rafe is fucking sick.

you were just a girl with a savior complex who prayed at night to find true love. one who makes you feel safe and understood. the days were boring; strict parents, absurd chores, putting up with stupid girls in the school hallways who were no match for you — those big, depressing but innocent eyes that characterize you so much. the fact that you only talk when necessary, and even spending time alone all the time being aware of how much you hate loneliness.

and in that darkness appeared rafe cameron.

you knew his first name, especially his last name. you didn't exactly know him for good things; you hear him called a psychopath or that he has a reputation for being really sick. not a single girl lasts more than a month at his side, none is capable of keeping up with him or simply staying by his side. there must be a reason, right?

you met him at a bar, and as soon as his blue orbs were so intimidating and dark with something that probably wasn't good, they softened when they met your shy eyes that hesitated to maintain eye contact — and then you knew you had free-falled.

you spent that night in his mansion, a luxurious and spacious place that you couldn't believe was just for him. There were no paintings, no flowers; just boring white walls. Vintage, expensive decorations you could never afford. two mini bars on both floors and of course, numerous bottles of alcohol that you can find everywhere you look. The weirdest thing of all? If you sat next to him while he held a lit cigar between his lips and a glass of whiskey in his hand, You watched him in a daze with a glass of water in your hand and your legs weakened when he looked at you with those eyes that seemed to soften only with you and his fingers caressing underneath your hem of your baby pink skirt with lace.

wraps his hands around your waist as if you were a porcelain doll, but then those are the same hands that hold your wrist tightly until it hurts to drag you to a corner and make a scene for any stupidity as if it were your fault — His lips touch yours with such delicacy that you feel on cloud nine, and then those same lips open when he insults you as if you were just anyone.

and then it's the same endless cycle, everything ends the same: white lies that make you feel alive despite the pain in your chest. the way he fucks you and makes you feel like you're his whole world when he looks into your eyes as you both finish — except for the times he caught you so angry he left marks and made you cry, only to make you feel dirty the next day and then forget about it hours later when Rafe shows up with his dose of love as if I hadn't given you a shitty moment.

__

the club is full of serious, intimidating men, dressed in expensive suits and smelling of whiskey and expensive perfumes. Women with serious, judgmental faces, and every person who passed by. Older people, and you were just a little girl compared to the whole environment around you, just standing there watching Rafe walk like he owns the place, with his arm around your shoulders and leading you however he wants.

cocaine, alcohol, and partying. danger, dark lights, and a night that brought vibes.

chaos occurs when a man approaches you to talk to you when Rafe leaves your side, with the excuse of talking about business with some partners. the tall, idiot-faced man approaches you, and without you even noticing, he makes you laugh.

Rafe looks at you from a distance, and you didn't even have to turn around to look at him to know that he was already walking towards you with his jaw clenched and his gaze that screamed 'i'm going to break his damn jaw and then to you’

“havin’ fun?” he comes up to you and stares at you with a fake smile that makes you shudder because you know he’s furious. He glares at the man next to you for a few seconds, but suddenly his fingers surround your wrist. “you have two seconds to leave before i fuckin’ embarrass you in front of all these people. choose.” he mutters under his breath. threateningly.