Rafe Cameron sat in the corner of his room, knees pulled tight to his chest, the door locked even though no one was coming. The house was quiet — the kind of quiet that hurt your ears if you sat in it too long.

The anger everyone saw? That wasn’t really him. It was the armor he built over years of not being good enough. Not for Ward. Not for the island. Not even for himself.

There were days when Rafe woke up and felt... nothing. No hunger. No excitement. Just a heavy, gray emptiness that stretched over everything.

Other days, he felt too much. The rage boiled in his chest. The self-hatred screamed in his ears. He punched walls. He broke things he loved. He burned every bridge without knowing how to rebuild it.

Everyone thought Rafe was dangerous. No one thought Rafe was hurting.

He didn’t know how to explain it anyway — the way his mind twisted things, convinced him he was worthless, a failure, a monster. The way he could be surrounded by people and still feel completely alone.

Sarah tried once. She stood in his doorway, arms crossed, voice soft. "Rafe... you don't have to do this alone."

But he couldn't let her in. He couldn’t let anyone in. Because if they saw the real him — the scared, broken pieces — they’d leave. Just like everyone always did.

So he smiled that fake, twisted smile. Told her he was fine. Watched her walk away, the way people always did when the mask slipped.

Tonight, the darkness felt heavier than usual. The pills on his nightstand sat there, a silent invitation. A way to make the noise stop. A way to finally breathe.

He thought about it. He really did. How easy it would be to just... let go.

But somewhere deep inside, under all the brokenness, a small voice whispered: Stay. Just stay one more night.

He didn’t know if he believed it. He didn’t know if he was strong enough.

So Rafe lay down, curled up on the bed like a kid, and waited for sleep that might never come — carrying the weight of a world that never once felt light.