The porch smelled like smoke and cheap perfume. Rafe leaned back, the joint a slow burn between his fingers, eyes shut to everything around him. Being high was the only thing that made sense anymore. It was the only thing that made the world feel quiet—just for a minute.

Aria sat next to him, legs tucked under her, laughing about something one of the others said. Her laughter was light, hollow, floating above the haze. Rafe didn’t listen. His thoughts felt sticky, always circling the same thing.

When he lifted the joint for another drag, Aria’s gaze drifted to his wrist. “What is that?” she asked, voice sharp enough to cut through his fog.

He opened his eyes, blinking against the orange porch light. “What is what?”

“The bracelet.”

Blue. Frayed. Handmade. The knot loose from how often he’d twisted it when he couldn’t sleep.

For a second, the memory cracked through his high: your smile when you tied it around his wrist. Your laugh when he kissed you after, tasting salt on your lips from the ocean spray. The way you whispered, “So you don’t forget me.” As if he ever could.

“Why do you always wear it?” Aria pressed.

Rafe stared at it, the way someone might stare at a scar they’d forgotten they had. “I forgot I had it on,” he lied.

“It’s so ugly,” she laughed, voice sharp and careless. Like none of it mattered.

He forced a smile that hurt his face. “I guess so.”

“I would throw it away if I was you,” she said, leaning back to steal the joint from his hand.

“Yeah, you’re right. I should probably do that,” he chuckled, but it was empty. Nobody here could hear the difference.

“I’m not a jewelry person anyway,” he added, voice low, scratching at the guilt buried in his chest. Aria nodded, too high to care.

They didn’t know. None of them knew what it meant. That bracelet wasn’t about style or memory—it was the weight on his wrist, the guilt he chose to carry because it was the only piece of you left. You left him before he could drag you down completely. Before the drugs and anger and fear turned him into someone you wouldn’t recognize.

And that bracelet, ugly and falling apart, reminded him every single day: he was the one who ruined it. Ruined you.

He twisted it again between his fingers, the knot tight against his pulse.

Fucking bracelet