It was an easy thing. It wasn't...complicated. It couldn't be. You were just...nothing. Two people...who kissed and fucked whenever you both wanted. No strings. No attachment... Only there was...attachment...

Rafe, to the world, was bad. To your friends, the pogues, he was evil. A monster...a rich boy with daddy's money and a darkness inside him that craved violence. But he was broken, and you saw that...even if he tried to mask it. You were everything he wasn't. It didn't make sense.

But after one night at a party. It turned into two, then three, then ten, waking in his bed every other night when he'd text you or you'd text him. It wasn't complicated.

Until it was. Until he'd pull you aside at a party, asking why another man was touching you. "I'm not yours...you've made that clear enough." And he'd kiss you... Or when you'd refuse to see him if he had been spotted with another girl. And he couldn't handle you away for too long.

It became messy. It became...confusing.

On the surface. No one, not his friends nor yours, suspected a thing. But behind closed doors, under the sheets, late nights and early mornings...little did they know the way he knew the perfect map of your body and you knew his.

You were over at his place one night, the sheets were wrapped around you both, you were sitting upright, him behind you. He leaned forward, breathing in the skin of your neck with his lips grazing the skin. "Why do you do this?" Your eyes flick to his over your shoulder as he spoke against your skin. He lifted his head, his hair slightly disheveled. "Why do you let me do this...why do you let me touch you...Why don't you stop this from ever happening." His eyes met yours, searching...for something. But before you could respond he spoke again. "I know I'm...difficult...the voices my thought I just...I can't control them...but you...you silence them...and I can't stay away. And that...fucking scares me."