Author’s note: this is like my third blog and I promised myself I wasn’t going to write any Rafia stuff here. But… I’m listening to Olivia’s new album on my cd player and this idea hit me. This is sincerelypetal.. if anyone remembers me lol.
I’m a sad shell of a woman and I’ve got maggots for brains
But that’s just what happens when my
Baby goes away
Sofia downs another beer, some of it slushing the sides of her mouth. It burns the back of her throat, but she was hoping for the sting. Needed something to distract her, and the cheap beer was doing somewhat that. Her purse hits her gently on her arm, she ignores it.
This was never her crowd, she was never one to be found here, lounging around with people she hardly spoke to. Drinking disgusting beer and laughing at jokes she didn’t actually find funny. But lately, she found she’d been ripped by the seams.
Old Sofia wouldn’t be here. This new her, despite not knowing why she was in the boneyard, was here to find… something. She was even dressed like everyone else today. Short shorts with a tight halter top. Her sandals the only thing she kept the same.
“Sofia?”
She doesn’t turn, just bends down to grab another beer from the cooler. Handing over her last few dollars to the Kook selling it.
“Rafe wouldn’t like this.”
Her eyes closed, her lips stretching into a thin line. She finally leveled her eyes to Topper, who annoyingly has a worried look on his face. Here he goes, wanting to be some kind of hero to someone who doesn’t want him to be. She hugs the beer close to her chest.
“He’s not here, is he?” She tastes the venom in her voice, her heart tells a different story. One of aching harrowing pain.
She feels the wind tousle her hair, doesn’t bother to push it off her face. Glad it obscures Topper’s face, she doesn’t want to see him either.
“But I am. And I know he wouldn’t want me to leave you… like this.”
Her face scrunches up in annoyance, who the hell did he think he was? She could take care of herself just fine. It was only two beers.
“And from the looks of it. It seems you came alone. Which means you drove here alone.”
“Seems like you’re being observant.” This time her voice falls flat on venom.
“Look, I can take you home—”
“I didn’t ask you too.”
“Rafe—”
She drops her beer; both. Feels the liquid spill against her sandals.
“Rafe isn’t here, Topper! I don’t need you to babysit me! He doesn’t care what the hell happens to me! So why should you?”
The unused resentment spills out of her, she isn’t even drunk, she’s just angry. Topper mouth opens like a fish out of water and she wants to laugh. He must have thought she was going to make it easier for him. That she wouldn’t push back. But fuck it, new Sofia does.
“He wouldn’t want you here. Look, I don’t know what happened between you. But I know he care—”
Sofia lets out an ugly scoff, she crosses her arms, head shaking.
“He didn’t even like you.” Sofia says, her eyes narrowing at him. “He thought you were hung up on his sister and it made you pathetic. He thought you were the worst kind of Kook.”
“Okay.” Topper says, blinking rapidly, his brows furrowing into confusion, his hands in front of him like he’s actually trying to process it. Like it hadn’t been so obvious.
“You’re just upset.”
“Sure.”
“And you’re saying mean things so I’ll leave you alone.”
She doesn’t bother refuting, he’s clearly not used to the idea of someone he considers like him, not liking him.
“But look, this isn’t your kind of scene Sofia. And I wouldn’t want something bad happening to you. It’ll just kill Rafe.”
Each time his name slips out of Toppers mouth, just feels like another jab to her heart. It’s all her fault anyway, she’d ruin it, crushed it beneath her toe. His icy blue eyes flashes in her head and she winces.
“He cares. So let me just take you home.”
“What if it is?”
“Huh?”
She gesticulates around her, at the boneyard, at the people dancing and getting drunk. People giggling at jokes they probably didn’t truly find funny around the bonfire, the fire cracking, turning to ash.
“This. What if this is me now? Who are you to tell me this isn’t my kind of scene?”
“Sofia—”
“Whatever, take me home. Doesn’t make a real difference.”
She sits in the back seat of Topper’s bmw, staring out the window, tears flowing down her face. The music covering up the little hiccups that escape her lips. The ac is on full blast, if Rafe had been here, he would have known she didn’t like it that way. He would have known, she feels the phantom touch of his thumb rubbing circles against her thigh.
Maybe they’d been some truth to Topper’s words. Maybe Rafe did care.
His words echo in her head again.
“Just because we hook up doesn’t mean she’s my girlfriend, okay.”
She remembers the way his words slurred but he had still said them. No matter what she wanted to believe, Rafe still didn’t see her as someone who he could see himself with.
But he had proposed.
It all felt so contradictory, she wiped her eyes, hoping Topper hadn’t seen. The last thing she needs is him running to tell Rafe. How he found her at the boneyard, trying to get drunk. “She looked heartbroken dude.” With his stupid frat boy voice of his. She places her hands in her lap, staring at them, she could only forgive so much. Could only excuse so much. Could only conclude, Rafe didn’t really care.
God, she really wished she could change everything. Had stopped herself from hearing what he had said. She wouldn’t have lost him and therefore wouldn’t have lost a part of herself. The naive part of her who believed they could have worked out.
“Uh… we’re here.”
Sofia glances up, her rickety old house, the juxtaposition of her sitting in Toppers expensive car. She bursts into a fit of laughter, her shoulders shaking, tears springing out of her eyes. She probably looked crazy from the inside looking in. But the whole thing felt like a weird fever dream she was going to wake up from. How weird was it that Topper was the one who found her. She couldn’t help but let out another shriek of laughter.
“I know break ups are hard. Especially with someone like Rafe. But—”
“Thanks Topper for driving me home. But I don’t need any advice.”
She opens the car door, slamming it shut, not bothering to say anything more to him. She digs around her purse, retrieving her keys and entering her house. She only hears the engine of his car before he drives away.
She’s pathetic, that’s probably how everyone sees her now. A naive girl fed a dream. So naive that she even quit a “decent” job for a man who wasn’t reliable. The town’s piranha, but if they really knew Rafe, they would know he really didn’t bite.
The most he could do was sting. Deep down, she knew he didn’t even know why he did. Everything he did was a reaction from what others did to him. Not because he really felt inclined to it. There was no real danger. Just a scared little boy wanting to throw the first punch so he didn’t look like a coward.
But he was.
She slipped back into her room, jumping straight onto her bed, burying her face into the sheets. She wanted this night to be over with already.
Rafe
Rafe
Rafe
Rafe
That’s how many times Topper had said Rafe’s name. Too many times. She felt as if he was stitching his name into her brain, so she didn’t forget him. So she could see that no matter how much she thought she was finally getting over him. Rafe was still worming his way into her, even if it wasn’t for love.
She closed her eyes, praying sleep dragged her under.
AQUAMARINE: A RAFE CAMERON X SOFIA FANFICTION: Chapter 4
SONG OF THE CHAPTER:
Previous Chapter
Word Count: 7.6k
3rd pov:
Rafe Cameron has always had trouble sleeping.
Most of his early mornings, he always had to struggle under the covers or pace maniacally in his room or a random junkie’s trailer; trying to wear off the cocaine in his veins and try not to think about the ghosts of the choices he’s made or the people he lost throughout his life with or without his consent.
Today was different though. When he woke up, his vision was blinded by sunlight, the crust in the corner of his eyes blocking the rays of golden beam peeking through the curtains and a warm body resting peacefully on his chest. It was morning and he slept all through the night with Sofia by his side.
He peered down at her sleeping figure, her head of raven hair tickling his bare chest and her arms wound loosely on his hips. Her face looked devoid of her bashful gaze and her full cheeks untinted of the usual rosy hue of flirting but never crossing the invisible line of actually saying anything risque.
Well, they did something romantic and sexy last night. Not only once, but twice. Rafe couldn’t help but recall the events that unfurled yesterday night, the daze of being drunk on booze and the warmth of their bodies driving him insane. Right after they fucked (he wished there was a more erotic to describe it) on his bed and he helped her clean up since it was her first time, amidst the delicate silence after having just fucked the life out of each other, a small “Phew” erupted from Sofia’s gut. And that broke the unspoken bubble both were existing amongst the water running in the pristine bathroom; making both of them giggle instantaneously.
“I did all the work, and you’re hungry” Rafe cajoled as he slowly wiped Sofia’s thighs with warm water.
“You’re really funny, has anyone said that?”
Unironically, funny is not the word that anyone ever uses to describe Rafe Cameron. They would probably call him a psychopath. Or a daddy’s boy who throws away dollars to do anything that he pleases or a broken boy who’s incapable of change.
But never funny. And that made Rafe feel shy…a very foreign feeling to him.
He looked up at her, since she was sitting on the closed toilet bowl and he was cleaning her up. She was wearing nothing but a coy smile and the towel underneath the closed bowl, her naked form clothed with nothing but goosebumps on her supple skin, the AC fanning her baby hairs near her nape. He was astonished at how normal yet so bizarre this whole night felt, with his hands doing something very mundane but something completely new to him: taking care of someone with no expectations.
“No, not really. But I have been called worse so,” his eyes were brimming with mischief, “I’ll take it”
Her warm brown eyes crinkled with mirth as she laughed silently, shaking her head.
“Oook”
After he finished cleaning her legs diligently, his hand reached upto her arms, caressing slowly as said, “Come on, I’ll get you some clean clothes,”
Sofia suddenly felt shy about her bareness, her cheeks filling with heat as she mumbled, “Umm…I wanna get dressed here, on my own.” Rafe opened his mouth to utter a response but she beat him to it, “I know that we just…did a lot of things, but I wanna be honest. I am feeling a bit shy being buck naked right now, and I just…want a moment to myself. I-”
Rafe stopped her short as he ambled near her just before she started to prepare a whole speech in her head, “Hey, I get it. I’ll give you your space. Lemme just, lemme just give you something to wear.” he skedaddled out of the dimly lit bathroom to his disheveled sofa with a mountain of clothes piling on it, his hands grabbing the nearest T Shirt he could get his hands on. His actions were swift as he gave the shirt and scrambled out of the bathroom to give her privacy. The door shut in a few seconds with the soft click of the lock being the only sound prevailing in the room.
Sofia felt a typhoon of emotions bashing her head in one swift blow. She just partied with technically a stranger, got drunk and lost her virginity in the span of ten hours. And she was hungry as fuck and probably needed a drink to pace herself too. She just stared at her own reflection in the bathroom of the guy she teasingly flirted with no intention of anything other than backhanded provocation or perhaps, a kiss on the cheek or a full smack on the lips before both of them awkwardly fiddle their fingers, apologize with no eye-contact and she swore to never even look at Rafe Cameron.
But, life happens. And here she is, standing with gripping the counter for balance, feeling completely sore between her things and holding his T-shirt in his hands. She still thought that she was dreaming and that she would probably wake up in 3…2…
Nope, she thought, this was real. Too real that she can smell Rafe’s cologne as she donned the soft cotton shirt on her body. The shirt rode right until the middle of her thighs, the bright yellow graphic print of the sunset and palm trees, slightly glimmering in a sea of dark blue underneath the lights. Her freckles on her cheek looked more pink in front of the mirror, her face devoid of makeup but a smudge of natural bloom coloring the apples of her cheek and her eyelids slightly smudged with mascara. She felt a weird mix of bashfulness as well as a quiet sense of allure seeping in her emotions, the lewd acts playing like a well-written movie in her head. All the small touches to the cheek kisses as his hands grabbed her when he was inside of her felt magnified as she recalled the past hour. Sofia might have felt like she just had her guts thrown upside down but she wouldn’t mind doing it again if he kissed and touched her like that.
She wouldn’t mind it at all, really.
At the same time, a major part of her was still hiding in a corner with coyness, her desire to touch him being overshadowed by her fear of coming off too strong. Letting out a sigh, she tip-toed her way outside the bathroom; the white door shutting with a soft click. But Rafe, who was lying on the bed with nothing but boxers was glued to her figure, his eyes delicately wandering to Sofia’s subtle movements, the shirt swaying with the wind from the drapes outside, her doe-eyes peering up at him as she neared the corner of the bed. She said nothing as she crawled up beside him on the other side of the bed, her body leaned towards his side.
They just gazed at each other for a minute or two. Trying to soak in the past two hours of craziness. Both tried to gauge what each other was feeling; hoping that either one of them would slip anything that would make the comfortably numb silence go away.
To none of their surprise, Sofia broke it. Well, she and her bloated stomach broke it.
A mild rumble echoed through the bedroom, followed by Sofia and Rafe quivering in laughter.
“Damn, was I that good that I made you hungry?”
“One, I wouldn’t go that far, so take it down a notch, big guy and also, I haven’t eaten anything from afternoon, so I am STARVING.”
“Ok, drama queen. Let’s get you some food in you. Hop on.” Rafe jumped from the bed and held out his hand for Sofia which she gladly took.
And here they are, Sofia perched on the counter, legs dangling while the mousy blonde haired boy was trying his best to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the chunky granules of peanut butter feeling like chalk on his butter knife. And Rafe was losing his patience by a thread. In spite of getting sloshed for the past fourteen hours, the pair was nursing a drink, with Sofia’s frosted hands on the wine glass making an imprint on the glass. Meanwhile, a whiskey sour was situated right beside Rafe’s PB&J station, idly taking sips of the bitter liquid as he plated the poorly presented sandwich, the strawberry jam oozing out of the bread. He effortlessly passed the mildly hot plate to Sofia’s lap, who wasn’t braced for the heat.
“Ow! That’s hot.”
“Alright, drama queen. It’s not that hot. It’s lukewarm at best. Eat up before I eat the damn sandwich”
Sofia stared at the sandwich for a minute before she took a big bite, chewing the bread dangerously slow. Her eyes were twinkling with mirth as her voice muffled as she tried her best to give an objective critique of Rafe’s culinary expertise.
“ I will give you this, It’s not exceptionally good, Monsieur Rafe. However, I will consider this miserable excuse of a Peanut Butter and Jam Sandwich, a surprisingly 5 out of 10” she chirped in a fake European accent.
Rafe felt like he was living another life as he went in on the joke with her too, “You really gotta work on that accent, Miss Sofia. You sound like those ladies at the country club faking a French accent after staying in a hostel in Paris for three days, eating caviar and talking shit about the AC”
“Now. you just ruined the joke,” she pouted as she whined, “Why did you put me up with those women with a stick up their asses. I’m trying to be classy here, Rafe, not trashy.”
He said nothing to her retort, just observed her as she cleaned house off the sandwich, hopped off from the counter and went near the wash basin, and started to rinse the plate. Rafe couldn’t help but ogle at every move she took, she fluttered around with ease around the kitchen counter. She kept the wine glass on the counter, carefully washing the dishes and then wandering off to open the fridge.
“Do you mind if I steal some water from your fridge?” she said as she opened the appliance and got hit with a gust of cold wind. Patience was running thin for Rafe, he didn’t know how he lasted without being near her for so damn long without having his hands on her (Mind you it was only five mins of standing three feet apart). The whiskey glass was let down with a soft thud on the black marble as he went near her
After she scanned the fridge for some plain water amidst the bottles of Powerade, Coke and leftovers, she finally found the bottle of water. As she hastily opened the cap and started to take big gulps of water, the cold liquid hitting her senses and the roof of her mouth in the best way possible, she felt a set of hands encircling her waist and a pair of lips smothering her neck. Rafe expelled deep breaths as he more or less groped Sofia, pinching and touching her skin beneath the flimsy Tshirt for some sort of friction.
The smooth sound of kissing and lips speaking silent poetry to each other pierced through the silent night, the low lights dimming both their senses yet heightening their need for love making, the chillness of the door resting on Sofia’s contrasting the fire burning through her veins. Rafe wanting to feel the rush of her whimpers on his ears and the peak of desire in his racing heart, picked Sofia up in his arms, encircling Sofia by her thighs as he carried her over to his lavish room, stealing away the blanket of time holding the stars and moon together to love on each other.
Maybe it wasn’t love. After all, it is one in a thousand chances to fall in love by just fucking after knowing each other just for a few days. But both Rafe and Sofia, in their lust-struck subconscious selves, felt that their physical encounter involved a bit of heart too.
And it brings Rafe to this moment, as he pensively scanned Sofia’s tranquil body, thinking about how they stayed up until 4 am in the morning literally rolling on the bed, talking about how “Kooky” Rafe’s party was and at one point in the night, Rafe ended up tickling Sofia because she said that he looked like the guy from “You know I had to do it to them” meme for which Rafe was perplexed, then lead to Sofia calling him an “Unc” and subsequently getting her stomach sore from all the cackles she got from the tickles.
The screeching alarm woke him from his stupor, Sofia slowly moving away from him. He swiftly yet tiredly turned around to snooze the alarm in his iPhone on the table resting with the empty whiskey glasses. Then he saw the notification.
“20 G plated nuggies ready. 2 meatheads asking 10 each for 50k. You wanna take care of it?”
Rafe shot up from his bed, already calculating that these “two meatheads” are trying to scam him, knowing well that his gold, even if they are scraps is worth more than fifty fucking thousand a piece. Each of his “nugget” costs more than seventy five thousand even with all the impurities and wastage; he wasn’t letting two Tourons from New Jersey scam their way to stashing his gold. He singlehandedly melted this cross, keeping in mind all the karmic shit he will be going through later in his life (not that he solely believed in it or stopped him from doing anything) and the practical complications, including his father and a wine drunk Rose screaming at his face that he will get from melting this cross, and he’s not letting anything slip from his hands, not when he’s trying to make bank and get back on everyone that crossed him.
And that includes his father too.
All he texted back was, “I’ll be there. Gimme 2 hours tops”
Rushing to the en-suite bathroom, Rafe brushed his teeth and washed his face in less than seven minutes since he was in a hurry to take care of a small impediment. Small yet has the power to blow up everything he’s been working on for the past two weeks. He threw on a pair of khaki cargo pants, fastened his belt lying on the open armoire and circled around the cream Chesterfield sofa where a massive pile of clothes was strewn around the entire piece of furniture. After a quick second of browsing through the mess of fabric, he found a white henley T-shirt with blue sleeves that felt clean enough for use when he did a quick sniff on the shirt.
He tried to be quiet since he had company, softly dozing on his bed but it was not quiet enough since as he was donning his shirt, he found Sofia slowly waking up from her slumber and rolling over to see him. His blue shirt that he distinctly remembers, the one that he was wearing when he burnt the cross. It looked innocent on her body, with the small gold chain on her neck and her soft sleepy smile symbolising this new paradox in his life, the girl lying on his bed who hasn’t run far away from him. Yet.
“Hey.” she cooed as she woke up.
“Hey.”
Maybe it was the Sun gleaning in the golden hour and the memory of last night fresh in the air but they sensed a delicate layer of feeling encasing them. Sofia, surprisingly feeling cheeky instead of her usual grumpy temperament, took a gander around the master bedroom in its morning glory. Grinning, she kept her chin on her hands planted on the lush bedsheets as she commented, “So, is this place really all yours?”
Rafe responded with all the pride and arrogance he acquired from living alone in Tannyhill for the past three weeks, he felt Machiavellian, like a man finally realising his true calling, in his case, standing up for himself and growing his own empire.
“More like a lord of the manor shit.”
Sofia giggled in response like a teenager, which elicited a slow but smug grin from Rafe, satisfied that he could easily make Sofia laugh.
“Ha, still got it”
Speaking about the house, Rafe walked across the hallway to the patio, scanning the afterparty mess with solo red cups littering the floor and the chairs, and empty glasses and bottles of Don Julio and Jack Daniels on the glass table. He went over to the railing, turned around and let out a loud whistle, feeling proud that he put out a last minute killer party but most importantly that he bagged the girl that he desperately wanted. And honestly, he wasn’t planning to let go of Sofia as a one-night stand. He used to be the “wham-bam-thank you mam” in his prime years in high school along with his short time at Chapel Hill as the stereotypical preppy, frat boy out of his own volition or there was a deeper reason that he hadn’t had the guts to explore (as many aspects of his psyche). However, in this very short-spanned time he spent with Sofia, he realised that he has been deprived of a company that was not transactional for a very long time.
But his daydreams came to a halt as he eyed the sofa where Barry warned Rafe about his own father as if he was a bishop waiting to be squashed so that he can checkmate his way to being filthy rich.
“You have to get your father out of the battlefield before he starts squawking”
He saw a couple walking across the grass, the guy with an atrocious French crop screaming, “You the man, Rafe!”
Rafe didn’t even hesitate when he cockily screamed, “Ay, I’m going to stay that way too!”
He realised that he needs to at least persuade Ward to leave the Outer Banks for both his and his father’s sake. After all, if someone knew that Ward was in fact, not dead but breathing, kicking and terrorising his children as usual, he would be detained and acquitted for life. He may hate Ward nosing around his business but he is family at the end of the day. And he is done trying to actively harm his family; he is trying to help Ward out of going to jail. Or that’s what he told himself as he went back to his room to get his Pistol gun.
Sofia sensed his irritable disposition a minute away as he walked over to the cluttered sofa, rummaging through the mountain of shirts to find the gun he stashed under the clothes for “emergency” situations like this. Although he was aware of his own history of violence, he didn’t want to scare Sofia away, just after enjoying her company all throughout yesterday night with a gun right near her side of the bed so he made sure that he stood in front of the sofa to block her view. Ensuring that he placed the gun safely on his back pocket, bypassing Sofia’s eyeline. He saw Sofia’s eyes reflecting perplexity as she slowly asked, “Hey you going somewhere?”
Rafe, rushing his words, couldn’t look her in the eye as he incoherently mumbled, “Yeah, I have something to do, but you can crash here and look around?”
Before responding to Rafe’s hasty stupor, she watched him haphazardly ruffle through the bedside table to find some keys and sprinted towards the winding staircase, leaving Sofia bewildered. Slowly regaining her coherence from her sleep, she rubbed her eyes to clear her slumber. All alone in this mansion, Sofia crashed on the luxurious bed, her arms leisurely palming the Egyptian cotton.
She could get used to this.
TRRNGGG
The harsh blare of the alarm dragged her back to reality. Literally and figuratively.
“Snap the fuck out of it, Sofia. What are you thinking? You think sleeping with a filthy rich, hot guy for one night means you’ll get to live in a miniature castle for the rest of your life.”
Though it was a Sunday, there wasn’t any promise for a leave from her bartending gig. She takes alternate weekend shifts since the Country club is packed during Sunday nights, with Benny hosting some random themed parties just to attract tourons and gullible customers. Most of the time it’s just the same crepe paper and fairy lights from Dollar Tree messily strewn across the bar, “curated playlists” (a Youtube playlist with ads) and a “special drinks menu” ( the usual drinks for double the price). She has to clock in for her shift in…approximately six hours, she calculated as she stared at the grandfather clock situated at the rightmost corner of the room.
Reluctantly, Sofia peeled herself off from the bed, already cursing out that she should have invested in the stock market at five years old instead of slaving away everyday for minimum wage. She quickly did a detour to the washroom to get into yesterdays clothes (it took five minutes for her to find her panties) and rushed out of the room to get to her car. As she reached the threshold of Tannyhill, something dawned on her.
Rafe didn’t leave any keys for her to lock this behemoth of a house.
Fuck.
As much as she wanted to leave to get ready for work and ruminate on everything that has just transpired for the past fifteen hours…she couldn’t just leave Rafe’s place unattended.
“I can actually leave...it's not like it’s my house anyway”, Sofia pondered but then she felt she should at least call or text Rafe to let him know that she’s leaving Tannyhill. And to her lack of luck, Sofia couldn’t reach Rafe via text or call. Confused, she went back to the house, planning to wait for quite some time with hopes of Rafe coming back soon as possible.
She idly just laid on the bed for a few minutes (without shoes, of course. She’s not a Neanderthal) but she quickly got bored. After a while, she started to roam inside the room carefully, making sure that nothing was misplaced. She wasn’t intentionally snooping but rather was interested in minute details of the house, artful knicks knacks and most importantly, the plethora of photos placed on the mantelpiece. Some photos were aligned in a perfect straight line while some were kept in a slanted angle as if someone often picked it up and tried to place according to the arrangement but failed to do so. She saw a lot of random photos of the Cameron family, most of them being a teenage girl posing with a tween in various poses; and some with a couple; the man sporting a wolfish grin and a woman wearing a coy smile and tired eyes. She could find Rafe only in few photos, that too with pictures taken in formal occasions; the blonde boy dressed to the nines and a nonchalant poker face in most of his photos.
Curious, Sofia grabbed one of the mismatched photos, in which a dark blonde woman; different from the other woman present on most of the photos; on a knitted swimsuit, donning a big sunhat perched happily under a breach umbrella on the white sand, the bright smile on her face shining as bright as the blinding sun in the picture. She also spotted the cutest baby boy with identical hair color, full chub on his round cheeks and piercing blue eyes, sporting an innocent smile to his mom who was holding him on her lap. They both look like summer personified. It didn’t take rocket science to make out that the woman in this photo was Rafe’s mom and the other couple being his dad and possibly, his stepmom.
“You snooping around, Ramirez?”
Sofia nearly dropped the photoframe in shock. She got startled by the familiar intruder’s voice, as she swiftly turned around to see Rafe leaning on the arch leading to the main hallway.
“Rafe, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean-” Sofia was rambling and scrambling to find a reasonable answer without sounding like a creep.
“It’s alright. I told you to look around.”
“I…I was just waiting cus’ you forgot to give me the keys to look your door, and I was so close to leaving but then I remembered that I can’t just leave your house without locking it then what if, someone breaks into your house and steals all the fancy stuff and champagne bottles you have and then it will be very awkward for me-”
Rafe crossed the distance and put his palms on Sofia’s shoulder to cut off her ramblings, “It’s ok. Again, I don’t mind.” He slowly peered down at the photo Sofia was clutching, his chest clenching in a familiar tension,
Rafe seemed to look put together but Sofia recognised a flicker of a storm brewing inside him as his piercing stare tried to hide the emotions he was feeling while trying to look nonchalant. He softly cleared his throat as he said, “That’s my ma and me, when we went to the Bahamas. There’s another picture of her in the Bahamas on the table in my room. I remember…” Rafe paused for a sec as his eyes darted around, “my dad saying that mom loved that place so much that she took like a hundred pictures to remember those memories.”
The amber eyed girl was confused on how to respond to a memory that clearly meant a lot to him without prying for more information, so all she could respond with was a quiet nod. Sofia felt that the picture held so much significance and so she quietly passed the photoframe to Rafe who took it and placed it at the same spot and at the same specific angle.
Sofia and Rafe felt the room spin, with too many emotions simmering between them and honestly, neither of them had the emotional strength to question what was happening. They both know that they are, technically, strangers and Rafe just dropped an eighth-base “fun fact” about himself, the kind that someone says after their fifth date.
As if Rafe and Sofia didn’t cross three-bases in the duration of one night
Sofia sensed that she needed to scamper out of this place before the blue eyed boy started asking questions that she didn’t have no answer for. She softly cleared her throat as she slowly retracted from him and picked up her clutch.
“I had so much fun, Rafe. Thank you for showing me the Kook version of ‘having fun’”
“Yea.,.I’m glad you…we…spent time together. You make great company by the way.”
“Not bad for a pogue, eh?” Sofia tried to crack a joke but Rafe cut her off quick.
“I didn’t even think of that.”
Shit. I cannot joke to save my life, Sofia chided herself.
“It was a joke, Rafe. I meant it as a joke”
He just nodded slowly to her stammering response. Sofia urged herself to speed walk and reached the door, finally ready to leave Tannyhill.
“Sofia!” Rafe called out her name loudly.
She suddenly stopped in her tracks…her hand pulling the door as she turned around. She didn’t respond but just pensively looked at Rafe, waiting for him to talk.
Rafe was scratching his neck as he fumfered, “Uhm…I’ll catch you later. I’ll come to the bar ...around tonight, I guess? Assuming you’re working?”
Sofia was caught off guard by his sudden abashedness after proudly parading his pride yesterday night. She also sensed that he was also thinking about something else but refrained from enquiring since it wasn’t her business to ask anyway.
“Yea…I am working today. Maybe I’ll catch you there?” her hands were slightly sweaty from holding the doorknob too tightly.
“Ok. See you, Sofia.”
“Bye, Rafe.”
With that, both Rafe and Sofia were left with confusion and an unfamiliar feeling quietly creeping in both of their hearts. It sounded like the beginning of a wave that is slowly receding into the sea, ready to pounce on the shore, unclear, fleeting yet so vibrant.
“How to know if my tampon will fit after losing my virginity?”
“Is it ok to bleed painfully after losing virginity”
“Can people get pregnant even when using protection”
“Is there a thing called being dickmatized after having sex once?”
“Uhm, excuse me! But I need more olives in my dry dirty martini! I specifically told you what I want. More. Olives.” The lady with the red cocktail dress pulled me out of obsessively staring at my Google search history for the past six hours, by dropping her empty glass on the granite table with a loud THAWCK.
Sofia supposed that the woman straight from a reality TV show ad was partially blind since there was a bowl of “feta-cheese filled olives. Just at arms length beside her. ”She asked for it for more than three minutes in a loud voice, with not-so subtle snides that she repeated it thrice because she assumed that Sofia looked like someone who wouldn’t understand English.
Puta.
Sofia desperately wished some tsunami came over this place and washed her away as well as this annoying woman’s olives.
But sadly, good things doesn’t happen to her. So all Sofia could do was tune in my “service-worker” voice in her near-to empty brain and say, “Mam, I gave you a bowl full of olivia filled with cheese ten minutes ago along with your drink. It’s right beside you, if you didn’t notice. But if you want, I can top you off with some more?”
She seriously doesn't want to spend my time filling cheese into olives, but alas, here she was.
“Please don’t let me de-pitt olives that’ll be thrown to the trash anyway, I begged my customer using my telepathic ways.” she thought to herself . She noticed the big bowl of olives right away and quietly mumbled, “That’s ok, I just saw it. Maybe I wouldn’t have hounded you if you kept the olives near my eyesight.”
“I don’t get paid enough for this.” Sofia grumbled to herself.
“It’s alright, mam. Hope you enjoy your drink!”
She leisurely walks off from the bar counter, half-finished drink on one hand and cheese filled olives on the other followed by a fresh set of customers asking for drinks and my shift goes on like this; edging to bone-deep exhaustion, but sporting a smile since I can’t slip, not when my boss is burning holes at my coworkers and me all the time, standing in a corner and perfecting his deceitful yet sickly sweet smile. Dusk was settling in the skies of Outer Banks, pinks and oranges bleeding in with the dark hues of blue as the sun slowly settled down to lie with the horizon. Though it was June, the soft breeze tickled the hairs on the back of her neck in a tantalizing way.
Blood was roaring on Rafe’s ears when he parked the car at the country club bar. He can hear the cacophony of loud voices and laughs floating in the salt air, the party lights nearly blinding him. He could hear his dad whispering menacingly when Rafe pointed a gun at Ward, hands shaking with blood curling anger yet fear drumming in his head.
“The devil’s got you, son!”
Bullshit. The devil didn’t get him. What got him on his nerves was his father turning into a damn saint, on a sudden note. Rafe was baffled by Ward’s mere foolishness; his dad thought just because he says he’s “healed by God” and looking for retribution doesn’t mean that everything would change in two or three days. He would know, he had blood on his hands. No amount of prayer can retribute a life that has been killed. Not that he knew of, anyway. And when he pulled the “Sarah will help me, she’s my daughter” card, Rafe lost it. Now that he’s turned to a pastor, he wants to rebuild the relationship with his precious daughter.
“What about me?” A quiet voice squeaked in his heart. Where was Ward’s kindness and love when Rafe was begging him to listen to him about anything for the past fifteen years. Even after his undulated loyalty to his dad, Rafe felt that Ward never gave him any recognition for all the lengths Rafe went to protect him and his image. Where was his father’s mercy when Rafe’s couldn’t escape the sound of gunshots and the smell of blood even in his dreams; when he was hit again and again by the same person that wants eternal salvation.
So yeah, maybe he had dealt his cards too soon by calling a hit on his own dad but Rafe had too much to lose. He cannot afford to give away his one way ticket to being rich. Or maybe, he couldn’t afford to lose his ego to his dad once again.
He was in deep thought as he subconsciously gave his keys to the concierge, casually walking into the open bar. Most of the people in the space acknowledged his presence, with a solid nod or a raise of their beer or even an occasional “Hey, Rafe!” It felt like Rafe never even left the Outer Banks. Amidst all the pleasantries, he found what he was looking for; Sofia floating around the bar, pouring drinks to customers with a supple smile.
He languidly walked towards the honey-eyed bartender, smiling from ear to ear as he neared the bar counter.
“Sofiaaa” Rafe catcalled and rested his head on his palm, catching some of the patrons’ attention for a fleeting moment, causing Sofia’s cheeks to redden immediately. She’s not used to this kind of undivided attention for a continuous stream of time so she was comically confused on if she should revel in Rafe’s attention or try to maybe recede herself from unwanted attention.
After all, Rafe Cameron has a big reputation.
But for now, Sofia would like to be blissfully unaware and enjoy a fling with a gorgeous man.
Sofia couldn’t help but drop her service worker facade and grace a kittenish grin at her new customer/now-fuck buddy.
“Hi Rafael, thank you for gracing this boring place with your presence. What do you want?”
Rafe felt like fooling around so he played along, “Hit me. Show me your best drink.”
“You’re getting a glass of ice if you keep being a smartass. Maybe a slice of lime if I’m being generous.”
“I thought bartenders were supposed to throw shot glasses with fire in the air and catch it. What happened to being a professional, Ms. Ramirez?”
“I won’t hesitate to throw that shot glass in your face, Mr. Cameron, if you don’t tell what you want to drink?”
“Can you throw yourself at me then, maybe then I’ll reconsider not reviewbombing my Yelp review?”
Sofia was aware that her boss was quietly zoning in on their conversation, slowly inching towards them.
“Rafe!” she quietly hissed.
“Ok, I’ll take a classic Margarita. With the salt rim and everything.”
“One Margarita coming right up, Rafito!” Sofia giggled under her breath
“What?”
“Nothing! Just wait for a few minutes and I will be right up with your drink.”
Rafe didn’t move an inch. He just situated himself right in front of Sofia, observing her making his drink and her cute little expressions. Sofia felt undressed under his gaze, deliberating every move she made as she finished up his order, slowly rimming his cup with chilli salt and trying so hard not to stare back at Rafe as she ducked down to get a lime from the bowl of lime slices. Her quiet grin was infectious as she gave him his order. Rafe looked satisfied as he picked up the drink from her cold palm, the minute touch making both of them feel heady.
“There you go, Mr. Cameron. One lime margarita.”
Rafe said nothing but raised his drink in the air to her and turned around to enjoy his drink. He might be frustrated with the gold, his dad and not to mention, Sarah and Wheezie but for now, he is content with pretending; pretending that everything was going absolutely swell and he got a pretty girl in his sight.
When Rafe told her that he wanted to see her at her place of work, she thought maybe he would just drop by, say some awkward pleasantries, order one drink or two and leave coolly true to his fashion. But what happened was certainly not that.
The blue eyed boy was perched in the exact same spot when he first came to the bar, smack right in front of Sofia’s eyeline. He didn’t move an inch for nearly two hours. During these two hours, she saw him pouting innocently as he sipped his two drinks, an old-fashioned after his margarita; scrolled his phone and made small talk to her in between working the cash counter and serving drinks; asking quid pros about random things sprinkled with teasing comments such as,
“Man, the way you twist this lemon, I didn’t see you twist my d-”
“I need you to stop talking right now!”
But he never moved, not at least once. Okay, maybe once or thrice, a guy would come up to him, bump a sideways hug and shoot the shit about his business and say sorry for some unknown reason for which Rafe’s nonchalance quickly faded to a jaded grimace that he would quickly mask by a casual “Thanks man” comment as he would down his drink when he thought no one was watching. But she did; she watched him wistfully stare into the abyss in between moments of cocky remarks and plastered grins to other Kooks. Something was bothering him, and Sofia didn’t have the courage to ask what happened.
There was an hour before her shift ended and she leaned towards Rafe, looking around to check if Benny wasn’t near them. “Hey, you have free will, you know that right? I hate to say this but you’ve been here for two hours, you can leave, Rafe. I have another hour before my shift’s over. You look a bit worn down, and plus you should drive back home. Now, scram!” Rafe shook his head and pouted, stroking his imaginary goatee. Sofia wondered how hot he would look if he actually had a beard. And how that would feel between her-
Instead of saying yes or no, Rafe just asked, “How did you come here?
Sofia cocked her head as she squeaked, “Umm…I biked. My dad uses my car sometimes, so I either walk or bike to work sometimes.”
“Right, so let me get this straight, you travel all alone at ten in the night when we both know that someone got their purse stolen just two days ago?”
Sofia started to get irate, she knew that the streets were not safe at night, especially where she comes from, she was not dense. “Look, I know you probably have four cars in your garage and each of them costs 500k and a million dollar yacht so you can talk about safety and all that. I wish I could drive home everyday but I can’t. Because I can’t afford another car, not with this deadbeat pay.”
Rafe was taken aback with Sofia’s sudden outburst, “Look, I didn’t mean it that way. And yeah, you are right, I have four cars and thats why I look like I sound tone deaf but all I wanted to say was that I can drop you off or I can follow you home so that you can go home safe. That’s what I was trying to say, Sofia.”
Both Sofia and Rafe were confused; Sofia, for she was never considered as someone to be looked after, being the eldest daughter and all; and Rafe, the self-proclaimed “Pogue hater” feeling affectionate and downright protective about a bartender that he met a week ago. “Maybe it’s because she’s the first girl that’s stayed this long enough without running away, this is just me being selfish, again” he mused to himself. Sofia felt her self-welded iron guard around her heart slipping away, even if she was aware that they still don’t know fundamentally anything about each other. Before she could rebut Rafe, a familiar sandy blonde fidgeting around them. Topper Thornton, with his purple hued eyelids, shaky hands and nervous disposition, barrelled towards Rafe. His eyes looked glassy as he was frantically looking at his calls and messages. Rafe, being his cocky self as usual, called out to him, “You okay, man?”
Without speaking, Topper dragged the buzzcut to a corner, making sure that no one was listening. Their backs were turned, both of them were immersed in an intense conversation of fluctuating baritones; Rafe being animated with his words and Topper intently listening to him. Sofia, childishly wanted to listen to what was all the fuss about but then, another party of customers came towards her, completely diverting her attention for the next whole hour.
Sofia thought she was the most bullish person she knew. Sadly, it was not true; Rafe is one stubborn son of a gun. She thought she could convince Rafe that she would be completely fine cycling back home. Alone. Without him trailing behind.
And here she is, pedaling her way back to Rafe’s place. With Rafe driving closely behind her. She had a small headlight on the cycle when she drove home at nights like this. But it felt like she was followed by the Secret Service as the blinding headlights of Rafe’s Range Rover guided her route. The road to her home, located in the outskirts of the Cut, was an interesting drive to say the least. Occasionally, she would turn around to see if Rafe was still behind her; Sofia knew that it was pointless because his presence was “glaringly” obvious, with the engine roaring steadily behind her, the headlights and all. She saw him effortlessly steering the car, smirking as some rap boomed inside the cushioned interior. Rafe offered to take her back in his car; but the conversation went like this;
“How do you feel about spending the night with moi, Miss Sofia?”
“Sounds tempting but, Rafe, I have a shift tomorrow afternoon. I really need to go back home.”
“You can leave early in the morning. We can order whatever you want, sip some wine, swim around the pool and, fool around, what do you say?”
“Look, I’d love to spend my Sunday night eating lo mein and orange chicken on your king size bed but again I have work and two, what will I tell my parents?”
“Aren’t you twenty years old?”
“My mom will still burn my head off if I don't tell her where I spent the night, since I’m living under my parent’s roof. Also, are you sober enough to drive?”
“Just tell them that you’re staying with your friend. Come on, you literally told me that you want Chinese takeout and sleep on my bed. Just stay this one night with me; I’ll be busy throughout this week anyways so I won’t pester you. Come onnnnn, Sofiaaaa….And, I am sober enough to drive. I’m not that drunk.”
“Something a drunk person would say.”
“I’m not drunk. And you’re straying away. Come onnnn….”
“Fine! But I’m cycling to your place.”
“I can just-”
“Cycle to your place or I’m packing my butt home. I need the cycle to go back home tomorrow.”
“Alright, you win.”
Wind in her hair and the navy blue skirt swaying in the wind, Sofia was a vision even in the dim night. She looked carefree as she breezed through the road to his home, her thighs pedaling the cycle with practiced ease. As they both reached Tannyhill; Sofia parked her lavender cycle and walked towards Rafe’s car; grinning ear to ear as she knocked his car window.
Rafe was surprised when Sofia leaned towards him, and planted a big kiss on his cheek when he rolled down his window. “What was that for?” Rafe laughed as he unlocked the door.
“Nothing,” Sofia’s cheeks were colored as she uttered, “just thought about kissing you and, I did it, I guess.”
Rafe couldn’t contain his joy as he looped his arms around Sofia’s waist and bend down to kiss Sofia’s mouth, both of them locking their lips with no rush. Both of their hands roamed around each other, Sofia’s hands on Rafe’s back and his on her hips.
“Do you want to go on round three before the food arrives?” Rafe whispered in between kisses.
“Only if you promise me to get me some shrimp dumplings.”
“Baby, I’ll buy you the whole store if you say yes.”
Sofia chortled with mischief as she detangled herself from Rafe, causing him to utter a small whine of disapproval. That was cut short by her hands gripping his, slowly asking him to take her into his home and show her a good time. And Rafe basically was content to be dragged by Sofia’s soft palms into his house, that felt lively to him after living there nearly his entire life.
Rafe’s mind kept racing back to his own words that he said to Topper in the country club, “You can’t trust a Pogue” and wondered why he was lying to himself and Topper. As he unlocked the door and picked Sofia up to kiss her, his notions about his society, dad and the future blurred into nothing but Sofia’s hands on his nape and her eyes twinkling with affection.
“No matter what happens, I can get used to this,” Rafe thought to himself as he kicked the door shut as Rafe and Sofia enjoyed their second night together without realising that both of them have stumbled upon something that could change their lives. Forever.
AN:
Me after realising that I wrote two paragraphs completely wrong from what happened in s3 and rewriting it again.
Hello!!! Its been A LONG time since I have published a chapter and its partly because I have been either too lazy to write it or my personal feelings about certain things. BUT I'm back and I won't promise that I will finish the next chapter in a week or something but I will try my best to release the next chapter as soon as possible! (me side eyeing myself with three wips that desperately needs to be written). I hope you guys have a great day and let me know how you guys feel about the chapter. Also, I'm very excited for season five!!!
Rafe glances up from the kitchen island, the pen in his hand tapping mindlessly against a stack of contracts. Five of them, each about a hundred pages of legalese and conditions Cameron Development has in motion—three Figure Eight projects and two in the Cut.
Ward always acted like he believed Rafe could take over one day. Always preparing him, yet somehow undercutting him and his potential simultaneously.
Part of him wishes his dad could see him now. After everything. Just to rub it in his face a little. Maybe then, he’d feel somewhat vindicated. Or at least a short, proud pat on the back.
“What?”
Sofia stands near the living room, arms crossed, staring critically at the large painting. Her hazel eyes briefly flick to his before returning to the painting, her brows drawn in frustration.
He chuckles, but based on the tension in her shoulders, he knows that wasn’t the correct reaction.
“Sof—”
Her hands slap lightly against the thighs of her jean shorts. “That’s it.”
Rafe watches as she strides toward the painting, reaching up to take it down. He pushes back the stack of papers on the countertop as he goes to stand. She struggles slightly with the size, which makes sense—he had to hang it up himself earlier per her instructions before she left the house this morning.
“Baby—”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll just start over—”
“Sof.”
His hands wrap around hers on the frame, stopping her. It’s a heavy, grand thing, framed in an antique piece they picked out together at a little shop Sofia stumbled upon months ago. She almost yanks her hands away out of instinct, but he gently takes the frame back. She lets go with a huff, stepping back as he rehanges it. He adjusts the lower left corner slightly, making sure it’s straight.
“I can redo it—”
He glances at her as she keeps glaring at the painting, unsatisfied.
Instead of arguing, he lifts his hand and gently grips the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. He situates her in front of him, wrapping his arms around her and gripping his opposite elbows. Her back is warm against his stomach, and their breaths slowly sync.
“It’s perfect,” he states, firm and sure.
“It could use more yellow and red,” she mutters.
“Sof.”
“Yeah?”
He smiles, even though she can’t see it. “It’s perfect.”
She exhales, her shoulders lowering, her body leaning into him.
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Her hands grip his forearms, and he presses a lingering kiss to the crown of her head.
Rafe has always admired Sofia’s artistic side. The one time he found her old bedroom in her parent’s house littered with sketches, a pile of canvases stuffed in the back of the tiny closet. But when college wasn’t an option—her family simply couldn’t afford it—she let that part of herself fade, aside from the occasional jewelry-making or that one brilliant idea two years ago with the stone artifact Pope still has hanging in his and Cleo’s townhome.
And if there’s one person who is hardest on Sofia’s work, it’s Sofia herself.
Always murmuring to herself in her studio, claiming something was missing. That her pieces could be better.
In a perfect world, she’d see the paintings her parents proudly display all around their home. The one she gifted Sarah and John B as an engagement present—their hideaway, captured in stunning detail—hanging in their entry hall. The small portrait of his nephew framed on his sister’s mantle.
Or his personal favorite—watching her paint in her studio when he’s at his most stressed, bourbon in hand, the setting sun casting a golden glow over her gentle hands as they move effortlessly over a canvas.
If only she let it all sink in.
But then, she wouldn’t be Sofia Cameron if she did.
His eyes drift back to the painting—how she’s captured the gentle breeze rustling through the reeds behind their house, the sunlight shimmering off the water.
“Are you sure—”
“Sofia. It stays.” His voice is playful, but final.
She taps his shin with her foot in protest. He chuckles, swaying them slightly back and forth.
“How about we do something to take your mind off the freshness of this change?” He nods toward the painting.
“Like?”
“You’re stressed,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down to gently knead the tension in her shoulders. “I don’t want to look at or sign another paper tonight. Let me be your canvas.”
“What?” She laughs, turning to face him.
“We get naked. You paint me with those yellows and reds you think are missing—then I make you see stars.” He smirks, grabbing her hands, slowly pulling her toward the stairs.
She smirks, but fights it. “I’m peckish.”
“Let’s work up your appetite. We’ll order pizza in between rounds.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Hey, don’t doubt me.”
“Trust me, I don’t. But I’m pretty sure last time, I was the one doing all the work.”
He grins. “Now, that’s just not true.”
“Says the man who lounged back with his hands behind his head.”
“I was enjoying the show.”
She tries not to smile. And fails.
~~~~~
He runs his fingers softly up and down Sofia’s bare thigh as she leans over him, his discarded shirt hanging loosely from her frame. Her legs are draped over his lap as he lays nestled into the haphazard pillow pile they’d hastily thrown together.
The lamp casts a cool blue glow over her studio, pouring over her works in progress and finished pieces. And highlighting the curve of her cheekbone as she stares down in concentration. A thin paintbrush twirls between her fingers, the soft bristles tickling his abs in the most intoxicating way.
His head rests against a fluffy throw pillow, his gaze locked on her. She’s completely engrossed in her work, hazel eyes sharp, bottom lip caught between her teeth.
He tries to glance down, but before he can get a proper look, she tuts under her breath and presses her palm firmly against his forehead, pushing it back.
“No yellow?” he teases.
“Not needed for this,” she replies, confident and sure.
A small smile tugs at his lips. “I love you.”
He can’t help it. He’ll say it whenever the feeling hits—the butterflies that never left since the day he fell for her years ago. If anything, they’ve only gotten stronger the more time he gets to be by her side. Through everything.
She meets his gaze briefly, her lip releasing from its hold, her grin lighting up her face.
“I love you,” she murmurs.
Then she leans down, pressing one, two, three slow kisses to his mouth—each one more lingering than the last.
He’d gladly keep her there, let her keep going, if not for the work she’s still doing on his bare chest but the chime of the doorbell that echoes from downstairs.
“Pizza’s here.” She smirks, pushing off him with a satisfied glint in her eyes. “If you will.”
He shakes his head. Of course, he will.
Not that he’d ever let her open the door looking like that—disheveled, flushed, wearing his shirt. That’s something only for him.
With ease, he lifts her legs off of him and gets up, a pep in his step at the thought of devouring three or four slices of greasy pizza after three successful rounds of making Sofia forget all about the nonexistent flaws in her latest piece.
His own personal masterpiece, if you ask him.
He bounds down the stairs in nothing but his boxers, snatching up his wallet and fishing for cash as he pulls open the front door.
A high schooler stands on the stoop, delivery bag in hand, pulling out the pizzas. Rafe takes them, grateful.
The kid glances down—pauses. His mouth presses shut, his cheeks puffing out like he’s barely holding in a laugh.
Rafe narrows his eyes as he hands over the cash—a generous tip, mind you—but the kid just snatches it up and busts out laughing, shaking his head as he jogs lazily back down the drive.
Frowning, Rafe shuts the door, locking up before turning—only to catch his reflection in the foyer mirror.
Across his stomach, in bold red paint, scrawled in her perfect script backward in the mirror, are the words:
If found, Property of Sofia Cameron. Will bite. Touch at your own peril.
“Sofia.” His curse is loud, sharp.
From upstairs, her laugh rings out—graceful, completely unapologetic.
WHAT IF... after hearing what Rafe thinks of her and their relationship Sofia blocks him from everywhere.
The words echoed in her head like a ticking clock.
Just because we hook up doesn’t mean she’s my girlfriend.
I’m not living with a Pogue — I have standards.
It felt unreal. A nightmare. There was no way the man she loved could speak so carelessly about their relationship, like it meant nothing. Like she meant nothing.
Ragged tears blurred her vision, and all she could see was the back of his head. That was enough. She turned on her heel and walked away.
Right there —in the club’s parking lot, heart pounding and pride in shambles— she made a decision: for once, she was going to put herself first.
She had gone against everything she believed in just to be with him. She had stood by him at his worst, held him when he was broken, made love to him like he was the only thing that mattered.
Even when people whispered rumors, warned her, judged her — she didn’t care.
She just wanted him.
And when she fell, she fell hard.
She loved every part of him — even the ones he hated.
But now? Now, she chose herself.
She refused to be a secret. Someone to be ashamed of. She deserved more — and she finally saw it.
Pulling out her phone from her back pocket, she didn’t have to search for his name — he was pinned at the top.
She blocked him.
Then opened his profile on social media and blocked him there too.
Turned off her location.
And without looking back, she drove away from the club — away from him.
Rafe was furious — at himself, at Topper, at Ruthie. At the world for making him say what he didn’t mean.
Sofia wasn’t supposed to hear that. It was all bullshit, and he regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.
But she wasn’t supposed to be there.
Why the hell was she there? She said she was spending the day with her family. Why did she have to hear him?
Now, he felt numb.
One more thing he ruined.
One more person he let down.
She was never just a hookup. God, no. She was so much more — she always had been. They didn’t need a label; he knew she was his girlfriend. They acted like it every damn day. And he loved her. He had never felt this way before. He looked for her in every room, breathed easier just knowing she was near.
“Sofia, please — let me explain.”
He caught up to her in the club’s parking lot, heart pounding.
“I don’t want to hear you.” Her voice cut like glass. “I’m done hearing you.”
She pushed past him, yanked open the driver’s door. Just as she climbed in, he grabbed the edge before she could shut it.
“They were being judgmental. I hated the way they were talking about you — that’s why I said it. I didn’t mean it.”
She let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “And you think that’s better?”
“No, of course not. It was horrible. I know that. I’m sorry. Please, baby — let’s just forget this ever happened.”
“I’m not your baby.”
The words hit him like a slap.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, panic rising in his throat. Her eyes — those eyes that once looked at him like he was the only person in the world — now stared through him, empty.
“Listen, Rafe,” she said, steady but broken. “I’ve stood up for you more times than I can count. Everyone has something to say about you, and none of it’s good. But I still defended you. Because I loved you.” Her voice cracked. “But I’m done. I’m done with this game where I’m your therapist one minute and a warm body the next.”
“Please don’t leave me.”
She shook her head, eyes glassy but resolute, and closed the door.
Then she drove off — from the club, from the night, from him.
From the very place where he’d broken her heart… all over again.
Sometimes, givin' up is the strong thing
Sometimes, to run is the brave thing
Sometimes, walkin' out is the one thing
A/N: got the idea on a sleepless night and went for it hehe.
