When the last partygoer had left and the night had started to turn into early morning, Rafe had to finally confront his loneliness. He’d had some hope as the party raged on that you’d show up. That you’d walk through his front door like you had so many nights before, your smile lighting up the room and going right to his heart. He’d let himself believe that tonight would be the night you came back to him. And now he had to face that you hadn’t.

He glances down at his phone, scrolling through his text thread with you. He could tell when he started to lose his sobriety that night, the messages became more urgent and less decipherable. And you hadn’t responded to a single one. He goes to type another message and decides against it. Instead he throws the phone against the wall, watching as it shatters; cutting off that lifeline to you.

He picks up a beer bottle that he isn’t even sure is his and takes a swig. He doesn’t need anymore alcohol. The amount he drank tonight, combined with the drugs in his system, should be enough to knock him out completely soon. Maybe he’ll be able to drift off into a sleep where he isn’t plagued with dreams of you. All he does now is think about you. When he’s awake it’s you in his head, when he sleeps it’s you in his dreams haunting him. He hates waking up from those dreams. Because it always feels like losing you again.

He rubs at his bleary eyes, sighing. He’s alone again. Once the booze and the drugs ran out, his so-called friends weren’t as eager to stick around. Fair weather friends you’d called them, and you’d been right. Hell, you’d been right about a lot, he just hadn’t wanted to hear it. And you’d given up and walked away.

Even in his inebriated state, he can still count how many days it’s been since you walked away. Fifty three. Fifty three days he spent trying to distract himself from the loss of you. Soon the days apart would be longer than the days he’d had with you. He rests his head in his hands, sinking into the couch and closing his eyes.

“Rafe! Rafe, wake up! God, what did you take?” He feels a hand shaking him, hears your voice like it’s far off. The hand on him shakes him harder, your voice starting to sound scared. His eyes blink open, your face swimming in front of him. He’s not sure if he’s still asleep or if you’re actually real.

You glare at him, glancing at the mess of empty bottles and the trail of powder on the table top with disgust. You’re angry and you’re scared. Disappointed that he’d slipped right back into his old habits, just like you’d known he would. It was why you’d left, because you knew your love just wasn’t enough to keep all his demons at bay.

He shifts on the couch, looking up at you. His hand reaches out and lightly caresses your check and you bite back a sigh. Would his touch ever stop effecting you? It didn’t seem fair that he could make you feel like this from a simple touch, when you couldn’t be with him.

“Are you real?” He finally breaks the silence, his hand still on your cheek.