You despised Rafe Cameron. Since you were six years old, probably earlier if you really wanted to go into detail.

Now, you were seventeen years old, and nothing has changed. Rafe still hit the same, still smoked pot when he thought no one was looking, still had that confidence like he owned the island whole island.

At first you scoffed at his attitude.

But then you found yourself drawn to it.

One night, you let yourself slip, falling right into his cracks. Into his hands. Ever since then, it was a normal thing to find yourself waking up in his sheets, smelling like his rich cologne.

This morning was different, though. Because instead of letting you leave like you should, Rafe held onto you, his arm grabbing your waist.

“Stay.” He says, and you blink in confusion. Stay? What does he mean ‘stay’? You scoff, turning to face him, brows furrowed. “Why should I?”

You knew he wasn’t sober, but not wasted enough to be spilling out words like this out of his mouth. Rafe looks at you, his eyes landing on your face but trailing downward.

“Because…I need you here for a bit longer.” He pleads, for once in his life, Rafe Cameron is begging. You smirk, cherishing the moment like it was a gold medal.

“Fine.” You give in, not wanting to loose his soft side now that you’ve found it. “Just a bit longer.”

Both of you knew that if you stay now, it was going to be more than ‘a bit longer.’ You’d just find yourself tangled in his sheets again, mistakes repeated. Decisions made.

Yet you craved the fire, and you would fall into it over and over again.