#river below

Each step is a challenge as you know Rafe will be waiting for you. He’ll have had all night to stew in his anger and humiliation and think of a dozen ways to take it out on you. 

It’s not your fault. You didn’t want to do that. You didn’t ask him to. He made you get naked and he couldn’t… perform. You almost feel bad for him.  

You come up the back steps of the shop, rickety and creaking beneath you. You reach for the door but it opens before you can even find the keys. You nearly fall backwards into the dirt as you take a step down. You’re surprised by the face that greets you. 

You expect the younger Cameron, not the elder. You blink dumbly at him as he bids you ‘good morning’. In a moment, his stern expression brightens and he smiles as he steps back, welcoming you in. You accept with a nod and sidle past him inside. His closeness has you quickly flitting to the row of hooks over the low bench where you hang your bag. 

“Didn’t know you were opening,” he says. 

“Um, yeah, sir,” you take your apron and loop the strap over your neck. 

He closes the door. Odd, he seemed to be on his way out. You reach back to tie the loose straps around your waist. 

“You’re a hard worker,” he comments as he crosses his arm, stepping closer, just past the door. He leans on the wall, one foot hooked over the other, “honest… can I ask you something?” 

You hesitate and press your palms to the front of the apron, just against your stomach. “Yes, sir.” 

He chuckles, a rocky noise. He’s amused by you. You don’t know why. 

“My son. Rafe. He been in?” 

“I just got here–” 

“Yesterday?” He interjects. 

“Oh, uh…” you think back. You don’t know if you should tell the truth. You saw Rafe, just not at work. 

“I don’t remember, Mr. Cameron,” you clasp your hands together, “it was pretty busy–” 

He nods and clicks his tongue. He watches you, combing his finger through his dark hair. He pushes away from the wall, dwarfing you as you curl your shoulders inward. 

“You’re a hard worker. I admire that. Wish my son had that in him,” he puts one hand in his pocket, “he’s got too much of an attitude.” 

You push your shoulders up in half a shrug. It isn’t your place to say so. 

“Haven’t seen him much,” you lie. 

“Ah,” he takes a breath, “well, you just let me know if you get any of that attitude. I’d hate to think of him treating you mean.” 

“He mostly stays upstairs,” you squeak, “sir, I should… I should start opening.” 

He considers you. His bold eyes hold you in arrest. There’s something in them that reminds you of Rafe. You repress a shudder. 

“How about I help?” He offers. 

“What, er, sir?” You blanch. 

“Yeah, I’d love to get my hands dirty,” he says, “it’s humbling, you know? Lot of people out there buy these places and treat it like a number in their portfolio. I think this place has potential. And you. Would do my son well if he got down here in the grease, too.” 

“Erm, okay, sir, if you like, but...” you hesitate. Will Rafe be mad at you? It’s not like you can say no. Not to either Cameron. “Um, you might mess up your clothes though.” 

He looks down at his button up and leather belt. You know it’s probably expensive. He shops at places you never even heard of. 

“How about an apron? You got a spare one?” He suggests. 

“Oh, sure,” you turn and grab the apron that used to be Arlene’s. You offer it to him. He smiles and thanks you. 

“You just pretend I’m new, alright? Like you’re training me,” he explains as he loops the apron over his head. “Honey, do me a favour and tie me up.” 

He turns his back to you. It takes you a moment before you get his meaning. You grab the strings as the dangle at his side and draw them back to tie around his back. He seems bigger as you stand close. You let go and back up. 

“Great,” he spins and claps his hands, “show me the ropes, honey.” 

Your lips purse. It’s so strange. He's so nice but his son is so mean. It confuses you. For a moment, you think of telling him. Maybe he could set Rafe straight. No... no. That’s stupid. Just like you. 

“So I turn the grease heaters on first,” you redirect your attentions to the work; that’s easy, you can do it. Anyone can. “I always check first, see if the grease needs a change.” 

He hums and nods, shadowing you closely.  

“They take some time, so I get the coffee going next. In the morning, it’s what people get the most.” You lead him to the machine and pull out the basket with yesterday’s filter. He watches intently as you empty and rinse it. Your hands are clumsy as you tear open a packet of pre-weighed grinds. 

“I’m making you nervous,” he says. 

“Sorry, sir, I’m... I’m tired, that’s all.” 

“You work hard. I saw the schedule. Almost every day.” He muses. 

You nod, “yeah, er...” 

“I know, it doesn’t pay too much, does it?” He sniffs and holds out his hand. “Let me.” He takes the packet and rips into it easily. He pours it into the filter. “I can still figure out coffee.” 

“Um, next I start the french toast mix. We do waffles on weekends only.” 

“Right,” he shuffles with you. “You live in-town?” 

“I live... down near the shore, sir,” you answer, “down on the banks.” 

“You know, my son, he just never got that. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have to lift himself up. I’m trying to give him that. I want him to do that with this place. Work from the bottom,” he puts his hands on his hips as he looms over you. You pile ingredients into a large bowl and whisk. “Like you are.” 

“Sir, I... I’m just a pogue,” you mutter. 

“You’re a person. You got someone to take care of, don’t you? They keep you working.” He remarks. “You’re young...” 

“My mama, sir. She’s sick but... we manage.” 

He’s quiet as he continues to observe your diligent work. “Can’t underestimate hard work. If I was my son, I’d start with a pay raise but I’m not gonna do the job for him. He needs to figure that out.” 

“Yes, sir,” you set the bowl aside and pull out a loaf of bread so it’s ready. 

“Get the grill going for sausage and craw,” you instruct next. 

“See, you got the mindset, honey. You focus. I can’t make this place any better but my son will get there. He is mine, after all,” he chuckles. “how about...” he pauses and exhales as he thinks, “you could come work with me. Two days a week. Cut back on shifts here since they got the new bodies in.” 

“Sir? For you? But I... I only worked here for a couple months.” 

“You learned fast, didn’t you? You’re showing me around like a pro,” he shrugs. “It’s nothing big. Just need someone to help me out with some clerical work. Filing or whatever. It’ll pay better than here, even with tips.” 

“Sir...” you blink at him. It’s not a true escape but it might get you some space from Rafe. Or it might make him hate you more. 

“You drive?” He asks. “It’s up away from the banks. I could get you there. Send a car.” 

You don’t know if you can say no. Not just because it could lose you both jobs but because you need the money desperately. Your ma needs to see the doctor again. 

“No pressure,” he assures you. 

“Sir,” you look up at him, “can I think about it?” 

He smiles and rubs your arm, lingering on your shoulder with a squeeze, “take your time. I’ll leave you my number. You can let me know.” 

☀️

You get home without obstacle. It doesn’t comfort you. You can sense trouble lurking. It might not be right now, but it’s coming. 

Rafe never showed up at the stand. Ward left and the rest of you went through the motions. You smell like fish and grease. The others swore to silence and loaded up a bag for you to take to your ma. 

She’s happy when you hand it over with a large diet coke. She thanks you as you watch her. She was always right. About everything. Maybe she can help you figure this out. 

“Ma,” you twist your fist around your finger. “I... I need help.” 

“Help?” She looks alarmed as she keeps from biting into the cajun chicken. “You sounded like you were struggling last night. Everything okay?” 

You blanch. Did she hear everything? Does she know? 

“Oh, I was trying to fix that old VCR,” you have to hold back a cringe at the lie. “But that’s... no. Mama, I... I got an offer for a new job. I’d still be working this one but, er, this new one... I don’t really think I’d know what I’m doin’.” 

“You’re smart, baby, you’ll learn,” she preens and takes a greedy bite. You wait for her to finish. “That’s so exciting. A new job!” 

“It’s um... it’s way up... out of the banks.” 

“Out of the banks,” she tuts. “That’s far.” 

“I know, mama, but Mr. Cameron--” 

“Cameron?” She jerks as if she’s been doused in ice water. “Ward?” 

You frown, “that’s him, mam.” 

“Oh...” she chews another mouthful and thinks. “He’s a rich one.” 

“Yeah, he bought the chip shack--” 

“He did? When was that?” 

“Weeks ago,” you sway. “I guess it’ll be too much. Not worth it, huh?” 

“Well, it’s your choice, baby,” she stares at the bag then crumples the top. “I just worry about you goin’ so far.” 

“I didn’t say yes or nothin’,” you assure her. 

“I think if you wanna, you should try. You never know what could happen, right? Could be a step up to an even better place,” she nods. “It’s just... them people up there, the kooks are real different than us. They don’t like us.” 

Pogues don’t like you either. You don’t say so but you don’t see much of a difference there. You smile thinly. 

“I’m still thinking,” you say.  

You flinch at the noise on the roof. You look up in unison with your ma. She grunts.  

“Hope it’s not them dang shingles ‘gain. Can’t afford to have it nailed down.” She mutters. 

“I’ll check, ma,” you grimace. “It could be a gull again. They tryna build their nests all over.” 

You back out and head to the front door. It’s just another tick in the yes column. You need to fix the roof, properly, not to mention the rest of this place. 

As you come out, a rock bounces off your chest and you clatter against the door. Rafe stands across from the front steps with a handful of stones. You touch your chest as it throbs and cross the crooked porch. 

“Been tryna get you out here. Was about to come in and introduce myself to the mammoth. Thought those were extinct.” 

“Don’t talk about my ma,” you sniffle as you cross your arms. 

“Or what? You gonna lay there like a corpse again?” He snaps. 

You furrow your brow. You only did what he said. He must be mad because of well... his thing not working. 

“I got an idea,” he chuckles. You notice he’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday. 

You stare at him. Waiting. 

“Should I come in and let mama hear or are you gonna get your ass over here?” he scoffs. 

You tramp down the steps and he tilts his head at you. His eyes narrow and he reaches for your arm. He jerks you toward him. You collide with his stomach. He grabs the back of your neck and his other hand comes under your chin. 

He holds you against him as he snarls down at you. His hand shifts along your throat. “You’re so pathetic,” he sneers. “Small, nothing.” His fingers curl into your scalp. “Feel that. Feel the power I got over you? I could break your neck and leave you out here for the old lady to holler for... no one would care.” 

“Yes, sir,” you croak at him. 

“Get your ass up, shrimp girl,” Rafe kicks you with the toe of his sandal, “what’re you doin’ down there in the dirt?”

You drag your hand away from the puddle of spit and cum. You tremble as you brace your legs and search for an ounce of strength. You try to stand and he huffs impatiently. He grabs your arm and hauls you up, making you stagger.

“Still actin’ shy when I just had my dick down your throat,” he scoffs, “come on.”

He turns you down the path and shoves you ahead of him. You stumble and find your balance. You look around, uncertain. He scoops up your bag and follows you, letting it dangle close to the ground.

“Where–”

“I wanna see that shit shack you share with the whale,” he taunts, “whatever little mouse hole you crawl outta each day.”

“Sir,” you sniff and hug yourself, “please, my mama–”

“You keep your mouth shut and she won’t even know I’m there,” he snarls. “Keep movin’ before I find a new hole.”

You lower your head and keep on. The humiliation erupts into your chest, your heart beating loud behind your ears. You don’t want your mama to know he’s bothering you, she’d worry. The thought that he might hurt her makes you stop short of the tree line.

“Hey,” he collides with you from behind, “what’re ya doing?”

“I… are you going to hurt her?”

He snorts and hurls your bag into the dirt, “take your shit and keep goin’. I don’t got time to be hunting for blubber.”

You take your bag from the ground and he follows you onto the porch. You glance back at him uncertain as you pull back the screen door. He catches it behind you, looming close as you twist the handle of the peeling front door.

You’re embarrassed as you lead him inside. It’s a small place, old, not in the best shape. You’ve seen where he lives, the Cameron place with its column and white wash. A sparkling pool that’s the envy of even the kookiest in the banks.

“Least there’s a roof,” he kids in a low grumble.

“Honey, that you?” Your mama calls from her bedroom.

Your eyes widen and you turn to face Rafe. You try to shake away the fuzziness behind your nose. You blink heavily, squeezing your eyes shut several times. You don’t know why he’s come here. He’s had his fun.

“Please,” you beg.

He smirks and puts his finger to his lips, a gesture that promises silence. You know better than to trust him. He angles his hand to point down the hall as your mama calls again.

You stare at him as you back away. Finally, you turn down the hall and rush down to your mama’s room. You hear Rafe’s weight creak in the floor but the blare of the television gives you hope that she doesn’t.

“Sorry, mama, I was just gettin’ in the door,” your voice quavers thinly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything from the shop today. Fryers were still heatin’ when I left.”

“That’s alright, baby,” she rubs her large stomach, “I’m not feelin’ too good.”

“Oh? Can I get you some water or something?”

“I think I’m good. I took some Tums,” she groans, “you wanna watch somethin’.”

“I…” you peek back down the hall, “I’m gonna get some cleaning done but maybe later.”

“Ah, okay, honey,” she lets her disappointment show, “I just been lonely is all.”

“I know, mama, but it shouldn’t take me long.”

She acquiesces with a grumble. You feel bad for lying but you can’t let her know that you brought Rafe home. She’d freak out.

You pull her door shut behind you, leaving it open only an inch. You go to hurry back down the hall but nearly shriek as Rafe pokes his head out your bedroom door. You quickly wave him inside. You put your bag by the wall as you step in after him.

“What’re you do–”

“Don’t be asking me questions,” he warns as he turns to the table of chipped figurines, “how’s the old cow? Still grazin’?”

“Please,” you squeak as you ease your bedroom door shut, terrified she’ll overhear. “She doesn’t know you’re here. She’d be so upset–”

“Yeah, yeah, mama doesn’t want anyone to see the inside of the barn, got it,” he picks up the pig with the bow around its neck, “this supposed to be her.”

You pout as your eyes flood. Why is he so mean? Your blood surges and you feel a jitter in your muscles. You start to pace as he calmly peruses your space. You chew your thumb as you stand by the window and watch him. You want him to go but if you say as much, you know he’ll only stay longer.

He turns and struts up to the bed. He gives a thoughtful gaze to the patchwork quilt. He tilts his head and clicks his tongue. He bends to touch it and pushes down on the mattress.

“Take your clothes off,” he says without looking up.

You jolt, a squeak escaping you in surprise. You can’t believe he’s said that. The concept makes your bones rattle.

“What?” You bring your hands to your throat as if you’re choking.

“You hear me, pogue,” he stands straight and puts his hands on his hips.

You hesitate and clutch the collar of your uniform shirt. He can’t mean that. You already…

“You do what I say when I say or I’ll make sure your mama hears every single thing I do to you. We both know she won’t be able to drag her lard far enough to stop me.”

You clasp your hands tight and teeter on your feet. Naked. In front of him. You never… before him, you never even saw a man’s… parts. A new wave of nausea brews as you think of what you’ve done.

You wince as suddenly he’s stomping towards you. You put your hands up to shield yourself as he grabs the front of your shirt. You hush him as you glance at the wall nervously. She’s going to hear him!

“Get this off,” he snarls and tugs your hem up. 

You hold back a yelp as he tears the fabric higher, forcing your arms up as he rips it roughly over your head. He whips the shirt away and stands back on his heel. He tilts his head until his neck cracks. You hug your bare stomach and look down at your bra.

“Shit, I need…” his voice trails off as he marches around the tight space. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the little bag of powder. “Get fucking naked,” sprinkles some onto the narrow desk as he faces away from you, “I swear, by the time I’m done…”

He reaches into his back pocket and takes out his wallet. You spin away from him and stare at the bed. You want to scream and shriek and cry and run away. You peek over your shoulder as you rub your arms.

“If you’re not worried about what I’ll do to you, you should thinka what I’ll do to your mama if you don’t fucking listen!” He snaps as he taps a card on the table. “Make me tell you again, Pogue.”

You don’t doubt him. You know he’ll do it. You couldn’t let your mother go through the same humiliation. It’s hard enough for her. People are so cruel to her, they just see how big she is and think she must be lazy and horrible. She’s your mama and she’s the nicest person you’ve ever known. She’s done so much for you, you can do this for her.

You bend down to slip out of your shoes and socks. Your hands shake as your blood courses hot and cold. You feel hollow, almost like you’re outside your own body. You stand straight and undo the top of your fly. It’s not supposed to be like this, this isn’t what the movies show.

You pull down your pants and step out of them. Your fingers are clumsy as you struggle with the back of your bra. You can’t latch onto it. Your body is beyond your control. Finally you get a grip and free the hooks. The fabric slackens and you fold your arms across your chest before slowly dragging it away.

You drop it to the floor. Just one more piece. You put your hands against your stomach, just above the trim of your panties.

You squeak as Rafe comes up behind you and bunches the sides of your panties. He tears them down, jolting you violently as he sniffs loudly. He shoves your panties to your ankles and nudges you forward. He coughs and clears his throat.

“Lay down,” he hacks and chokes on his own spit. 

He prowls along the bottom of the bed as you climb onto the mattress. You crawl to the top and turn to sit on your butt, bending your legs to hide behind. He huffs and shakes his head, shoving a finger into his mouth and tearing it out again.

“I said on you’re fucking back,” he growls as he grips the top of his shorts.

Your throat constricts as your fingers curl. Your nails dig into your palms as you move to lay flat. The humid air feels chilly on your skin. Fabric rustles as he looms closer and the bottom of the mattress dips.

Rafe jostles you as he gets on the bed, walking on his knees as you lay staring at the ceiling. He pushes your legs apart and moves between them. He pinches your thigh meanly as he sits back on his legs, fumbling below your vision.

His arm pumps as he puffs out through his nose. He grunts and groans, cursing under his breath. Your hands stay balled at your sides as you focus on the bubbling white paint of the ceiling. The bed shakes with his furious motion.

“Fuck,” he grits out, “pogue pussy don’t look too bad.”

You twitch as he swipes his fingers along your cunt. You’re just a shell, you can’t feel it, don’t feel it. He toys with you, scratching you as he rubs harder and harder. He swears again and rips his hand back.

You look down, just for a moment as he cradles his balls, still pumping himself. He’s soft. His tip flops as he tries to work himself up. Another fiery tide washes over you. Shouldn’t it be hard by now?

You flick your eyes back up and the bed lurches. You bounce as his weight shifts back heavily and you hear a slap. He shoves your leg away and retreats. You don’t move a single finger the bed jolts at the sudden release of springs.

“Close your fucking legs,” he barks as he paces around, “fuck. Fuck!”

“Please, don’t…” you sit up and cover yourself with a pillow, “you’re being too loud.”

“Don’t tell me what I am,” he snarls as he zips up his shorts. “Shut the fuck up.”

He goes back to the desk and bends over. He sniffs again and sweeps off the wood with his hand as he straightens. He pinches his nose and wiggles his. He snorts and coughs once more.

“Dumb fucking pogue,” he mutters, “you’re fucking fault… laying there like a goddamn plank of wood…” he comes towards the bed and you squeeze the pillow tight as you cower, “what the fuck is wrong with you? Ain’t even wet.”

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Enough!” He turns his hand flat to punctuate his order, “little fucking bitch.”

You barely remember the walk behind you. The time between the beach and home is lost. You gag and fold over, spitting into the dirt as you think of what happened. Of what Rafe did.

You stand, dizzy, and step over the bile on the ground. You drag your feet up the beaten walk to the front door and let yourself into the darkness of the interior. The crickets hum and the night breeze rustles the leaves and long grasses outside. You shut the door quietly, a long creak whining through the old hinges.

Your mouth is dry and pasty. A saltiness sears down your throat as you remember the taste and the slimy sensation. He hammered the wetness into your mouth until it spilled over, smearing across your lips, chin and cheeks. Your face is still raw from scrubbing in the frigid water, your tears washed away with the tides.

“Hon,” your mother’s sleepy voice drifts through the hall as your sandals scrape on the worn wooden slats, “you home?”

You stay hidden in darkness as you continue through and stop in the doorway of your mother’s room. Her TV sends up a spectrum of hues around the room as it drones lowly. You keep your face down. If she sees your eyes, she’ll know.

“Mama,” you croak and resist the urge to touch your neck. 

“You’re out late,” she yawns. She’s been asleep, you can tell.

“Yeah, I… ran into Arlene. My friend…” you lie, a warble in your voice, “I’m tired.”

“You sound like it, don’t you gotta work tomorrow, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you grumble, “I… I should go to bed.”

She’s quiet as the bed groans under her weight. She pulls a pillow down and shifts as she nestles in and flicks the channel with the remote. You back away as hot streams flow down your nose.

“Night, mama.”

You leave her and enter your room as your throat clenches with your fiery tears. You can barely stand as your legs shake and you fall to your knees. You crawl to your bed and lean against the headboard as you turn and sit on your ass. You cross your arms over your bent legs and heave.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t understand why he did what he did. Why he hates you so deeply. What did you do to deserve this?

You crumple onto your side and hug yourself. You shudder and close your eyes. You have no choice, you have to work, you have to take care of your mama. He knows that. That’s why he knows he can hurt you. 

He can hurt you and you can’t stop him.

☀️

The next day comes too quickly even as the night drags by in your restlessness. You lay awake, listening to the wilderness outside your window and the creaking of the old house. It feels like any other day. It is. You have to get up and get ready for work.

You bring your mother her coffee and a bowl of instant oatmeal flooded with milk, just how she likes it. She flips on the television and the news blares through the speakers. You say goodbye as she’s already enraptured by the cooking segment with a guest chef. You’re happy. She doesn’t suspect a thing. She can never know.

You leave, taking your usual path parallel to the ragged shores. You enter through the back as you do every morning and hang your crochet bag on the hook. You tie your apron at the waist and begin the opening routine. Fryers on, coffee brewing, grate rolled up.

The only thing that’s changed is you. You just can’t wipe what Rafe did from your mind or the grimy feeling it left you with. The first customer of the day comes and tears you from your thoughts.

You serve them, working off habit, and smile as they walk away with their hashbrown and coffee. Your cheeks twitch and your eyes sting. How can you pretend? How can you lie to these people when you feel as if they see right through you. As if what he did isn’t written across your face.

Chelsey shows up just as you’re sweeping, trying to distract yourself with the menial task. She’s quiet as she hooks her apron over her neck and steals a cup of coffee from the machine. She sips from the paper brim and yawns.

“Didn’t I see you at the shore last night?” She asks.

“The shore?”

“Yeah, I was at the bonfire,” she suppresses another yawn, “swore I saw you wanderin’.”

You swallow and look down, pushing the bristles across the floor, “n-no,” you don’t know why you lie. Maybe because if you don’t, you might tell her everything. If she knows, she’ll think you’re easy. That you like Rafe. You don’t, you fear him. “I don’t go down there.”

“Better you don’t. Nothin’ good goes on there. Better off staying home with your ma.”

“Yeah,” you agree as you collect the dirt in the pan and dump it in the bin, “she needs me.”

“I couldn’t do it,” she scoffs, “my mama’s such a bitch, I’d let her rot. And pa, well he can fuck off too.” You flinch as you look at her. She laughs. “Ain’t a big deal, some of us don’t got that type of feelin’ in the family. They’d say the same of me, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m fine. I got a job, I pay for a room to myself, and I do what I want,” she shrugs. “Boss here, yet?”

“Hmm?” You tilt your head as you place the broom against the wall.

“Rafe, he here? Bit early for the bugger but–”

“I haven’t seen him,” you answer as you tuck your hands down the pockets of your apron.

“Definitely saw him last night,” she chuckles, “with his dumbass buddies. Talkin’ bout how some girl– well, you don’t care about all that. He’s a nasty fella.”

“He’s… not nice,” you agree.

“You said it,” she chuckles, “but you don’t gotta be so polite about it. He’s an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you turn and lean against the counter, looking out at the docks.

“His daddy will sell this place when he fucks up, don’t you worry,” she stands beside you as she swirls her coffee, “and Rafe Cameron always fucks up.”

☀️

The day goes by quicker than most. You clock out as Cash shows up for his closing shift. Still no Rafe. You don’t know if it’s luck or something else but you don’t worry for it. 

You’ll go home and make dinner for your mom. You have enough bread left for some grilled cheese. You’re not very hungry, you haven’t eaten all day. You have no appetite, only a churning revulsion in your chest.

Home isn’t far when you’ve walked the path a thousand times. You dawdle on the path, watching a critter in the branches as the sun glares over the gleaming waters. You stare up at the sky as you stroll along, almost dazed as you let your feet carry you without thought.

You collide with something. Your soles slip on the dirt as you take a step back and lower your chin. You’ve either veered off track or a new tree sprouted magically from the earth. You’re wrong. Neither.

You gape at Rafe as he smirks down at you. You’re in disbelief as you struggle to find words. What can you say? All you can think about is last night, the pain in your throat, the humiliation scalding in your cheeks. Your eyes glitter with tears, rising at the very sight of him.

“Miss me today?” He drawls.

You shake your head once and stop yourself. You don’t want to make him mad. You fold your hands in front of you and cower away from him.

“Oh, I’m sure you did. You were up all night dreamin’ of me, weren’t you, girl?”

You sniffle and wipe your eyes before the tears can trickle out, “no. What do you want from me?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind another suck job,” he says crassly.

“I–”

“Ah, I get it shrimpy, you probably mad. I mean, what kinda guy just fucks a girl’s mouth then sends her off. Not even callin’ her in the morning,” he snickers, “I been busy today.”

“Okay,” you say as you glance around in confusion, “why are you here?”

“Aren’t you gettin’ fucking bold?” His grin falls, “asking me what? Why? How?”

“N-no, sir, I only… thought you didn’t like it out here. You said it’s dirty.”

“I know what I said so why don’t you stop pushing me?” He hisses as brow furrows meanly, “because I came around here, wastin’ my time, because I had the dumb idea to do something for you.”

You don’t like what he says or how he says it. He wouldn’t just do anything nice. Arlene warned you, Chelsey too, and Rafe proved them both right. You have no doubt he’ll continue to do so.

“Thank you but I gotta–” you try to step past him and he blocks your way as he mirrors you.

“You don’t gotta do anything except what I say,” he snarls, “you understand that. I’m being nice. Generous, so you’re gonna accept my gift. Be a good girl and say thank you.”

“I did, but–”

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” he snaps, “so shut up and listen.”

You gulp and watch him. You nod and hug yourself. He sighs and shakes his head as he reaches into his shorts pocket. You wonder what cruel trick he has planned.

“You know Barry. You know what he does?” He asks.

You stare. He told you to shut up so you just nod. Everyone knows what Barry does. He’s a dealer. That’s why no one bothers him. You don’t bring it up because he’s nice to you and your mother.

“Right,” he takes his hand out of his pocket and presents a small bag, “you know how much this costs?”

You frown. No. You gesture but keep your mouth shut.

“Of course you don’t, but let me tell you, shrimp girl, it’s enough to feed your cow mama for a week,” he taunts, “and I’m… gonna give you a taste.”

You blanch and bite your lip. Your heart pounds and you clutch your arms as you keep your arms crossed. “No thank you, sir. I don’t want–”

“I’m not asking,” he opens the bag, “that’s not how this works. You’re gonna have a bump, then you’re gonna have a suck.”

You squeak, “why?”

“Why? You ask me another question and I’m gonna do something real bad, girl.”

You wince and tuck your chin down. He sighs and shakes out a dusting on his finger as he holds his hand steady. He steps closer as you stare at his striped tank top. He pushes his knuckle towards you face.

“Take a nice deep whiff, shrimp girl.”

“I don’t know–”

“Fucking snort it. You waste my goddamn coke and I’ll fuck you up.”

You close your eyes and force your nose down to touch his finger. You inhale deep and choke as the powder shoots up your nose. You reel back dizzily, a pastiness in the back of your throat as a buzzing numbness fills your face. You clutch your head and groan.

“Mmmm, I don’t like it,” you whimper.

You shake your head violently and cry out as he grabs a hank of your hair. He yanks you, tilting your chin up as he draws you close. He chuckles as he shoves the bag back in his pocket. He frames your chin as you blink, your veins coursing into your heart as it pumps furiously.

“Rafe, Rafe,” you pants, “Rafe, I’m scared. I feel— weird—”

“Shut the fuck up and get on your knees, shrimp girl,” he barks as he tugs you around, his hand fumbling down to his shorts again, “and don’t you be tryna chatter around my dick. I know you’re probably dyin’ to spill all your girlhood dreams to me now.”

“Rafe, please,” you grasp the front of his shirt, “please, no–”

“You call me sir and get down and suck my dick,” he snarls.

You twitch and whimper. You feel jittery, like you can’t sit still. He grabs your shoulder and pushes. You fight him for just a moment then let your legs fold. You drop to your knees as he lets go of your hair and pets your head.

“Don’t you wanna be a good girl?” He asks.

“Y-yes,” you murmur.

“Then open your mouth and take my dick out.”

He pulls his hand away from his shorts, his fly already open and you clasp on, trying to steady yourself. You bat your lashes. You look around, craning to see around you. 

“Someone will see–”

“They won’t if you hurry up,” he taps your cheek, “so go on.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and blow out. You push your hand into his boxers and squeak as you feel him between your fingers. You hold him, frightened at first by the firm shape in your hand, then curious. You tug down the elastic and look, letting out a pathetic noise of shock at the sight of him.

“Whatsa matter, girl, you ain’t never seen a dick this pretty?”

You shudder and push your tongue against your top lip, swallowing around the trickle behind your throat. He cradles your head and steps closer.

The rush picks up around noon and keeps both your mind and body busy. You can’t worry that much when you have customers lined up for their breaded shrimp and rings. There are few words needed between you and Chelsey as you switch between fryer and till, working smoothly to put up orders quickly.

When the crowd begins to thin out, you slow to catch your breath. You sweep away the cold crumbs on the counter with a damp cloth as Chelsey refills the basket with a new batch of wedges. Your shift is close to done already, a few more hours. You might just make it through without catastrophe.

The back door slams and you flinch as Chelsey continues scraping the grill with the brush. You turn as Rafe drags his feet across the floor, sandals flopping heavily as he wears a pair of dark sunglasses and hunches forward slightly. He looks pained as he cradles his skulls and snarls.

“Shrimp girl,” he opens the peeling wooden door to the stairs, “coffee.”

You look at Chelsey as she peeks over her shoulder at you and she shrugs. You stop serving coffee at eleven but you give no argument as the door clatters behind him and his steps clamor up the stairs. Not like you could refuse anyhow, the last thing you want to do is goad Rafe.

You go to the machine and change the filter, popping down the lid as you hit the red switch. You rest your hands on the edge of the spill tray and sigh. There is only the noise of your coworkers tidying in the small booth.

“Hey,” you turn as the machine begins to grind, finding your nerve, “uh, Rafe…”

“Dawson told me what happened,” she says glumly, “he’ll lose interest soon enough. I heard he always picks one.”

“Picks one?”

“Bully like he is,” she shrugs as she hangs up the wire brush, “all them kooks are the same. They like to make us squirm, to remind themselves how much better they are than us.”

“Oh… um, what do I do?”

“Nothing,” she crosses her arms, “nothing you can do if you need this job. Let him get his kicks. Bring him that coffee, call him sir, give him that little pout you do. He’ll get bored.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

She laughs, “he will. We pogues, ain’t nothin’ that special will keep ‘em interested.”

You frown and take a paper cup, silent as you think. Should you tell her about the dumpster? The pharmacy? Or the ice cream? That he knows Barry and you know why. Well, you suppose you’re the only one shocked by that. You don’t seem to know much that’s obvious to everyone else.

“Thanks,” you utter as you pour the coffee and snatch up a handful of cream and sugar.

“Just do your best not to dump that on him. I know it’s tempting.”

You don’t say anything. You wouldn’t do that. 

You elbow your way around the door and climb the steep stairs, the creaking wood loud and unnerving. You never went up there beyond your interview for the job. You stop at the top and knock on the office door with your fistful of packets.

There’s a loud sniff and a snort before Rafe calls back, “what?”

“I got your coffee–”

“Get the fuck in here, pogue,” he hollers back.

You balance the cup awkwardly and manage to turn the handle before toeing open the door. You enter as you steady your handful as Rafe rubs his nose and sits back, another deep sniff before he spits in the dirty ashtray Wyatt left behind.

“Here ya are,” you go to the desk and place the cup between the blocky old PC and the stacks of messy folders, “sir.”

“Sir?” He scoffs as you put down the sugar and cream. He ignores it as he grabs the coffee and drinks deeply, “you got some manners on you, don’t you?”

“I… sir, I guess.” 

You step back, keeping your arms at your side as you clutch the edges of your apron. He stares at you but you can’t be sure as his eyes are hidden still behind the dark lenses. He grimaces as he sets down the cup.

“This coffee is shit.”

“I–”

“I didn’t ask for you to talk back,” he sneers, “what you standing there looking so dumb for? Ain’t you mad at me, girl?”

“Mad?”

“Fucking Christ, no one’s that fucking stupid or nice,” he rolls forward in the squeaky chair and turns the cup, tilting his chin down to watch the motion, “you spit in this? You stay to watch me drink your spit?”

“N-no, sir, I would never–”

“Fuck me, I know you wouldn’t. Scaredy little cat like you,” he shakes his head, “makes me think though, you hanging around Barry? What for?”

“Barry?” You repeat and squirm as you fold your hands together, “I just ran into him. He lives around–”

“Lives in the fucking swamps,” Rafe snickers, “like you and your fat mama.”

“Sir.”

He leans back and sighs, ripping off his sunglasses and tossing them onto the desk. He rubs the dark circles under his eyes and drags his long fingers down his face, dropping his arms to bend over the sides of the chair.

“You goin’ to the shore tonight?” He asks.

You blanch at his question. It’s unexpected. You should’ve just left, you don’t know why you lingered but he didn’t tell you to go.

“No, I don’t… no, sir.”

“You don’t got no friends?” He smirks, “yeah, I could’ve guessed. Well, you’re going tonight.”

“I… my mama–”

“I don’t give a fuck about that whale,” he jabs his finger onto the desktop, “what’s a pogue like you to deny an order from me?”

“I wasn’t, sir–”

“No, you wasn’t,” he mocks, “you don’t say no to a Cameron.”

“Yes, sir,” you bring your arms up and cross them across your middle, “what time should I–”

“Fucks sake, you show up when you show up.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know–”

“And don’t be comin’ round the other kooks, embarrassing me. I’ll find you. You wait with your kind.”

“Um, o-okay, but uh, Rafe, uh, Mr. Cameron, sir?”

His eyes are dull as his cheek twitches with agitation, “what?”

“Why?”

He scoffs and chuckles as he tilts his face up to the ceiling, a hearty fit of laughter at your expense.

“You really that dumb, girl?”

You stare at him, round-eyed. You couldn’t guess if you tried.

“You hate me, so I really can’t say why.”

“Oh, sweetie,” he grins at you crookedly, “is that why you’re so sad? Because you think I hate you?”

“You do, don’t you?”

“None of your concern how I feel about you. You only worry about what I want from you.”

“But I don’t know what–”

“Tonight, the shore,” he interjects.

“Yes, sir,” you nod and turn carefully on your heel, “I’ll go finish up my shift–”

“You do that, but in future, you don’t do nothing ‘less I tell you. We both know how bad you need this job.”

You pause and glance back at him, you force a smile but your lips quiver, “yes, sir.”

“Oh, why don’t you take some feed home for the cow, huh? She won’t ask too many question then.”

You repeat yourself and hurry through the door. You shut it behind you and peer down the stairs. You’re confused. You don’t really understand what just happened or what he wants from you. But you don’t think you’ll ever understand Rafe Cameron. He’s a kook and you just don’t get them.

☀️

There is no moon, only the flicker of bonfires as you walk along the sand, between the clusters of partiers around kegs and coolers. No one seems to notice you as you wander listlessly across the beach. You stop to remove a twig as it catches in your sandal and you look around. 

You see Arlene drinking from a red cup but she doesn’t see you. You quickly move on, slipping in the sand as you hide behind the next group of bodies. All around you, the strangers buzz and bluster, the smell of bear and something stronger lacing the air. You’re too afraid to approach anyone and they seem even less interested in you. 

Your stomach lurches as you get to the edge of the sprawl of bonfires and you peer out onto the dark waters. How will Rafe find you? And what happens when he does? Why did you agree to come?

Well, that answer is easy enough. He knows it as well as you. You’re weak. He knows you won’t say no, that you can’t. And he knows what you don’t. Whatever it is he brought you here for.

You shiver as the waves flow loudly onto the sand before receding into a foam. Maybe he’ll throw you in again, watch you fight your way free of the tide for his amusement. Or he’ll pour another beer over your head. Or something worse. Something you could never think of.

Like Chelsey says, you just gotta let him get bored of you. If you don’t react, he’ll leave you alone. Right?

You’re jolted as suddenly an arm hooks around you and a hand smothers your mouth, lifting you off your feet. You squeak and wriggle against the hold around you, legs flailing as you whimper. Rafe’s laughter rolls in your ear as he keeps you shrouded in the shadows of the moonless night.

“Shhh,” he hushes you, “don’t go making all that noise, shrimp girl.”

You still and quiet, heart thumping behind your ears as he puts you back on your feet. He releases you, his hand grazing just above your pelvis as you spin to face him. He keeps laughing as you nearly slip in your sandals.

“Oh, hi,” you eke out.

“Oh, hi,” he mimics in a high pitch, “you really are funny.”

“I–”

“Hush,” he hisses, “I didn’t bring you here to talk.”

You snap your mouth shut and seal your lips tight. You stare at him, squinting through the dark as he looms before you. Suddenly, his hand frames your chin and he forces your face up. His laughter fades away and there is only the drone of the garbled voices and cracking bonfires.

“I want you to guess,” he slithers.

“What?” You tremble in his grasp.

“Guess. Why did I bring you here?”

You gulp, the bobbing of your throat drawing his hand down to your neck. You shiver as his long fingers stretch across your skin and he squeezes. He grabs the back of your skull with his other hand and holds you close.

“Why did I bring you here, pogue?”

“I don’t kn–”

He squeezes tighter, “I want you to think. What do you have that I could want?”

“I don’t–”

“What do you know?” He growls, “you’re mama didn’t teach you nothing, did she?”

“Please,” you whimper as you touch his wrist.

“Don’t you fucking touch me unless I tell you,” he shoves you away so you crumple, your ass hitting the ground hard, “got it?”

“I’m sorry, you were hurtin’--”

“I’m gonna do a lot of that, girl,” he grits and you hear a subtle clink. You can’t see much more than his hazy silhouette, “you’re gonna listen and do what I say. Oh, and you’re gonna say, ‘yes, sir’. Got it?”

You shake your head, shifting onto your knees as you search through the dim. You wince and shield yourself, expecting him to hit or kick you. You cower out a ‘yes, sir’ and wait.

The soft whisk of a zipper cuts under the distant din of the partier and their drunken antics, “open that mouth for me.” You swallow and he tuts before you can sputter, “don’t say a word, open.”

You don’t know what he’s doing. What’s going on? You glance over at the glow of the fires and the figures dancing to the crackly bluetooth speakers.

“Hey,” he grabs your jaw again and forces your head up, “open that mouth, shrimp girl, or I’m gonna break it.”

You whimper but obey. Your eyes well in confusion as you force your lips agape, opening wide as you stare up at the speckled sky. His silhouette blocks out the stars as he steps closer and you feel something press to your lips.

“Good girl,” he dips into your mouth and you gasp in surprise. “Now, you keep your teeth to yourself.”

You flick your lashes over your glossy eyes and murmur as he pushes further inside. You gulp and breathe through your nostrils, your chest knotting with confusion. It isn’t until he prods at the back of your throat that you realise what he’s doing. What is in your mouth, against your tongue, pushing painfully at your reflex.

You reach up and grab onto the lax material of his unzipped shorts and gag. He grips the sides of your head and jerks his hips, forcing past the resistance of your throat to sink even deep. He stretches you with a torturous burn. You cling to the fabric, clutching his belt at the same time and your body contorts with a repressed wretch.

Your horror curdles in your stomach. You close your eyes as he moves your head to his delight, groaning as you gasp and gulp around him, your spit dripping out around him. His motion grows quicker, more painful, intolerable. You reach up to clutch the front of his shirt, silently begging as he smothers your gagging pleas.