River Below 9
Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, bullying, illness, and other possible triggers. Warnings are not exhaustive and will not include plot devices/elements.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Life in the Banks is tough but one man can make it worse.
Characters: Rafe Cameron
Note: Vday fic taking me some time so here ya are. Also, Ward is tiptoeing his way into this lol.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like Lord Farquaad loves unnecessary vowels. Take care. 💖
Work is daunting the next day. Your head hurts, you barely slept, you just couldn’t settle for the night. And your body is inexplicably sore. You walk to work with a weight in your legs and chest.
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.
“Come on. You lead the way,” he shoves you so you stumble and fall on your ass. “You pogues know all the hiding spots. Let’s go find one.”
