You'd heard the rumours, about Rafe. You couldn't not have, the whole island was talking about it. Yet, somehow no one knew the truth. Not one person outside those who had seen it with their own eyes knows exactly what went down over the summer.

Rafe and your relationship was complicated to say the least. You were his solace, a distraction. What started as occasional hooking up at parties slowly turned deeper, and neither of you could work out where along the line things got blurry.

He wasn't your boyfriend, you weren't sure if he would ever be capable of it. He wanted to be, wanted to be strong enough to look after you. But he wasn't, not yet. So Rafe took everything he could from you, every moment of your time that you'd allow.

But this was Rafe, he never did make things easy. He'd be laid in your lap one night, blowing you off the next. He'd spend weeks taking you out, treating you as his, then acting like you didn't exist. You never could work him out, but you never could tell him no either.

If only you knew then, the reasons why.

Too drunk to drive home, too sober to know not to walk home alone. Texting Rafe your location was your only option, sat waiting in a skirt too short as his car pulls up. Barely looking to him as you scramble into the car, complaining about him blowing you off again that week. Before your eyes drift over to him.

Blood splattered across his face, bruises knuckles, his eyes almost black. His gaze is harsh as he backs out of the parking lot, arm placed behind your seat as he looks through the rear window. His position giving you a closer look to his skin, littered with scratches and bruises forming.

Only then do you realise, all the rumours had to be true. Every person Rafe was accused of killing, or attempting to, he had done it all. And clearly, it had happened again tonight. You were in the car of a murderer, and by the look of him— he'd only recently done it again. The boy you were sleeping with was a serial killer, you'd been denying it for months. But now, it was impossible to.

"Stop thinkin' about it," Rafe mumbles, eyes glued on the road, but he can tell exactly what you're thinking. Your silence speaking for you, the panicked breathing, how you'd begun to shake. He didn't need to ask to know that your brain was filled with questions. "You didn't fuckin' know him anyway, doesn't matter."