everything was not going in the right direction, and to put it bluntly, Rafe was sinking further and further to the damn bottom, to which he was already beginning to get used. he shot her, he killed police officer Susan Peterkin. he didn't do it on purpose, he was trying to stitch up his father, he wouldn't have done it just like that... he wouldn't have... probably.

his head was bursting with thoughts and fear. everything was pressing on him with such force that he thought that he would soon go and surrender to the police himself, in order to calm the voices in his head. and also these Pogs, they know, they understand perfectly well that it was he who killed the policewoman and they showed it in every possible way. Of course, because of him, their best friend, John B, died, taking Sarah with him. stupid girl.

There were only two moments in Rafe's life when he stopped thinking about it: when he was using drugs and when he was around you.

there was silence in his head, the panic was gone, and all because he felt your hands in his hair. the way they weakly stroked and sorted through the strands of hair, trying to calm and comfort the guy who was literally lying on top of her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing her to himself so tightly,afraid that if she leaves he will again plunge into this house.the guy's hands were shaking slightly because of the damn withdrawal, this cocaine addiction was gradually destroying him and if you weren't there, he would probably already be lying there high.

inhaling the scent of the girl's perfume, in whom he saw a certain anchor, which was the only thing he could hold on to now.her faintly whispered words of comfort and support which, although not particularly helpful, were pleasant to the ears.

"I...I don't know what to do, everything is in fucking shit and I'm drowning in this shit," Rafe said, slightly stuttering, his voice hoarse and needing to be understood.