You don’t know if you want to punch the fucking wall or collapse into the floor. Every inch of your body feels too tight, too full of rage, like you’re about to fucking shatter.

Your fists clench at your sides as you stand in Rafe’s room, your breathing ragged. “I don’t get it,” you spit, pacing like a caged animal. “Why are you still fucking here? Why do you put up with this—with me?”

Rafe leans against the dresser, arms crossed, watching you unravel. He’s seen this before, but he never fucking leaves.

“Every other guy would be gone by now,” you snap, your voice sharp like a blade. “Because I’m a fucking freak, right? Who the fuck wants to deal with this?”

Rafe exhales, rubbing his jaw. “That what you think?” His voice is calm, but there’s something behind it—something that makes your stomach twist.

“What else is there?” Your voice cracks, the anger twisting into something uglier. “I want to fucking destroy everything. I want to scream at everyone, push everyone away—” You pause, breath hitching. “And you still stay.”

Rafe doesn’t flinch. He steps closer, his presence suffocating in the best way. “Because I see you.” His voice is lower now, steadier. “I see the fire, I see the chaos—but I don’t fucking run from it.”

You swallow hard, your hands trembling. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” The confession is barely a whisper. “Why am I like this?”

Rafe’s fingers brush against yours, and for some reason, that’s what breaks you.

Tears sting your eyes, and you fucking hate it. You’re not supposed to cry. You’re supposed to be angry. But Rafe—he cracks you open every fucking time.

“Let it out,” he mutters. “Stop fighting it.”

And maybe, just this once, you do. Because he’s still fucking here. And that has to mean something.