge to run out from her cover in the bushes and pull Sofia to her side. Take her away. Help her escape this island. That’s what she said, didn’t she? She wanted out.

But all Kiara did was leave them, as their kiss grew more heated— his hands travelling down to cup her ass and her arms clasping firm around his neck, both dragging and pulling at each other in the dark, until they became one shifting entity, fused together by flesh.

Kiara drove away.

The saccharine taste of mango lingered on her lips, and her fingers thrummed with the echo of lace and velvet.

She itched to scrub and forget, pressing down on the gas.

"Barry, where is he?"

Barry finally locates a suitable seat and flops down on the sofa. He sprawls out, legs wide, arms loose, dressed in new threads and a smug, easy grin as if they aren't hours away from losing everything.

"Cool it, Gone Girl," he waves it off and cracks open a beer. "He goes away, you still get your lil stipend."

The stipend was a reparation of sorts that Rafe had started paying after he got back from Lisbon. A token gesture to alleviate his own guilt for telling her to quit her job.

Sofia wasn't sure where the money was coming from exactly, but it had been flooding in, funding the Pogues' travels, paying Barry's bills, lining Sofia's pockets. She'd refused at first, of course, but he'd insisted.

Maybe he'd already known that something like this might happen.

"I don't care about the money, Bar-"

"Not what you said last time..." he grinned into his sip of beer with the a lifted pointed brow.

Sofia let the sting of those words ricochet through her chest with a disgruntled sigh.

Even now, she knew Rafe hadn't quite forgiven her. They'd been cordial, cooperative even, but never warm...never close. Maybe now they'd never get that chance to make things right again. A thick lump slid down her throat at the thought. "Look, I just...I need to see him."

Finally, she saw a flicker of familiarity in Barry again. His toothy grin dropped at her sincerity, catching the quiver and need in her voice. "Out back," he answered flatly as his own stormy eyes shifted to somewhere on the carpet. "But I wouldn't... if I were you..." he mumbled into his next sip of beer, but she was already halfway out the door.

The crowds began to thin out the further she got from the house into the expansive yard. The sticky heat of the party faded as the grass grew long and cool against her ankles. Prickling and tangling around her skin. A breeze whipped up across the water and grazed across her warm cheeks. The trees rustled, and the reeds of the marsh bent, and the dock creaked beneath the strain.

She knows she should turn back. A white rusted outdoor table sat abandoned beneath a tree adorned with haphazardly thrown string lights. A toppled chair, half-full solo cups, and an already stamped out joint still warm and smoking are the only signs of life remaining.B

Sofia's brows pinched together at the stain of a splash of liquid against the thick trunk until she spotted shattered green glass scattered through the grass beneath.

Oh

And there he is.

Her reason for coming and, no doubt, the owner of that particular projectile, was that she had prayed it had missed its target and left the other guests unscathed.

Everyone else had fled. Scurrying and fleeing and hiding, and yet there he sat silent and alone. A dark outline against the blue waters, dark shirt catching the swaying lights, but his back hunched and knees dangling as he's perched on the thick post of the dock. On the edge between green and blue, where the land meets the water.

Where she'd expected to find relief, Sofia only uncovers more dread, anticipating that her arrival would no doubt be unwelcome.

Finally

Shoupe's words echo in her ears.

Finally

He'd shown up at the bar, lamenting openly and dramatically over their mid-range scotch to her coworker about how many young men came through his doors. Talking about how many times he'd had to put kids he'd known, boys he'd seen in diapers, in prison...or worse.

He'd sounded tired, so tired, and rightly so. JJ's riot had sparked a chain reaction. A tinderbox that had ignited old feuds and discontentment that had been brewing for years. Pogues reaching the end of their tethers with Kooks, Kooks pushing Pogues back into their place, and councilmen furiously promised to crack down on crime, and then caught their own sons in the crossfire.

"You know, I...I finally nail this snotty little rich kid I've been on the tail of for years and I...I'm done. I don't care...because it's not the thing I was trying to catch him on. It...It's some other petty shit between developers...It's just Rafe and Groff squabbling over some island that I couldn't give two shits about, and now what? This kid is gonna die or rot in prison, and even if he does have someone.... somewhere pull enough strings to get him out....He'll just come back ten times worse. So...so what am I even doing anymore? Putting good kids in cells and watching their lives flash by? Or creating perfect little petri dishes for bad kids to just..."

Finally

What had he meant by finally?

Last she'd seen Rafe he'd been in a rush. Bristled, charged, pacing as always. Blustering in to interrupt her work day for information on Hollis before storming off again.

Could he have actually done it?

"R-Rafe..." She hadn't expected her steps to slow, or her voice to shake, or for her to wring her hands and shift her weight. Her stomach pooled with cold thick dread as his head lifted from the swirling bottle in his hand, but his back didn't turn.

Why was she so afraid of him? This was Rafe. Her Rafe.

She heard the faint murmuring of a dark, exasperated laugh as his head lolled back with a sigh. The stars seemed to give him no answer, and those stiff muscles and sneering tone did nothing to calm her nerves. "You've heard..."

There's no sympathy in his words. Only annoyance. Frustration. Like he's about ready to throw her pity back in her face, and her feet halt, and her hands clench into fists. "I have."

"Here to talk me out of it." Green glass catches the light as he takes a long swig of beer. God, he and Barry are so infuriating. Both deflecting. Avoiding. Full of machismo and bullshit. As if she's not the only one here having an actual sane reaction to the possibility of Rafe getting arrested tomorrow!

"Why..." Her question catches on her tongue as she tentatively step forward. He stiffens " Why aren't you in holding?"

"Shoupe sucks at paperwork..." Once he's assured that she isn't about to touch him his eyes fall back to the bottle again and murmurs, almost to himself. Nodding slow and calm. "but he'll get it..."

"Go home, Sofia"

Barry had been right. Only pain had been waiting for her out here. He was never actually going to talk. Show a crack in his armour. She didn't know why she'd expected anyway different.

"No" she brushed away frustrating premature tears for a man who was still among the living and folded her arms firmly across her chest. "Not until you tell me"

"Tell you what?" He sneered.

"That you didn't do it!"

"Who told you?" he stayed quiet and still, his voice an empty shell "John B? I should've known he couldn't keep his mouth shut for five minutes!"

"Shoupe"

"Shoupe? Shit..."

"I need you to say it. Not the cops. Not Sarah and her friends. You."

"Why?"

"Because...." her voice hitched as she tentatively stepped closer to his turned back "if it isn't true, then you need a friend."

"We're not friends."

She flinched at the bile that she probably deserved. All words fell short. How was she supposed to encapsulate years of intimacy and betrayal? Was she supposed to pull him back from this or big him goodbye? God! Why had she even come?! Now if he died he'd be forever engraved into her psyche as this cold unfeeling silhouette instead of the warm eager fiance she'd clung to beneath the rustling branches.

Fuck. He could actually die from this!

Months she'd spent hating him now felt foolish. Wasted. Months that could've been spent making amends. Earning back his friendship. Maybe even affection if she'd tried hard enough. Begged, pleaded and proved she'd changed. Make him believe that she loved him.

"And if it's true?"

"Then..." her eyes searched the discarded shards of green glass for the right way to begin. With a deep breath, her eyes lifted from those glittering scraps in the swaying lights, jagged and sharp and flickering. A sign of his bubbling rage, and yet she stayed rooted to the spot. The carnage around him provided no comfort, no reassurance, but still she stayed. Ending this as she had begun. Blind and foolish, "I had to see it for myself. The guy I knew...he would never-..." she shrugged as her words ran ahead of her and doubt seeped in, straining her voice. "I mean, maybe you could've...People talk, but I...I believe you're a good person. You try and you struggle with things and... If it's true, then you're a murderer. If it's true, you're a liar. If it's true, then you-..."

"What?"

"You'll die." Her voice cracks as the boys' indifference heightens her agony. All the pressure and weight of this particular cross miss them entirely and fall squarely on her shoulders. Crushing her bones. Squeezing her lungs. Thickening her tongue. Tears sprang into her eyes.

His fingers tremor around the bottle in the dim light as that break in her voice rips through him. He should care. He should turn and comfort her and tell her it'll all be OK...but it won't.

It's already over. Already done, and there's no point crying over it now. "So?" he shrugged and lifted the bottle to his lips again, slow and deliberate, using that silence as a moment of reprieve. If he can control the conversation, he can survive it. If she starts ranting and raving and crying, for fucks sake, he doesn't know what he'll do. "No one'll care. Look at Maybank. Look at my Dad. Who do I have? Barry? Fucking Rose..."

"She'd care."

"She wouldn't. She's already making herself right at home. Taking the business and Wheezie and the house...Fucking bitch."

"Rafe..." he flinched at the sudden hand on his shoulder, and she thankfully withdrew. "Promise me....tell me you didn't do it! That you didn't manipulate and lie and hunt this man for weeks. That you didn't leave him bleeding out in the desert like a...bug on your shoe."

"Why?"

"Because I can't do this! I can't watch you go through this. With the papers, and the trial and gossiping...."

"Then look away...You're good at that."

His jab hits his intended mark as she slips into a wounded silence. His grey eyes shifted out to the water, watching the bobbing of the waves distorts the reflection of the moon. Misrepresenting something perfect and whole and crisp as something ugly and disjointed.

But as the dock begins to creak with her departing steps, something twists in his gut. Cold and hollow and urgent. "I never said that."

She pauses, and warm relief slides down his spine. "What?"

"I never said I was a good person," he wraps his tongue in spite and contempt. Plastering over the cracks in their relationship with half-truths and ugly secrets. She put herself in this mess. Not him. "You pieced that together all on our own. I told you I was selfish, and you chose not to see it. You-"

She heard her surge forward in angry, solid steps. "Because I don't think this is you being selfish! I've seen you treat Top like shit and get into fights with Kiara. This is different. If you wanted Groff dead you would've done it in Morocco. Not thousands of miles away. You're quick. Impulsive. You don't go to war unless it's personal. Unless it's...me or Sarah...or your Dad. This is revenge. This is brutal, and you didn't have anything against him."

He slowly climbed to his feet, plastering on his best cold smile and steely eyes, and turned to tower over her. He leaned close, curling a dark stray strand of hair around his finger. Utilizing every last weapon in his arsenal. "He lost me you..."

"I did that....You'd already kicked me out. You'd already said your piece...This isn't you."

"You don't know me."

"Maybe..." he felt an odd sense of relief as she paused to wipe trickling tears away in frustration. That meant he was hitting nerves and getting to the nub, and maybe she'd finally relent. "But I don't hear you confessing either."

Fuck.

He spoke too soon. His frustration bubbled over as she wouldn't just take the hint. Why labour the point? Why add fear and grief to his already scattered sense? Why pull on this thread and pull and pull until it unravels? Sarah needed Kie. This baby was coming, and she needed her. He already had a record. No one would blink twice if he came forward. It was a simple switch. A necessary one. "Why are you doing this? Why are you so sure about this? It's done. Leave it."

"No. It can't be done."

"Why?!"

"Because if you did it then I-..." she caught herself just in time, but the words still echo in his head. She'd been a fool. An idiot. Loving him. Fucking him. Living with him while ghosts and ghouls danced beneath their bed. Letting him touch her with those blood-soaked hands and kiss her with that sullied tongue. She'd let him lie to her and let herself believe it.

Technically, that was true.

"Shhh..." he gently wiped the tears from her cheeks, and she collapsed into his chest without warning with a quiet whimper. He stiffened, ill-equipped for this kind of intimacy and tangled so tightly in his own mess that he struggled to keep his story straight. She clung tightly to him, sniffling into his black cotton shirt.

It was all over now. There was no point rehashing old lies and omissions. Peterkin was gone. There was no fixing that. His dad had taken the fall, and that was done. Ward had died in the backwaters of the jungle like a chump, but at least it hadn't been on the floor of their private jet from the wounds of Rafe's own creation.

Still, the weight hung over him. Not absolution. He wasn't seeking that. That was meant for other people. People like his Dad, who were always after the next thing. Who actually wanted to climb higher and do better. He just wanted peace. A reprieve from his screaming thoughts. Relief from the lead thickening in his veins.

So he let her believe it.

He sank into that make-believe again, wrapping his arms tightly around her and letting his words murmur softly against her hair.

"I did do it in Morocco. He told me what you'd done. I snapped." he rattled off every rehearsed detail like it was the morning news. Detached. Clinical. Simple. He felt her shrink inside his embrace and her muscles stiffen and freeze. "He sliced my hand open, and I left him for dead. Then..." she pulled back to examine him closely with those narrow brown eyes. Unnerving and penetrating. He steadied himself and carried on, pushing a hair behind her ear and letting his face contort in a twisted smile and vacant stare. "When he showed up in Lisbon, I went...and I finished the job." The horror in her eyes was a welcome relief at long last. "I'm not the man you think I am....I never was....so you can grieve him nor later. Both are fine by me, but you're just delaying the inevitable....might as well get this over with.."

Let me go.

With a trembling, teary kiss to his lips, she was gone.

tropes: nsfw, mdni, regret, emotional hurt/comfort, strip poker, strip tease, foreplay, grinding, fingering, hickeys, masturbation (m), dirty talk, protected sex, kitchen sex, discussion of toys, does it count as premature ejaculation if you managed to keep yourself together through like three rounds of foreplay? tbf he did well, trauma (ward). i'm tempted to add "faking it" but that's sofia's private business.

It's been days and yet he can still feel the sickening drop in his stomach at her soft flinch from his offered kiss. That subtle shift had echoed in the silence. Her sharp inhale against his cheek. The rustle of the sheets as she pulled away. His veins that had been deliciously molten only moments before had immediately frozen over.

So you want that but not this?

How dare she be the one to turn him down after everything she'd done? How dare she use him as some empty fuck, dangle it over his head, and then not want to be with him? She'd put him on the back foot, on the back burner, like an idiot.

Rafe tried his best to push down that frustration at her hesitation and be present...grateful. She was still here. She was still giving him a chance even after how callous he'd been before.

If the summer ended and she said no, at least they'd still had this sliver of time.

It had been a perfect sun-soaked day. His white linen shirt and swimming trunks hung lazily off his frame. His watch and rings were warm against his skin as they soaked up the sun. A soft breeze rushed over his short hair as he trailed dutifully behind her up the sidewalk to the little shack of a place she now called home.

His eyes ran over her smooth, tanned back with the knots of her lilac bikini and little teal wrap skirt taunting him. She flung open the white picket gate with dramatic flair, beaming with such pride and welcoming him into the intimacy of her quiet home.

Surely that meant something.

Thin tortoise-shell sunglasses hold back her dark, damp curls as she waves him through, and her gold thin jewelry glistens in the sun as she shields her eyes from the glare.

"This way to the VIP section." It's adorable how she can barely make it through her own joke without giggling. It only worsens once she gets the gruff grumble and eye roll out of him that he knew she'd been hoping for.

"You're mean," he growls, he grabs her in a loose headlock and pretends to bite at her neck. His hands are too full with totes and towels to fully pounce on her but his harsh sharp teeth melt into a soft smile in the private crook of her neck as she squeals and squirms.

"I am... but it was funny! You were working your ass off!" she continued to tease, but gently cradled his forearm to her chest as his hand slipped to her shoulder. They walked towards the door warm and entangled, her head fell back against him and their steps slowed as they lingered close. Her flip flops and his slides slapping against the stone path.

"I was."

She giggled at how easily he'd been to read in the beginning. She'd played along with his little house tour, pretending not to notice. Pretending that that night was going to end up any other way than the way it did.

Let him have his fun. Let him think it had been a subtle, slow seduction.

"So transparent…"

"Shut up..." He groaned against her ear, and she relented wrapping herself in the warmth of his embrace and the lingering scent of salt on his skin.

His voice dropped to a low proud murmur against her skin "It worked. Didn't it?"

A bright beam broke out across her face, and she shoved him off. With a soft bite of her lip, she focused on unlocking the door instead of the burning in her cheeks.

After lunch, they settled into a game of poker in her quaint, tiny kitchen in her small sunny bungalow. She made a jug of margarita mix and added tequila to her own glass as she went, eyeballing her measurements.

A soft, comfortable silence settled in as they sat at a round, cluttered table with her feet stretched out, resting on his thigh. She enjoyed the solidness of the muscle beneath her calf and the tickling of his hair against her skin. All that could be heard was the chirping of birds and the slip-slapping of their cards hitting the table.

"We should make this interesting…" He murmured as he subconsciously massaged her foot while he chose his next move.

"Are you bored?"

"No... just an idea."

" We're not wearing enough clothes, and you make more money than me."

He snorted a soft laugh and let the game carry on, but then, despite her protests, Sofia started to slip off an accessory each time she lost. It would make for a more drawn-out version of the usual rules for strip poker, but she saw it spark his interest nonetheless.

After a brief hesitation, he followed suit. Before long, he'd lost the sunglasses from his pocket, his watch, his other ring, and she's about to go for Ward's ring when he finally acknowledged her surprising, sudden victory.

"Since when are you good at this?"

"I've always been good at this." She grins into her next sip, the cool liquid soothes her throat and makes the heat bearable. "I'm just not a good liar."

"You seemed pretty good to me." He tosses back casually, not looking up from his cards, while she feels her stomach drop.

She chokes on her drink and gapes at him as he drags the past into their present so calmly. Her wide eyes shot to his, anticipating a fight, but he's completely unfazed. Her Rafe would've snipped and snarled and held onto that for weeks. This Rafe simply pouted and shrugged and let it run smooth and clear off his back.

Her silent shock lasted a little too long and her cheeks flush in embarrassment. But he just laughed? And kept playing his turn as if nothing had happened? It turned her world on its head.

Ducking her head, she laughed weakly and busied herself with rearranging her cards. "You also knew all my tells."

He grinned, no doubt suppressing the urge to flirt that he knew a great many of her tells and not all of them poker related.

"And I threw the games for you."

His smug smirk vanished. "You what?"

"Yeah! I let you win most of the time."

"No you didn't?!" His voice cracked with a childish wounded ego.

"Yes I did! Ask Kelce! He's the only one who's ever actually beaten me. "

The confused pout has now turned into a full furrowed, frustrated scowl that she revelled in with a beam. Joy and desire flickered in her stomach. Her eyes gleam with delight as she watches him over the next sip from her glass.

She'd promised herself they wouldn't fall straight back into bed and have that be all they were. This time was meant to help her decide. It needed to be different...wholesome. They should make the most of the summer and talk things out. Fixing things should be their top priority.

And yet, having him here in her home, bathed in sunlight, frowning at his cards, and lazily, beautifully disheveled, begins to wear down her resolve.

Her fingers itch as his hair catches the golden light, her tongue protests against her closed mouth as he pouts in thought, the skin of her thighs envies her ankles for being beneath his fingers.

He's both incredibly beautiful and completely delectable.

She pushed herself back into the game again, staring intently at her cards. Staring at anything but him.

"When did you play strip poker with Kelce?" There's a crackle of hot jealousy in his voice as he spits out those words.

"Normal poker." She corrected and reassured as they kept playing "Rebecca's birthday. It was the end of the night and you were out cold." She won Ward's ring and slipped it on her thumb. The only place it'll fit. "You were ok. I checked. I did my girlfriend duty."

"I believe you," he murmurs. Hesitant grey eyes linger on the ring on her thumb for a moment, and her foolish daydreaming stops. She freezes momentarily and watches him closely as fear tangled in her gut. Had she crossed a line? Should she take it off? "I forgot about Bex…"

Once again, he surprised her by simply carrying on.

"She was nice…Pity about them."

"Yeah…"

Maybe it wasn't wise to be discussing breakups with this particular opponent.

A solemn silence seeps in around them, replacing the earlier ease. Now it's all awkward half smiles that brush their lips, and sad eyes that don't know whether to look up or down. Shaking off that dark heaviness, she dealt them another hand and let the dust settle for a moment.

Rafe suddenly broke through the quiet in a serious, soft voice, but with his eyes firmly fixed on his cards. "You didn't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Play dumb."

"Yes I did." She focused on making her next move instead of the nerves bubbling up in her chest and the twitching in her hands. "You're a sore loser. "

That quiet serious silence only worsened. Their cards shuffle and thwack against the wooden table and he wins the privilege of watching her stand and unwrap her teal skirt. What should be a moment of flirting and fun now feels hollow and strained as their moods dip. His jaw ticks.

"I don't want you to have to be afraid of me."

Tentative big blue eyes slowly raise to hers, full of apologies he's never said, as she catches what he murmured. Her heart lodges in her throat.

When she doesn't immediately react, she sees him panic, pupils dilating, and his gaze quickly darting away as the moment of bravery vanishes. His tongue runs over his bottom lip as if to brush those words away. Pretend they never happened.

Her heart pounds and her tongue becomes tangled as he twitches and shifts nervously in his seat and fidgets with his shirt and he checks his cards.

He folds.

By the time her mind and heart have caught up with the conversation he's hiding from her, head ducked, eyes uncertain, and her heart aches at the sight. Her brows drop and crinkle in concern.

Rafe...

With a deep breath, Sofia braces herself and closes the distance between them and lifts his gaze to hers. Holding his eye, she gently brushes her thumb back and forth over his chin and pours every ounce of warmth she can into her soft brown eyes. "So don't give me a reason to be."

While her words are firm her touch stays soft. She needs him to know exactly where the lines are but also believe that she's here. She's staying. She cares.

He nods quickly with a puppy-like eagerness that fills her stomach with a heavy sickening weight.

"I won't" he promises and her heart aches. How can he give her this much? How can he make such grand promises to her when he didn't even know if she was still going to love him tomorrow?

This deal of waiting till the end of summer was so unfair to him! Why did he ever agree to it?! What if all this was for nothing?! He's laying himself bare before her and she might never love him back. She can almost see the altar before her now and feel the weight of the blade in her hand.

"I think you won" he doesn't notice her distress too wrapped up in his own relief at her half acceptance of his half apology.

It takes her a moment to collect her thoughts and reach over the table to reveal her winning hand. "I did, yeah"

He laughs with a brilliant smile.

The intimacy of their conversation reduces everything down to a thick palpable sweetness. She doesn't want to raise her voice above a murmur or step too far out of his reach. The air around them feels silky and warm and welcoming.

"Well..." he shrugs in nonchalant surrender and reaches for the top button of his shirt.

She stays silent and still, transfixed by his elegant weathered hands unhooking each individual button slowly. His blue eyes flicker as he watches her reaction curiously. She's distracted by small scars and notches on his fingers and the stray freckles and hairs peeking through the gap in the fabric on his otherwise smooth clear chest. He keeps going until she can see the shadow of edge of his chest and she finally reaches out one firm hand to stop him.

He pauses. His eyes narrow, examining her, but he doesn't protest as she pulls his hands away. His tongue runs over his bottom lip again, and he leans forward to reach for his drink to clear the lump in his throat.

His arm brushes her hip. His hair brushes her chest as she hovers above him. He sits back again, not lounging and cocky but up straight and at full attention. The ice rattles as he sips the cool liquid, watching and waiting. Sweat trickling down the hollows and veins of his neck.

She takes his glass and sets it aside.

He freezes.

Before he knows it, she's straddled him, her hips pressed to his, her chest almost within reach, and she can feel him tremble beneath her and catch the way his eyes widen. She pushes down the urge to smirk. Good, she's gotten his attention.

She leans back just enough to keep unbuttoning his rather expensive shirt for him...slowly....carefully. Her fingers shake ever so slightly, and she chews on her bottom lip in concentration.

He watches her closely, quiet and patient, his eyes running over her swimsuit that's dangerously close to his teeth, and he runs a cool, wet thumb over her worn, plump lip. A delicious shiver ripples through her jaw.

She slips him out of his shirt, shoulder by shoulder, warm hands brushing his bones, and he swallows thickly as she seems to have stunned him into silence now. She smiles, and pinches the shirt between her fingers, and lets it drop to the floor with a dramatic flair.

Even though she's claimed her prize now, she doesn't withdraw, doesn't retreat. She could scurry back to her seat and deal them another hand, but instead she settles in.

Her thighs slide back up his own until they're chest to chest again. Her fingers innocently comb through his hair, tugging at the ends, stroking it. Noticing how much longer it's gotten.

"What are you going to do with your hair?"

"I haven't decided yet." She watches curiously as he closes his eyes and soaks in her touch. "What'd you reckon?"

She beams, pushing herself to ignore the distracting bulge beneath her thin swimsuit and focus on the simple veneer of this conversation.

"I like it a little longer like this. It's soft. It's mature." Her hand slowly slips down from his hair to his temple to his cheek, tracing the slopes and peaks of his face. High cheekbones, new wrinkles, dark circles, tiny freckles. He's changed so much in these few years and yet is somehow also still the same.

"Mature?" he parrotted.

"Mhm," she murmured softly with no hint of irony, as his warm, large hands settled on her thighs. "Professional."

He snorted openly now, breaking the soft, quiet intimacy for a moment. " You think I'm professional?"

"No" she shrugged with an innocent debating pout, readjusting her position to press her hips to his, pretending not to notice the way he shifted and twitched. "I think you're a little shit," she grinned, hooking a finger under his chin, "but the other developers don't need to know that."

"Hmm..." He muttered into thought, lifting a hand to gently cup the back of her head. "Clever girl..."

She went willingly, slotting her lips perfectly in place with his.

As expected, they never knew how to do things by halves. A teasing kiss quickly descended into warring tongues, clutching hands, and rolling hips.

"I miss your dark hair," he grunted between open sloppy kisses against her neck as his hips lifted to meet her own.

"You do?"

"Mhm..." he whimpered softly beneath his breath, and a bolt of dark pride shot through her at that sound. "You look like a... n-nanny or a Barbie or some shit..."

"And that isn't hot?"

"No, it is…" he trailed kisses down her throat, slowly as he reached her chest. "It definitely is... but fuck that sweet and innocent routine…" his dark eyes lifted, hooded and hazy, as they found hers. His chin nestled against her soft skin, and his hands locked firmly around the small of her back. "That's not you." Her heart jolted, caught between the sincerity in his words and the glint in his eyes. "That's not …all of you."

She tugged his head up to hers and crashed her lips down onto his with a muffled groan.

It felt so good to be with him. Touched by him. Seen by him.

To not have to tiptoe or instruct or pretend to be sweeter and holier than she was. No first dates. No batted eyelashes. No conservative covered dresses.

She could lounge about in her bikini and feel his eyes follow her. She could grind against that thick line in his swimsuit without shame. It was intoxicating. Freeing.

Between heavy pants and hazy heat, he hooked his thumbs up and under the ties of bikini bottoms at her hips, brushing over the smooth, delicate skin. With a muffled whine against his temple, Sofia placed both her hands over his and shifted them to grip the delicate bows.

Pulling back, he gives her a brief questioning look. A generous pause right before all hell would break loose, and she beamed at that formality. That smile was all he needed, and he hurriedly untied her and discarded the thin strip of purple fabric on the floor with his shirt.

"Fuck...." Hungry blue eyes followed his hand as he trailed a large, warm, open hand slowly down her stomach from just below her chest all the way to between her thighs.

With a shaky huff puffing out of her nose, she bit her lip and lowered herself into his waiting palm. Both their eyes locked in on that space between them. Before he'd even moved, her head fell back with a moan at that warmth and pressure against her damp folds. He felt just like she remembered and yet somehow better at the same time.

Everything felt magnified. Heightened. Maybe it was the tequila or the summer sun, or having been away for so long. But simple touches sent shudders through her. A look in his eyes or a flick of his tongue sent heat pooling between her legs.

It wasn't long before he had her unravelled, shaking, weeping as he pushed her beyond her limits again and again.

Dark, damp hair stuck to her forehead. Tight white knuckles clung to his shoulders to keep her from falling. And her hips jerked and bounced with the pumping of his fingers, stuttering and failing as exhaustion threatened to set in before he'd even had a chance to feel that release himself.

It was only fair that his self-restraint would begin to waver as she rocked in his lap and moaned against his hair. "Please…." a feeble curse stuttered out between surprisingly earnest begs. "Please let me…" he buried his face in her neck, sweat and saliva slick against her skin, and his free arm tightened around the small of her back. "Fuck Sof..."

"I know, baby..." she panted, gently cupping his wrist and slipping his fingers out of her with a flinch. "Just a little longer," she soothed, catching her breath as she smoothed his hair and kissed his forehead. She slipped back up his thighs to near his knees again so she could guide his damp, aching hand inside his trunks and wrap it around his throbbing length. He hissed in pain and she slowed her movements, coaxing his through a few gentle tugs with calming words and soft hands, before she left him to his own devices.

"Tell me what you want, baby." She whispered against his lips with a slow kiss, and she caught the flicker of a grin on his face at that authoritative tone. He looked so beautiful like this. Untethered. Unincumbered. Submitted.

She clambered off his lap and let him continue. Her weak legs staggered slightly as she went in search of a condom. And while she looked, Rafe painted a picture for her in excruciatingly slow and sordid detail.

This afternoon is a good chance to do this just for fun. Not making up. Not making love. Just because.

Despite his cocky grin, he started to whimper at his own words, caught in his own trap, and the chair started to creak from his effort.

"Patience, baby," She beamed at those delicious sounds. That was the Rafe she remembered. The strain in her voice is the only victory she'll give him as he cruelly whips out every dirty trick in the book. Her handbag is full of empty wrappers, but nothing is actually useful. Damnit. "Use your words."

She rifled through his wallet, but the options she found were damaged or expired. She stares at the date on one of them, wondering if these were from The Before Times. Her heart ached at the thought, but she pushed it away.

His fantasy got longer and dirtier the more time she took. He even peppers in his own dialogue just to test old buttons and switches in her brain that she'd kept hidden the other evening.

She finally admitted defeat with a groan and turned to her last resort. The bedside table. She rummaged through the drawers, acutely aware of him only a few feet away. Her cheeks and neck redden. Unfortunately, she succeeds in finding a whole stack. They're still good, too. Her heart sinks.

He noticed her shift in mood and immediately froze. His hand stills, and his face turned pale and cold.

Sofia crossed the room slowly and tugged him to his feet so she could slip him out of his swim shorts. His fingers ghosted over the bottom edge of her bikini top, grazing the soft underside of her breasts.

Even though he's there, bare before her, just like she'd wanted, a weight still hung over her. Something she couldn't shake. She nodded sheepishly at his silent request, sullen and distracted. His brows furrow at that hesitation, and he decides to pull her into his arms instead.

Rafe pressed a long, soft kiss to her forehead, her temple, her cheekbone as his fingers slid up to the ties of her bikini around her back. "What's wrong?"

"These weren't meant for you," she holds up the wrapped condoms between two fingers with big brown eyes and wobbling pout. Maybe she's a little tipsy and emotional, but the wave of nostalgia and regret hits her suddenly and hard, knocking the wind out of her. What are they doing standing here as strangers when they could've been married by now?

"Will they fit?" He asked matter-of-factly as he succeeded in undoing the tie on her back and shifted to the one around her neck.

Her cheeks flushed as she examined the situation, taking him in properly for the first time. She nods reluctantly, but her sad eyes linger there until he removes her bikini and tilts her chin up to his eyeline. "Then who cares why you bought them?!"

"You do!" she groans petulantly and pulls him into a tight hug, burying her face in his chest. She feels his soft laugh reverberate against her temple.

After a brief silence, he slowly lifts her head from that hiding place and lets her rest her chin against his skin."Is this about me or him?"

"You. We wasted so much time"

"I mean yeah…" He gently brushes her hair off her shoulders so it falls down her back. "I hate that anyone else got to touch you" his hands slide down to cup her ass. "And I hate that other people got to make you feel this good," he shrugs as he finally admits, "But that's not on you."

"No one's like you…" She breathed, pushing herself out of this funk and instead reminding herself why being apart had felt so painful. Why no one else had been able to replace him. She trailed soft, earnest kisses down the middle of his chest. "I wish we could erase everyone else…." Her kisses shifted lower and grew more lingering, more purposeful. "Till it's only us. Only you." She finally reached her intended destination and licked a long, smooth line up the underside of his length, and it nearly broke him.

His fists clenched at his sides and his mind seemed to short circuit as she licked him clean. "We can try to replace it…" he murmured, eyes closed, mouth hanging open as she checked if he was ready before sliding the protection on.

A giggle slipped out of her lips at the most inopportune moment and she saw his blissful slack jaw twist into scowl. "You know the rules. No laughing"

"No, not that," she pecked his covered tip to prove her point. "You're burnt," She ran her comparably cold hands over the bright pink skin high on his thighs, and that collision between hot skin and cool fingers sent shivers up his spine.

With a brillaint victorious gleam in her eyes Sofia turned to clear a spot on the table and hopped up on the edge. Rafe opened his eyes just as she downed the rest of her margarita and her eyes suddenly widened as she realized what she'd done.

Shit.

Tequila.

"Is this ok?" she waved the empty glass at him.

He chuffed a soft, sweet laugh she hadn't heard in years and stepped between her legs. Without answering, he simply reached past her to run his thumb over the rim of the glass. He straightens slowly and spreads the salt over her lips, top then bottom, burning eyes watching her mouth part for him. For a fraction of a second, she almost thought he'd plunge his thumb straight into her mouth, but then he instead raised it to his lips and slowly sucked and licked the rest of the salt and residue.

She stared, mesmerized.

"It's ok," he breathed, shifting them back into that soft, low tone once more, where movements slowed and voices dropped to a whisper.

She shifted impatiently, smoky half-lidded eyes still lingering on his mouth. Heat pooling and twitching between her thighs.

Rafe's eyes flickered over her face, and he grinned at her adorable mix of surprise and arousal. Clearing his throat for a moment, he cupped her face in his hands and lifted her lips to his.

Groaning softly at that glorious mix of salt and sweetness, he trailed messy, slow kisses across her lips and pecked and licked until they were clean. His voice stayed soft and private. "How ' you feeling?"

"Good… Ready…." she whispered and deepened the kiss, and the taste of tequila hit him right between the eyes. He surged forward and devoured her whole, pushing her back onto the table, relishing in that forbidden flavor on her lips, inside her cheek, and soaking on her tongue.

Before he knew it they were entangled again, and things were hurtling too quickly towards the comparison he dreaded the most.

What if this paled in comparison to the other evening?

Before, they'd been in a hurry. Caught up in the reunion. In the substances in her system. In the privacy of the empty home without Sarah or John B.

The other night could easily be chalked up to the intensity of makeup sex. Everything had been heightened and that much more euphoric. This was the stark light of day, and he still hadn't quite figured out how to do this clean and sober.

What if it was shit?

"Please..." That unfinished sentence comes out of her lips in a surprising, sudden whine, startling him from his thoughts. That strain in her voice provoked an aching throb to jolt through. Fuck, if she kept talking like that, he'd be just fine. "Rafe..."

He grinned at that beg and straightened up to tug her closer by her thighs. That sudden shit brushed his length right up against her dripping folds, and she rutted herself against him in response, with a loud, intoxicating groan.

She already looked gorgeously heaven-bound, and he hasn't even done anything yet.

Eyes closed. Lips swollen and trembling. Her hair fell messily around her shoulders, soft in places and sweaty in others. It spread out on the table and wrapped around her neck and shoulders, sticking to her skin.

Her makeup had started to sweat off, revealing the map of kisses he'd carved into her neck and chest the other night, and more are scattered beneath his hands on her thighs. Dotted dark islands and atolls spread all over her skin. Recording the course of that evening. Claiming her as his again.

God, he'd missed this.

She's so quiet, almost like all her focus is tied up in anticipation. Like she's willing him to do it. Suppressing panting breaths. Her body was fully rigid and waiting.

He held her still with one hand on her hip, and her hand suddenly shot to grip his wrist in a death grip.

There it is.

There's the demand.

She bites down hard on her bottom lip, and instead, the shaky huffs puff out of her nose. Fuck, he can feel her skin tremoring.

"Breathe, baby…" he murmured, subconsciously licking his lips as he focused intently on guiding himself in. "I've got you..."

He slid in like a dream. Perfect and slick and tight and warm, and it nearly undid him. The rest unfolded in a heated, hazy mess until he found himself hurtling too quickly over the edge and unable to bring her with him. The chance slipping through his fingers, fumbling and clamouring as he lost it.

The shame of that failure burned in his cheeks as they lay in her bed now, in heavy silence.

"It's fine."

"No, it isn't."

"Rafe..." she sighed, lifting her head from his chest, but he refused to meet her eyes. "Look at me. I'm fine."

"Fine," he parroted with a scoff. As "fine" was good enough! "You didn't..." he bit back an angry growl, not wanting her to misunderstand him. He grit his teeth and pushed his tired limbs back up again. "Give me a minute..." he leaned over to riffle through her bedside drawer. "I can just..."

"Rafe..." He emptied the contents of nearly every drawer in the compartment in quick succession, hunting furiously for something, anything to fix the situation. "Rafe, look at me."

"No. I can find it."

"It's not there!"

"But"

"Stop!" She finally grabbed his cheek and forced him to meet her eyes. He froze. That determined, narrowed stare on his face quickly melted into wide, timid panic. Big blue eyes searched hers for answers and a wobbling pout.

"I'm a fucking idiot...I should've..."

"I said that I don't care. Listen to me!" she ordered, and he fell in line, cowering slightly. "I don't..." she sighed at that unintended fear, simply trading one kind of terror for another. "Baby, I don't mind. The rest of it was...amazing and I don't care about..." she tread ever so carefully around those sensitive points "about everything being perfect, or...what you do...or how you perform...I'm not grading you, I'm not comparing you, what mattered was that it was me and you. I just want you..."

Slowly, she saw belief register on his face, and with a soft exhale, he leaned over to kiss her.

"You know…." he murmured thoughtfully as some color began to return to his face. "That thing you said earlier about wanting it to just be us? No past or whatever. That almost sounded like…a yes?" Grief quickly melted into excitement. Why was she grieving the lost time and wasted lovers if she didn't want him back?

She beamed at the audacity of him already trying to bend the rules of their agreement this early on. Trying to speed up the timeline so she'd take him back now instead of in a few weeks. Sneaky bastard. She pointed a chiding finger at him. "Not yet"

He feigned innocence and pulled her lips to his again.

"Wait...Did you seriously think I took the time to pack a dildo?!"

"I don't know your priorities!"

"You're an idiot..."

Her voice is assertive. It doesn’t wobble or shrink or waver. Her legs are firm. Her back is straight. She tilts her chin up. Like other girls do. Like Ruthie does when Topper makes a dumb joke. Like Lola does when a clubgoer has wandering hands. Like Kie did that day on the beach. She mirrors them, meticulously. Methodically. That defiant furrow of the brow. The curved disdain in the lip. She feels like hot molten glass being blown into something sturdy and searing. Usually she’s like glass that’s been cooled. Annealed. Shot through with pretty colours, a Fragile: Handle with Care label slapped onto it. Laughing nervously when it’s Rafe who makes a dumb joke; freezing up when the patrons get too touchy; wondering what she’d do if his friends had dumped a fucking drink on her worthless pogue head.

She’d probably wait for Rafe to come and drag her on to her feet and clean her up— she’d try to ignore the shame in his face when he sees her tears mix with the syrupy liquid, the salt and the sugar dripping past her pouted lips onto her bitten tongue.

No. No fuck that. He’s apologising. He’s sorry.

For treating you like shit. I’m sorry for dragging you everywhere like a dog on a leash. I’m sorry for speaking over you at parties. I’m sorry for fucking you too roughly sometimes. I’m sorry for crying in your arms like a pathetic bitch. I’m sorry for never telling you anything, no matter how patient and sweet you are. I’m sorry for making you quit your job. I’m sorry for throwing you out of my house with nothing. You’re everything to me, you’ve been there when I had no one. You’ve given me your all, baby, I’m so sorry it took me this long to see that. You believed me and loved me when no one else did, Sofia. And I’m grateful for that.

She’ll listen and remain stone faced. Features smooth and scorched and solidifying.

She’ll wonder where the anger is in his eyes. He’s always so angry. Never at her. Just…near her. She’d always feel it, radiating off of him, waves and waves of scalding, bubbling, barely concealed rage that sits under his skin like an unlanced boil. Its ugly. Pus filled. Infectious. Making her sick. She’d try to ignore it. But there was always something nasty about Rafe Cameron. He’d try to hide it.

But the infection runs deep. This time she doesn’t let his purulent soul infect her too.

She rejects him. Mirroring, meticulous, methodical. Ruthie’s acrid laugh. Lola’s stinging slap. Kie’s virulent words.

And he takes it. And she walks away with the dignity that he quashed a long time ago, restored in her.

But deep down, in the pit of her stomach and heart and self, the places where she pushes everything down, down, down…she knows her and Rafe are not like that. She’s not like that.

Rafe will return. Storming into her life like a bull let out into the arena. And Sofia’s the matador. Except she has no idea what the fuck she’s doing, dressed in that red bikini he likes, ready to be impaled by his horns. What’s the saying? A bull in a china shop? China, glass, whatever the fuck it is— it’s solid and unchanging. Stuck in a perpetual state of precaution and self preservation. Pretty, pretty Sofia. Gold skin translucent in the light. He sometimes traces the faint skeins of blue veins under her milky cutis, flowing like the decals on porcelain. He presses hard occasionally, until her flesh pulps around his fingertip. She imagines it going all the way through. Blood blossoms from the lesion. He’s always said she’s looked good in red.

His hands won’t ask for permission when they grab her. He won’t be rough but he’ll be fast. He shakes her as he yells. She’ll wonder if it’s voluntary. If he means to rattle her bones like that. Or is he so desperate to bark out his feelings he can’t see her body tremble with each lurch of his chest?

His anger will be so overwhelming that it’s the only thing she notices. It’s putrid. Asphyxiating. She feels him start to infect her. Attacking her immune system until she shrivels up and wilts.

Her tongue weighs down with apologies she doesn’t even know why she’s saying. She just wants him to stop— she just wants him to want her back.

She isn’t like Ruthie, or Lola or Kie.

She’s Sofia. And she loves him. Even when her body is screaming at her to get away. Attack him! Dispel him! Cleanse herself of him!

But she will take the flecks of spit as they land on her cheeks and take the residue of sweat from his wet palms when it presses on her recoiled forearm, all with a penitent brow and abject frown.

She’ll feel herself fracture as he froths with that ruptured rage, the abscess burst, spilling on to the broken pieces of her body she struggles to hold together.

Then the anger percolates so seamlessly into something salacious. Forgiveness, growth, amnesty, wrapped up thickly in swathes of florid skin and greedy lips, tied up in a tight little bow, just begging to be pulled undone.

He still overflows.

When he licks her up and down with salvia from trailing kisses, douses her in his sanctimonious tears, coats her in his cum. He drips in between the cracks and fissures of her, so that they’re melded. She almost swears she can hear an apology when he’s like this.

Sorry sorry

Muffled against her clavicle, the words feverish and fuzzy and indecipherable. She doesn’t acknowledge them. Lord knows what he’s sorry for. And she doesn’t want to be his God.

Her fingers scrape his scalp; the pads push him closer to her breastbone.

She’ll burn red-hot. Red faced, sweaty, fucked out and spent. Burning where he’s touched her. Infected her.

She isn’t beautiful blown glass, hot and limitless. She’s stuck. And if she pulls away from him she’ll break.

So, Sofia settles for dreaming up apologies from his pretty pink lips, knowing they will never come.

JJ grimaced, clearly disgusted at the thought of this rant spiralling into a DMC with his least favourite person, but relucantly played along.

"Jackpot, buddy boy!" he winked at him with a finger gun that made Rafe want to hurl. "He doesn't...Your Dad pulled so much smoke and mirrors bullshit to Houdini himself out of that one that we're the only ones who know." The blond drew a circle with his beer bottle, gesturing to the others Pogues scattered about the sun-soaked Poguelandia 2.0 as golden hour glistened on the water and warmed their skin. Rafe's eyes fell to the swirling liquid, greedily. " The Secret Circle of Trust."

"Makes you feel a lil crazy, huh?" John B chirped up from his spot on the floor where he'd been lying so quietly Rafe had almost forgotten he was there.

"Yeah...."

"Anyway!" JJ slapped him on the back a little too familiarly. "He's too busy with that new girl...whatshername....to bother with you."

Both of his hands gripped the decrepit wooden rattan frame of the porch seat tightly as he shakily grumbled, "She's not his new girl."

"You know her...." John B pieced together and pounced, wisely, to quickly slam a hand over JJ's mouth, whose brows had immediately lifted at Rafe's prickly growl.

"Yeah. We were..." his brows knit together as something deep and aching and foreign swirled up his throat and around his tongue. The months came rolling back to him in flashes. Sleepless nights where she'd talked him through his grief. Lazy mornings where she'd always have to salvage his attempt at making her breakfast. Sunny afternoons and... "whatever"

JJ tapped on John B's wrist to free him.

"Your ex." John B puffed a sympathetic whistled exhale "That sucks...."

Rafe nodded silently, grey eyes now focused somewhere far out on the horizon.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Classic Top...."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Mhm...No loyalty."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"What, JJ?!" John B finally relented and JJ blurted out his question with all the volume and urgency and exuberance of the unruly toddler he was.

"Isn't she a Pogue?!"

Yeah, she was a Pogue, but she was...different. She didn't look at him with disdain (back then, at least) but curiosity and kindness, and patience.

He didn't feel like an enemy around her. He felt normal. He felt welcome. Being around her felt safe and still and calm. Like that sunlit porch conversation had stretched on forever and soaked each interaction following it in honey and warmth. He couldn't shake it.

She'd barely caught a glimpse of him and somehow deemed him worthy. That was exactly why he'd had to get the fuck out of there as fast as possible.

She'd let him talk. Let him vent, and he knew. He knew when the wave of grief finally properly hit, she'd let him fall apart.

Not the little twists of pain or the glistening tears he could shove back down. No, he'd be hit by the full force of a hurricane that would knock him off his feet, and he didn't want to break. He didn't want to cry and fall apart and let her see that ugliness inside of him. So he called a gold-digging bitch and kicked her out without a second thought.

He wouldn't say she bore it like a saint. She drank too much and flirted too obviously in front of him. She threw herself into her work and got weirdly stubborn about little things. Like who got to keep the groceries she'd bought for them, or keeping his clothes, or wanting to stay in touch with his friends.

She didn't even like his friends?!

"Hey..."

The country club was packed and rowdy, and yet she still managed to find him sulking and leaning against the nearest wall, eating his feelings now that alcohol was no longer an option. His plate was stacked high with salty, fatty goodness that his PT would kill him for in the morning.

Of course, she'd be the one to find him.

Sofia shifted her weight awkwardly between her feet and clutched her flowing white sundress in tight fists. "If um..." she tried again, brown eyes sneaking up to his. "If you wanna..." she gestured with a thumb back over to where Kelce and Topper were doing shots. "I can go. If you don't want me here. If it's weird. I can-"

"Go," he shrugged with a nod in the boys' direction as he popped a fry into his mouth. "You see them more than I do."

She flinched at that bite to his words, and he examined her more closely.

His hair was curled again. Like it had been when they were together. She had her go-to "date makeup" on with a touch of silk glitter across her eyes and a bit of extra highlighter dusted across her chest. She was wearing her expensive white push-up bra that was a bitch to keep clean and even harder to unclasp. She wasn't wearing her usual shapeless casual halter necks and slip dresses but something new and form-fitting up top and flowy and short below.

She was trying. And trying hard. For who? The Kooks?

Maybe she did like his friends after all. Maybe this whole thing had been a way to get close to Topper through him. Maybe she'd taken him for a fucking ride!

"Rafe..." he heard that familiar, sweet, sad sigh that made him feel so pathetic and bristled instinctively.

"I'm fine here," he stared back at the ocean again, across the crowds of people, and clenched his jaw.

"Ok" she ducked her head and retreated.

He didn't know why he'd come. I mean, he did it was Kelce's birthday, he legally wasn't allowed to miss this, and that obligation was the only thing keeping him from burning the whole club down right now.

Amid sweat-soaked bodies, swirling dancers, and sloshing drinks, Topper and Sofia were having the time of their lives. Laughing and jumping and spinning like no one else existed. That wide smile. That bright laugh. All things that had used to her endear her to him now made his blood curdle and pop.

Top knew the fucking rules. You don't touch a friend's ex. It was the gold standard. Numero uno. The most basic foundations of the bro code.

He didn't care. They weren't friends anymore.

Then again, maybe they never had been. Maybe he'd just kept Topper and Kelce around after all his high school friends left because they made him feel good. And maybe that karma was coming back to bite him in the ass.

At first, he thought he'd imagined it. That he was so blind with rage, he was seeing what he wanted to see. But then it happened again.

A look.

An intentional, calculated look.

Topper caught his eye, bloodshot eyes lazy, but his pupils blown and dark and focused.

He smirked.

He shifted from innocently spinning Sofia to letting his hands wander down to her hips, and Rafe's stomach churned.

Topper looked again.

He wanted him to see.

The petty little worm clearly still had some bone to pick with him. What was it this time? Still Sarah?

Topper leaned in close to whisper something in Sofia's ear, a hand smoothing her shiny hair, and Rafe felt his spit turn to bile on his tongue and his fingers ball into a fist around the chicken wing in his hand.

Then, with all the confidence of a mobster on his home turf, Topper walked straight for him with a crocodile fake ass smile and an offered hand. Rafe grinned at the audacity.

Oh this would be fun.

"Hey, man!" Rafe got in first with the bright, warm greeting and twisted his lips into a polite, crisp smile that didn't reach his eyes. He clasped the younger man's hand and tugged him into a hug with slightly too much force, slapping him on the back with the edge of his plate and trapping Topper's hand between their chests. "Having fun?"

"Oh, the most, man! She's...." Rafe released him and pulled back to stare down at him. He perched a brow at that cliff hanger and bit down hard on the urge to bite his head off for even breathing the same air as her. Thank God, he was sober right now. Instead, he stayed pitch perfect and buttoned up. He watched Topper sway and stammer and struggle to form words despite the arrogance on his face. "A keeper, huh?" That jab hit its intended mark, and Rafe scrunched his nose to shove down a wave of dark fury. "I mean, who would ever dump a girl like that, right?"

"I don't know...You tell me?"

"Some Pogue idiot probably. Birds of a feather an-"

Rafe's fist collided with Topper's jaw with a loud crack. A wave of shock rippled through the crowd as it stilled, and the air crackled in the eerie silence.

"For fuck's sake...I gotta do everything around here..." Kelce grumbled and marched over to where Rafe stood over his friend. "You two. Outside. Now" The third of the trio hawled their asses out to the grass verge of the parking lot. "Sort this out and get back inside"

It'd be different if he thought he actually was into Sofia, but this felt an awful lot like bullshit. Catching Rafe's eye. Calling her a Pogue. Gloating and Peacocking like he'd won some kind of game, Rafe didn't know they were playing.

Topper made the wise choice of not taking another swing at him just yet, so Rafe grabbed him by the front of his collar and lifted him up to eye level. "What the fuck are you playing at?"

"You take something from me. I take something from you."

Rafe's sneer melted into a baffled laugh at this idiocy. "I didn't take Sarah from you, you idiot. You lost her to John B. fair and square with your comb-over and limp dick!"

In a surprising surge of strength and rage, Topper threw himself at Rafe. He flung him back on his back with the full force of his body weight and swung wildly at him without skill or precision, but the blows that did land stung and ricocheted across his skin, drawing blood from his nose and mouth.

Which he proceeded to spit in Topper's face.

"The fuck..." Topper recoiled and fell back on his ass with a thud. Both boys panted and groaned in the heavy silence. "What? So you're on John B's side now?"

"No. But your beef's not with me. If you're gonna take something from anyone, it should be John B....Oh, wait!" he beamed at the thought of Topper going fully psycho on the Chateau. Wow, he really had made him in his image, hadn't he? And Barry had made him in his. "You already did that!"

"Shut the fuck up...."

Rafe fell back into the damp, cushioning grass with a full belly laugh. His knuckles were burning and his face swollen. His spin ached from the collision, but it'd pass. This was too funny.

"You think this is funny?"

Flicking his eyes up, he could see two blurry upside-down little feet in the grass above him.

Sofia.

He groaned.

Ruthie helped Topper inside, but not before he gave Rafe one last knowing look that made him want to chase him down and start this whole circus all over again. And when Rafe sat up, resting his arms on his drawn-up knees and thumning at his nose that wouldn't stop bleeding, Sofia was still standing there.

God, she looked so sanctimonious and judgy with her arms folded over her chest and her dress glowing in the moonlight.

"Go help your boyfriend!" he waved her off with a grumble.

"He'll be fine," she hiked up her skirt so she could squat in front of him. Her warm, gentle fingers reached up to check his face. Once she was satisfied with the state of his face, he watched as she fished through the clutch for something. "What am I supposed to do with you....?" she sighed beneath her breath, and that heavy disappointment felt too familiar. Rafe's shoulders hardened instinctively despite

What the fuck was she still doing here? Shouldn't she be inside helping Topper and smoothing things over with Kelce? Shouldn't she be drinking and partying and forgetting about him?

After way too much rustling and rummaging, she pulled out a pack of tissues and offered him two for his nose. "Head back," she instructed softly, and he obeyed and shoved them up each nostril.

"It won't stop," he muttered, squeaky and stuffed.

"Funny that..." she teased with a crinkle of her nose, and his eyes shot to her, amazed. Was she laughing at him?

He rolled his eyes at the insinuation. Yeah, yeah, he knew it was the drugs. She didn't need to rub his nose in it.

They sat in silence until he finally stopped bleeding. He pulled the tissues from his nose and sat up to face her properly now, tensing his abs as he braced for impact.

She studied his face for a moment, concern etched across her brow and her mouth shifting back and forth as she struggled to fine the words. Undeserved worry pooling in her big brown eyes.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"He called you a Pogue"

"I am a Pogue, Rafe. I'm used to it"

"Yeah but you think he's into you an-"

"I never said that."

His stomach dropped. His eyes widened. "What ?.... No, listen! He was using you to get to me."

"Oh!" she snapped, her face hardening. " So everything is always about you then?! I mean, why would anybody like a Filthy Pogue like me anyways?! All I want is money, right?!"

"Sof. I-"

"He was there! Did...Did you ever stop to think that maybe I was using him right back? That I got my heart trampled on and needed a friend?!"

She climbed up to her feet, and he did his best to follow despite the dizzy circles spinning around his head.

"Sof," he grabbed her shoulders out of pure muscle memory, and she startled as if she'd been burned. "You can't trust him."

"You don't get to decide that for me, Rafe..." She turned to leave, making it halfway across the grass before she stopped and whipped back around and marched right back to him. "And for the record, Topper and I didn't magically become friends while you were off God knows where! You did this! You're the reason! He's been the one helping me drag you out of bars and put you in taxis and clean up after you more times than I can count. He's been there every day for the last six months straight and I..." Tears welled in her eyes as the conversation shifted into dangerous territory. She choked on the words she wanted to shout, and her eyes fell to the grass.

Then she whispered in quiet resignation:

"You just weren't paying attention."