Your fingers trembled, the ground beneath you didn’t even feel like your own. Your vision blurred with your own tears, the familiar lump in your throat grew as you took in the sight upon you.

There he was, your Rafe. But he wasn’t actually your Rafe. He was standing with her. Sofia.

You watched as they flirted, Rafe charming her with his jokes and flirtatious comments. His hands roaming her body a little too comfortably for your liking.

You felt the warmth of your tears prickling down your cheeks. You and Rafe were only fuck buddies. You shouldn’t care. So why did seeing him with her hurt you so much?

The truth was, the tension between you and Rafe felt too real. Too intimate.

Nights were spent underneath his sheets, the moonlight peaking through his blinds, hitting your bare skin just right. His finger tips trickling down every inch he could reach, with a sense of purpose. As if he was trying to commit every fiber of your being to memory.

And the whispered promises? The sweet nothings he’d mouth to you non-stop? It was so easy for those words to fall from his lips, engraving into your mind.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“I missed you.”

“We’re so perfect together.”

Or the way his eyes searched yours desperately, twinkling with adoration as he’d ask you to stay for a little longer.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Stay? Just a little bit longer?”

“Don’t go yet. I’ll make breakfast.”

Or those times you’d spend together, just tangled into each others presence, laughing and talking about nothing but life. You exposed the deepest parts of your soul to him, the vulnerability. And he did the same for you.

You grew attached.

And now, here you were. Watching the scene unfold right in front of you.

Was it all a lie? Was it just in the heat of the moment? Should you have just listened to everyone who told you that Rafe was bad news?

Rafe Cameron was just crumbling your heart into pieces. And you?

You were letting him.