Chapter Text
I. Hey girl, open the walls, play with your dolls
You didn’t remember falling asleep, but when you woke, the room was pitch-black, save for the faint glow of the streetlight filtering through the cracks in the blinds. Your throat was dry, and your stomach twisted in on itself, hollow and aching. For a moment, you thought you’d been dreaming—that the yelling, the accusations, all of it had been some warped nightmare.
But then you tried to move, and the sharp, searing pain across your ribs reminded you it wasn’t. The bruises were fresh, tender, their heat spreading across your skin like a slow-burning fire. You stayed still, curled up on the stiff mattress with the threadbare blanket pulled tight around you, trying to keep the cold at bay.
It was always cold in your room, no matter the season. Your father’d turned off the heat again—his way of teaching you a lesson. You’d be lucky if you got food tomorrow.
The tears came before you could stop them, hot and stinging as they rolled down your cheeks. You hated crying. It felt weak, pointless, like handing over the last shred of control you had left. But tonight, it felt impossible to stop.
The sobs wracked your body, each one sending a fresh wave of pain through your ribs. You bit down hard on your fist, desperate to muffle the sound. The last thing you needed was for him to hear you and come storming back upstairs.
In the stillness, you could hear your brother’s muffled laughter from down the hall. He was probably on the phone with one of his friends, the golden child basking in his golden life. You wondered if he even noticed what went on in this house, or if he chose not to. Maybe it was easier for him that way.
Your head spun with the weight of it all—your father’s fury, your brother’s indifference, the aching loneliness that settled deep in your bones like a sickness.
And then there was JJ. His face flashed in your mind, the way he’d looked at a few days ago, his blue eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite name. You could still hear his voice, low and unsteady: “I can’t do this.”
He’d walked away from you. Left you standing there, alone, like everyone else always did. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to blame him. You understood better than anyone what it was like to be afraid, to feel like letting someone in was the same as handing them a weapon they’d eventually use against you.
You reached out blindly in the darkness until your fingers brushed against the notebook on your nightstand. Writing always helped, at least a little. It made the chaos in your head feel a little less overwhelming, like you could pin it down on the page and keep it from swallowing you whole.
You flipped to a blank page and started to write, the pen scratching softly against the paper:
The walls are closing in again. My ribs ache, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest. It feels stupid to write this, to put it into words, but I have to. Otherwise, it’s just going to sit there and rot inside me. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. The yelling, the bruises, the way he looks at me like I’m something broken that he can’t stand to fix. I hate him. I hate this house. I hate myself for being too scared to leave.
You stopped writing, your hand trembling. The tears were falling faster now, blurring the words on the page. You shut the notebook and pushed it away, burying your face in your hands.
Somewhere out there, the world kept spinning. People were laughing, living, doing all the things you couldn’t seem to figure out how to do. And JJ—God, JJ was probably sitting by the fire at John B.’s, cracking jokes, pretending like he didn’t care about anything.
You closed your eyes and tried to picture it, tried to imagine what it would be like to feel that free, even for a moment. But the image slipped through your fingers like sand, leaving you with nothing but the cold and the dark and the unbearable weight of your own thoughts.
You curled up tighter, pulling the blanket over your head, as if that could block it all out. But the ache in your chest stayed, relentless and unyielding.
For a second—a brief, desperate second—you thought about sneaking out. Grabbing your board, finding the ocean, letting the salt water wash away the bruises and the tears and everything else. But you knew better. He’d find you. He always did.
So you stayed where you were, trembling in the dark, and prayed for sleep to come and take you away.
II. We'll be a perfect family
You didn’t hear the footsteps at first, but the click of the lock jolted you upright. Your heart slammed against your bruised ribs, and you scrambled back against the headboard, clutching the blanket as if it could shield you from whatever was on the other side of the door.
The hinges creaked as the door swung open, and the hallway light spilled into your room, harsh and glaring. For a second, you thought it was your father, back to finish whatever punishment he thought you deserved. But then you saw the silhouette, tall and lean, lingering in the doorway.
Rafe Cameron.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” he drawled, stepping inside like he owned the place. The door clicked shut behind him, plunging the room back into shadows, save for the faint glow from the blinds. “Your dad’s busy downstairs. Figured I’d come say hi.”
“What are you doing here?” you snapped, trying to keep your voice steady. Your stomach churned, the kind of dread that twisted into a knot and pulled tighter with every second.
Rafe smirked, leaning casually against the edge of your desk. “Business, you know. Your old man’s got me running some errands for him.” His eyes flicked over you, taking in the blanket clutched around your shoulders, the bruises you hadn’t been able to hide. “Looks like you’ve been having a rough night.”
“Get out,” you said, your voice trembling.
He ignored you, his smirk widening. “Didn’t think you’d be locked up like this. What’d you do to piss him off this time? Let me guess—skipped school? Snuck out? Hung out with that little dirtbag Maybank?”
The mention of JJ sent a flash of anger through you, sharp and hot. “Leave him out of this,” you said, narrowing your eyes.
Rafe chuckled, low and mocking. “Touchy, aren’t we? Relax, I’m just making conversation.”
He moved closer, his footsteps deliberate, predatory. You shrank back instinctively, but the wall pressed against your spine, cold and unyielding.
“What do you want?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Rafe crouched down in front of you, his face inches from yours. The smirk was still there, but there was something darker behind his eyes, something that made your skin crawl.
“I want to help you out,” he said, his voice soft but dripping with condescension. “You’re stuck in this room, no food, no nothing. Doesn’t seem fair, does it? Maybe I can talk to your dad. Get him to ease up a little.”
You glared at him, your hands gripping the blanket so tightly your knuckles turned white. “I don’t need your help.”
He laughed, shaking his head like you’d just said something adorable. “Oh, come on, don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be nice.”
His hand reached out, brushing against your arm, and you flinched away. The smirk vanished, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. “You know, you should be a little more grateful. Most people don’t get second chances around here. But me? I’m a generous guy.”
“Get out,” you said again, louder this time.
Rafe stood up, towering over you, and for a moment, you thought he might actually listen. But then he leaned down, his face so close you could smell the faint trace of whiskey on his breath.
“You’ve got a big mouth for someone in your position,” he said, his tone low and dangerous. “Maybe I should teach you a little respect. Your dad seems to think you need it.”
Fear coiled in your stomach, sharp and sickening, but you refused to let it show. “He’ll come up here,” you said, though your voice wavered. “He’ll hear you.”
Rafe grinned, that unsettling smirk back in place. “Relax. Your dad’s too busy counting cash to care. Besides, I’m just here to chat.”
He leaned in closer, the smirk on his face sharp enough to cut. His hand rested on the edge of the blanket draped over you, his fingers brushing against the frayed fabric. You froze, your breath catching in your throat as his eyes flicked over you, cold and calculating.
“You’re so tense,” he murmured, his voice low and almost coaxing. “I’m just trying to help.”
Before you could react, his hand slid under the blanket, grazing the bare skin of your thigh. The contact sent a jolt through you, but not the kind that people write about in romance novels. This wasn’t butterflies or warmth or anything like that. It was a sharp, electric tingle that crawled up your spine and left you feeling raw and exposed.
“See?” he said, his tone mockingly soft. “Not so bad, is it?”
Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. You wanted to shove him away, to scream, to do something—but your body wouldn’t cooperate. You felt trapped, paralyzed, every muscle locked in place as his fingers traced lazy, deliberate patterns along your skin.
“Stop,” you finally managed to choke out, though your voice was barely more than a whisper.
He didn’t stop. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t act like you don’t like a little attention.”
The words made your stomach churn, a sickening twist that left you lightheaded. You clenched your fists under the blanket, nails digging into your palms. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he was getting to you, but it felt impossible to hide.
“Get your hands off me,” you said, louder this time, though your voice still trembled.
Rafe’s smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. His hand tightened on your thigh, just for a moment, and the pressure made you flinch. But then he pulled back, his movements slow and deliberate, like he wanted you to know he was in control.
“Fine,” he said, straightening up and smoothing his shirt like nothing had happened. “But don’t forget what I said. You’ll need me sooner or later.”
He turned and walked to the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at you. “Sweet dreams.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and you let out a shaky breath, the tension in your body finally breaking. You felt like you might throw up, your skin crawling where his hand had been.
You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, as if that could erase the feeling, the memory of his touch. But it didn’t work. The tingling sensation lingered, a cruel reminder of the power he thought he had over you.
Tears stung your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. Not yet. Instead, you stared at the door, your mind racing. You didn’t know what Rafe wanted or why he’d chosen tonight to remind you of just how vulnerable you were, but you knew one thing for certain: you couldn’t stay here.
Not in this room. Not in this house.
And maybe, just maybe, not in this town.
III. Throw on your dress and put ony our doll faces
It had been a few days since Rafe’s visit, and things hadn’t gotten any better. The bruises on your body had begun to heal, but the ones on the inside still festered, raw and jagged. You were still stuck here, in the cold, sterile mansion you’d once called home. Your father’s rules hadn’t softened, not even a little, but today—today was different. Today, he’d finally allowed you out of your room.
A small concession. A reminder that he could control you in every possible way.
The moment you were allowed downstairs, you had retreated to your mother’s closet. It felt like a ridiculous indulgence, slipping into the fine silks and satins, the things that seemed so out of place for you. A white silk robe that shimmered as it moved, draping over your shoulders like something soft, something fragile. Fragile like you felt deep inside.
But then, something else flashed through your mind—something you had nearly forgotten.
Your heart pounded in your chest as you padded silently down the long, dimly lit hallways of the mansion, barefoot, the soft fabric of the robe swirling around your legs. The bruises still visible, even under the softest of silk.
There was one thing you needed to do. One thing that could change everything.
JJ had asked you for that map, weeks ago, but you hadn’t been able to find it then. It wasn’t in any of the obvious places—none of the study cabinets or the open drawers in your father’s office. But JJ had spoken about it like it was everything to him, and you had never been able to get it out of your head.
What if, just maybe, bringing it to him now would make him see you differently?
What if, just maybe, it would make him want to let you in? Want to keep you in his life?
You didn’t know what you were hoping for anymore, but this—this felt like a shot at something. Anything. Something that could pull you out of this suffocating cage your father had built around you.
You reached the end of the hallway, where the door to your father’s office stood half-open, like a signal, a silent invitation. You knew what was inside, but it never felt like your place. Not here. You were supposed to stay out. But today, you didn’t care.
With each step, the silk of the robe made a soft, whispering sound, the rustling of a life you could never fully own. Your feet barely made a sound as they padded across the polished floors, gliding past the ornate family portraits, past the rooms you’d once run through as a child. Now, they felt distant, cold.
But nothing prepared you for the coldness of JJ’s presence when you stepped into the office.
The air in the room felt heavy, almost suffocating, as though it was holding its breath. JJ stood by your father’s desk, the dim light from the lamp casting shadows across his features. His hands were moving quickly, too quickly—flipping through papers with a sense of urgency that made something inside you twist.
There he was, exactly where he shouldn’t be. Rummaging through your life, your father’s things, as if this place belonged to him.
Your feet stilled, your pulse quickening as you watched him.
He hadn’t noticed you yet, too focused on the mess he was making, but you felt the tension building in the room like an electric current, ready to snap.
Then, it happened. His fingers brushed against the map you knew he was looking for—the map that had become the sole reason he’d come back. The map he had once asked you to find for him, and the map that, for reasons you couldn’t fully understand, had taken on a strange weight.
As JJ’s hands unfolded it, his fingers lingered over its worn edges, and you could see the intensity in his gaze.
You hesitated, taking another small step into the room, and that’s when he finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For the briefest second, the tension in the room broke, and his expression softened.
But then he saw it all. The bruises. The marks your father had left behind. His gaze flickered, his eyes widening with disbelief. The map, the thing he had been hunting for, seemed to slip from his grasp as his attention shifted completely to you.
"Y/N..." His voice cracked as he took a step toward you. His face was painted with confusion, a kind of helplessness that made your chest tighten.
But you didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The silence stretched out between you, heavy and uncomfortable, filled with things you were afraid to say, and things you wished he’d understand without needing to be told.
His eyes moved over you—over the bruises still visible beneath the delicate silk of the robe. His breath caught as he took in the damage.
"Jesus..." His voice was barely a whisper now, his hand instinctively reaching out toward you, as if to touch you, to do something, but you pulled back before he could.
"Don’t," you said, your voice raw, barely a sound above the tense silence. "Just don’t."
You wanted to scream, to tell him everything, to explain why he’d locked you away in this place, why the bruises on your body weren’t just from a single night but from a lifetime of feeling like you didn’t matter. But the lump in your throat was too thick, the sting of all those years too much to bear.
Instead, you just stood there, staring at him, your heart pounding in your chest. His eyes searched yours, looking for something—anything—but all you could see was the distance between you growing, the gulf of everything he didn’t understand.
"Y/N..." His voice cracked again, softer now, almost as if he was talking to himself. "Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you…?"
But you didn’t answer. How could you? What could you possibly say?
The tension in the room tightened, suffocating you, and you wanted to run, to hide again, to retreat into the darkness of the mansion, but you couldn’t. Not anymore. Not with him standing there, looking at you like this, like he didn’t know how to fix it—or if he even could.
“I…” He started, his hand falling to his side, eyes still glued to yours. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was like this.” He took a step closer, but you stepped back again, your feet moving almost on their own, putting space between you both.
You couldn’t let him close. Not now. Not after everything. He would leave again anyway.
“Just take the map and go,” you said, your voice strained, cutting through the thick silence like a blade. You could feel the tears threatening to spill, but you fought them down. “That’s all you came here for, right? Just take it and leave.”
JJ’s face flickered with something you couldn’t place—frustration, maybe, or regret. But it was gone as quickly as it came.
He looked down at the map on the desk, then back at you. For a moment, you thought he might just take it and leave, like you said. But instead, he stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher.
“I don’t want the map anymore,” he muttered, his voice low, almost a whisper.
You blinked, confusion mixing with the hurt already lodged deep in your chest. “What do you mean?”
“I…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I thought I came here for the map, but now…” His voice trailed off as he looked at you, and for the first time, it was like he saw you. Really saw you. Not the girl he once knew, not the one rich princess of figure 8. But the girl standing in front of him now, bruised and broken in ways he couldn’t begin to understand.
JJ’s steps were slow, measured, as he moved toward you agin, his eyes never leaving your face. The space between you felt like an ocean, but with each step he took, it seemed like the distance shrank, the weight of everything unspoken pulling him closer to you. And this time you let him.
He stopped just a few feet away, and for a long moment, he just stared at you, his gaze soft but filled with an unmistakable sadness. His lips parted like he was going to say something—anything—but he couldn’t find the words.
Then, without warning, he reached up, his hand trembling slightly as it brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gentle touch was foreign, yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world. The silk of your robe, the bruises beneath it, and the rawness of everything between you faded into the background for just a second as his fingers lingered in your hair.
You flinched at the sudden contact, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his touch softened, his hand stroking the side of your face, tender, almost reverent. The warmth of his fingers contrasted with the coldness that had settled deep in your chest, and it made your breath catch in your throat.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words soft, like he was speaking them more to himself than to you. His eyes searched yours, the confusion and regret still swirling in his gaze. “I had no idea… I didn’t know it was like this.”
You swallowed hard, fighting to keep your composure, but the pain—the betrayal—threatened to break through. His touch, though gentle, felt like a reminder of everything you had once hoped for, of everything you had lost.
His thumb gently traced along the curve of your cheekbone, as if memorizing the feel of you, and for the briefest moment, you let yourself close your eyes, allowing the sensation of his touch to wash over you.
“You didn’t deserve this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. His hand dropped from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary before pulling back, as if afraid to touch you again.
You opened your eyes to find him standing there, watching you, his face a mix of regret and confusion. He was just a boy who had no idea how to fix the pieces of you he had just discovered were broken.
Your voice broke through the silence, sharper than you meant, the words laced with hurt you could no longer hide.
“You left me,” you spat, each syllable like a weight crashing down on both of you. “You didn’t even look back. You left me with all of this—” you gestured vaguely to the bruises that were still visible beneath your robe, your voice shaking with the anger that had been building inside of you for days. "So don't pretend you care about me now."
JJ froze, his face tightened, like you’d slapped him, the shock evident on his features.
“You never cared about me. Not really” you continued, taking a step forward, your hands trembling at your sides. “You came here, breaking into my house, looking for that damn map, and now you’re standing here, pretending like you didn’t leave me in the dark—when I needed someone the most. And you think you can just touch me, like it means anything?"
The last words stung in the air, hanging between you like a punch you didn’t know you had thrown until it was too late.
JJ took a step back, looking at you with wide, hurt eyes, but you didn’t care anymore. All you wanted was to feel something, anything, other than the emptiness he’d left behind when he walked away without a second thought.
And as much as you wanted him to say something—to explain—deep down, you knew it wasn’t going to fix anything.
JJ took another hesitant step toward you, his hand twitching at his side as though he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare.
“You don’t know what happened,” he said finally, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper against the tension. “I didn’t mean to leave you, Y/N. It wasn’t like that.”
But you shook your head, the bitterness and anger still burning hot in your chest. The last thing you wanted right now was for him to explain himself.
“Yeah?” You scoffed, your voice bitter. “Then what was it like, huh? You just… disappeared. Left me here, with all of this, while you ran off to do whatever you wanted. And now you’re back, breaking into my house for a damn map and acting like you care.”
You shook your head again, your hands trembling, unable to hold back the emotions that were threatening to break free.
“I needed you,” you whispered, voice cracking, “and you weren’t there.”
It felt good to have someone to blame. Someone else but yourself or your fucked up family. It felt easier to point the finger at the one person you thought was different but turned out to be just like everyone else.
JJ closed his eyes briefly, like your words had slapped him across the face. He took another step forward, and this time, when he reached out, his fingers brushed your arm, gentle, tentative. His touch was soft, but it felt like a violation, a contradiction to everything that had just been said. He didn’t belong here—not now, not after everything.
“Y/N… I—” His voice faltered, and you couldn’t even look at him. You couldn’t. Every part of you wanted to pull away, to slam the door on whatever this was between you.
“I don’t want your apologies, JJ,” you said through gritted teeth, finally looking at him. The hurt in your eyes mirrored his own, but there was something colder there now. Something that had hardened in your heart. “You can’t fix this. You can’t fix me.”
JJ’s face crumpled, his features twisting with frustration and guilt. He took another step toward you, but you pulled away, not wanting him near you.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, Y/N,” he said, desperation edging into his voice. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just insecure. And stupid- and you're so pretty, and I'm just this idiot-”
But you didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want any more empty promises or explanations.
“I don’t care anymore,” you whispered, the words cutting deeper than you wanted them to. “Just take the map and go.”
For a moment, neither of you moved. The silence hung heavy in the air, thick with the tension of everything unsaid. Finally, JJ nodded, looking defeated. His fingers brushed the edge of the map, the paper crinkling under his touch. He held it for a moment, but the weight of it in his hands felt like nothing compared to the heaviness between you. His gaze lingered on the map, but his eyes were distant, lost, as if he was seeing something beyond it.
He didn’t move immediately. The silence stretched on, each second louder than the last, until finally, he looked up at you. His expression was a mix of frustration and sorrow, and his voice came out soft, almost pleading.
“You know, I didn’t mean for any of this, Y/N. I really didn’t. But… I messed up. And now, I don’t even know what to say to make it right.” His words were halting, like he was searching for something, some way to undo everything.
You just stood there, arms crossed, the anger simmering beneath the hurt. You wanted to say something—something that would make him understand. Something that would make him feel the sting of what he’d done to you. But the words didn’t come. You couldn’t even look at him anymore.
JJ’s eyes dropped to the map again, the final link between you, and he let out a shaky breath. It was as though the weight of the situation, the weight of everything he’d failed to do, was crashing down on him.
Finally, without another word, he turned, slipping the map into his jacket, his back to you. The sound of his footsteps was heavy as he moved toward the door, each one making your chest tighten, the space between you growing wider with every step.
But before he could leave, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper, but it cut through the air.
“Don’t come back, JJ.”
He froze at the door, his hand hovering over the handle, the word “Don’t” hanging in the air like a weight neither of you could escape. For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak.
Then, without turning around, he opened the door.
“I’m sorry,” was the last thing he said, the words quiet and broken, as if they were too heavy for him to carry.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And you were left there, standing in the aftermath, the silence louder than anything he could have said.
IV. Everyone thinks that we're perfect
The music was pounding, vibrating through the walls of Rafe Cameron’s house, a pulse that matched the frantic rhythm in your chest. You had no idea how you ended up here, only that it had been a few hours since you left the mansion and you’d followed the emptiness in your chest straight to the chaos of Rafe’s party.
You were drunk. The alcohol burned its way down your throat, leaving nothing behind but a hollow, buzzing numbness. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. You needed more. Needed him. Needed something to fill the void you had become.
Rafe’s house was packed, loud, filled with the kind of laughter that felt too fake to reach your ears. The rich, spoiled kooks were everywhere, grinding against each other, their laughter and voices mixing in a haze of bodies and flashing lights.
You stumbled into the kitchen, pouring yourself another drink. The glass trembled in your hand, the dark liquid sloshing over the edge as you lifted it to your lips, barely tasting it. You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care about the way the liquor burned down your throat, the way it made your vision blur or your head spin. All you cared about was the fact that you were still alive, and that was becoming less and less of a comfort.
The clink of a bottle caught your attention, and you turned, seeing Rafe standing in the corner of the room. His usual confident smirk was on full display as he stood surrounded by girls, but your eyes locked onto him. Something about his presence made you want to both run and stay.
You hadn’t seen him since he walked into your bedroom that night, touching you under the covers. He hadn’t reached out, and you hadn’t expected him to. But the familiar knot in your stomach twisted tighter when you saw him, watching you. Rafe’s gaze was predatory, like a wolf eyeing its prey, but there was something else there too—something that made your heart pound in a way you couldn’t ignore. Something raw.
You let your gaze linger on him, trying to ignore the way your pulse picked up, the sharp pang of wanting gnawing at your insides. You could feel the heat of his stare like it was searing through you. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and you couldn’t look away.
A girl stepped into Rafe’s space, wearing a short, tight dress, and you felt your stomach twist. She was flirting with him, running her fingers down his chest, smiling up at him with that look. The one you had seen him give so many girls before. She was already all over him, moving with a practiced grace, trying to get his attention. Her hips swayed provocatively, and she was grinding against him like she was trying to make him forget there was anyone else in the room.
But Rafe wasn’t looking at her. Not really. His eyes were fixed on you.
His gaze never left you as the girl tried to get closer, her hands moving up his shirt. His jaw clenched, and you could see the faint flicker of annoyance in his eyes, but he didn’t push her away. He didn’t move. Not yet.
Your stomach churned. You hated the jealousy that bubbled up in your chest, the desperate, needy feeling you couldn’t escape.
Without thinking, you set your drink down, the glass barely making a sound as it hit the counter. You pushed your way through the crowd, your heels clicking against the floor, the edges of your black dress brushing against your legs as you moved toward him.
The girl was still all over him, and when you reached them, you didn’t even hesitate. You grabbed her wrist, pulling her away from Rafe with a force you didn’t know you had.
“Go away,” you snapped, your voice low, dangerous. You could feel the anger burning in your chest, mixing with something darker. Something colder.
The girl’s eyes widened in surprise, but she huffed and walked off, throwing you one last look before disappearing into the crowd.
Rafe didn’t say a word. He just stared at you, his eyes narrowed, like he was trying to figure out what you were doing here, what your game was. But you weren’t playing. Not anymore.
You stepped in closer to him, your body barely an inch from his. The tension in the air between you crackled, thick and almost suffocating. You looked up at him, your breath shallow, feeling that familiar pull. You wanted him. You wanted to feel *something*. Anything to make the numbness go away.
“I want you alone,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. There was a rawness in your voice that shocked even you, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care about anything anymore. Not when you were this broken.
Rafe didn’t answer right away. He just stood there, looking at you with a mixture of confusion and something else you couldn’t name. You could see the way his gaze dropped to your lips for a brief moment, before returning to your eyes.
And then, finally, he spoke, his voice low, gravelly, almost like he didn’t trust himself.
“Oh princess,” He leaned in just slightly, his breath brushing against your ear. “What are you trying to do?”
The question hit you like a slap, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you stepped even closer, pressing your body against his, letting him feel the heat radiating from you. You needed him to see how far you’d fallen. Needed him to see that you didn’t care about anything anymore.
“I want you,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You didn’t know why you said them. You didn’t know why it had to be him you needed right now.
Rafe didn’t say anything, but you saw the flicker of something in his eyes—something darker. A hunger.
And that was enough to make you feel alive.
Without warning, he grabbed your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours, and pulled you toward the stairs. He led you past the crowds of people, their voices and music fading away until it was just the two of you.
His grip on your hand was tight, his steps purposeful, as if he had a destination in mind. But you didn’t know where you were going. And you didn’t care.
The house was quiet now. The pounding music and laughter had faded into the background, and all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat, the rush of blood in your ears.
Your feet touched the plush carpet of the upstairs hallway, the soft, muted thud echoing off the walls. It felt different here. Softer. Like the world had stopped spinning.
Rafe didn’t speak as he guided you to a door, the only one with light spilling out from under it. His hand was on the knob, his fingers gripping it tightly, his breathing uneven.
He looked at you, and the intensity in his gaze made your knees weak. There was a dark desire burning behind his eyes, a need, a hunger that mirrored your own.
Rafe pushed open the door and pulled you inside, slamming it shut behind him. You were alone. With him.
Your body tingled, a jolt of electricity coursing through you, and you felt a strange mixture of fear and excitement.
You didn't know what to expect. You had never been in his room before. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
The room was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the light filtering through the gauzy curtains, the only sounds coming from the outside world. Everything was still. Everything was quiet.
"Take off your clothes," he growled, his voice rough, his eyes locked onto you.
The words sent a shiver down your spine. You didn't move, your heart pounding, the air thick with anticipation.
"Now," he commanded.
You swallowed hard, the sound seeming impossibly loud in the silence of the room, but you didn't hesitate. You didn't protest. You didn't say anything.
Instead, you reached for the zipper on the back of your dress, sliding it down slowly, the sound of the metal teeth clicking filling the air.
Your dress fell to the floor, pooling around your feet, and you stepped out of it, wearing nothing but your underwear.
You couldn't stop the flush from rising on your cheeks, but the embarrassment faded away as you watched his eyes roam over your body, taking you in. His gaze was hungry, almost feral, and the sight of it made your core throb with need.
He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you, and his mouth was on yours. The kiss was hot, searing, full of desperation. His hands moved up your back, his touch sending shivers down your spine, and he gripped your throat, choking you softly.
The kiss deepened, his tongue exploring your mouth, claiming you. It was rough, hungry, and you could feel the heat of his desire pressing against you.
You moaned, the sound muffled against his lips, and he pulled away, a wicked smirk on his face.
His grip on your neck ti ghtened, his thumb pressing into the hollow of your throat. You gasped, your eyes wide, a wave of arousal coursing through you.
Rafe pulled you onto the bed, his body on top of yours, his hips grinding against yours. His free hand roamed over your body, touching every inch of exposed skin. He pinched and tugged at your nipples, making them stiffen beneath his touch, and you writhed underneath him, lost in the sensations.
He bit your lower lip, tugging at it with his teeth, before sucking it into his mouth. The pain mixed with pleasure, sending sparks through your body, and you moaned, arching into him.
He released your throat, and you took a gasping breath, the blood rushing to your head, making you dizzy. You didn't have time to recover before he was kissing you again, his tongue pushing into your mouth.
You whimpered, the sound muffled by his lips, and he smirked against your mouth, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you.
You could feel his cock straining against his jeans, pressing against your core, and you squirmed, desperate for more.
"Rafe, please," you breathed, the words coming out as a whine.
"Please what?" He smirked, his eyes flashing.
"Please, fuck me," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper.
"You want me to fuck you?" he growled, his fingers digging into your hip.
"Yes," you breathed, your body trembling with need.
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"Good," he purred, his lips brushing against your ear.
He pulled away, his eyes burning with desire. He took off his shirt, revealing his toned body, his muscles rippling beneath his tan skin.
He stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at you, his eyes full of lust.
You were breathless, your heart pounding, anticipation making your body tingle.
He climbed back onto the bed, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He kissed you again, his mouth hot and demanding.
His hands roamed over your body, his touch firm, almost rough, as if he was trying to take possession of you. He palmed your breasts, his fingers tweaking your nipples, and you moaned, arching into him.
"Such a pretty little thing," he murmured, his lips moving to your neck.
He sucked and bit at the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of bruises in his wake.
"So responsive," he purred, his mouth moving to your ear.
His hand slid down your stomach, his fingers ghosting over your wet core.
"And so fucking wet," he groaned, his breath hot against your skin.
You gasped, your body trembling with need.
"Please, Rafe," you whimpered, your voice shaking.
"Please what, baby?" he taunted, his fingers stroking your slick folds.
"Please, fuck me," you begged, your hips bucking against his hand.
"Fuck," he cursed, his eyes darkening.
He sat up, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down, his cock springing free. You couldn't help but stare, your eyes widening at the sight of his impressive length.
"See something you like?" he smirked, his eyes glinting.
"Y-yes," you stammered, heat flooding your cheeks.
"Good."
He wrapped his hand around his shaft, stroking himself, his eyes never leaving yours.
"You're gonna take this cock," he said, his voice low, "and I'm gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name."
You shuddered, your body aching with need.
He knelt between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs, his thumbs spreading your folds apart. He pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing you, before sinking into you in one thrust.
You cried out, your hands fisting the sheets, the sensation of being stretched by him almost overwhelming.
"Fuck," he groaned, his fingers digging into your thighs. "You're so tight."
He began to thrust, his pace fast and hard, his hips slamming into yours. You writhed beneath him, your body overwhelmed by the pleasure, your vision blurring.
"Look at me," he growled, his hand tangling in your hair.
You met his gaze, your eyes locking onto his. He held you there, his grip firm, his hips never faltering.
The room was filled with the sounds of your moans, the wet slap of flesh, the heady scent of sex.
Your body began to tremble, the pressure building, your release approaching.
"Please," you whimpered, your body desperate for release.
"Fuck, I'm gonna come," he grunted, his cock pulsing inside you.
"Come inside me," you pleaded, your body trembling, the edge of oblivion so close.
He groaned, his hips jerking, and you felt his release, his seed spilling inside you.
The sensation was enough to push you over the edge, and you came, your body quaking, your walls clenching around his shaft.
He collapsed on top of you, his breathing ragged, his weight pressing you into the mattress.
You lay there, spent, the aftershocks of your orgasm still coursing through your body.
Rafe pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. Everything hurt, your throat sore, your body bruised, and yet, the numbness had lifted, replaced with a new kind of pain. A pain that told you that you were still alive, even though you didn't feel it.
He rolled off of you, laying beside you, and the silence between you grew.
The room was heavy with the weight of silence, the kind that pressed against your chest and suffocated every thought. You could still feel the remnants of the heat between you—his touch, his breath on your skin—and yet, it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.
Rafe lay beside you, his breathing slow and steady, but there was something cold in the air now. He shifted, turning his head to face you, and you felt the pressure of his gaze on you before you even looked.
"Why did you let me do that?" His voice was low, dripping with something dangerously close to amusement. He wasn’t asking for understanding. He was asking for something else—something that didn’t have an answer, but he still demanded it.
You swallowed, your throat tight. You didn’t know how to explain, but you couldn’t lie, not now. "I needed it," you whispered, barely above a breath. "I needed to feel something. Anything."
His lips curled into a smirk, and you knew instantly it wasn’t genuine. “Oh, sweetheart. You wanted to hurt,” he said, a flicker of dark satisfaction in his eyes. “You’re a mess. A broken little thing. And you think that this—that I—can fix it?”
You turned your head away from him, your heart pounding in your chest. The truth stung, but you couldn’t deny it. Not now, not after everything you’d let him do. "I don’t care anymore," you muttered, closing your eyes.
Rafe chuckled darkly, shifting so that he was right next to you. His body was warm, but the touch of his presence was colder than the room itself. His hand landed on your hip, his fingers digging in as if he were marking his territory.
“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice was a taunting whisper against your ear. “You wanted me. You always have. I’m the only one who can give you what you want, what you need. And you know it. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
You wanted to pull away, to escape the suffocating grip he had on you, but you couldn’t move. His touch was both comforting and suffocating, and it was like you didn’t know where you ended and he began.
“I don’t need you,” you said, trying to sound firm, but your voice cracked under the pressure. "I don’t need anyone."
Rafe snorted. “You’re such a fucking liar.” His fingers tightened on your skin, his grip becoming possessive, almost painful. “You can’t even breathe without me, can you? You come to me when you’re broken, when you need someone to fix you, and then you push me away. But deep down, you know you’re nothing without me.”
You opened your mouth to protest, to argue, but the words caught in your throat as his lips brushed against your ear. "You think you can hurt me more than you already have? You think you can push me away like all the other Kooks? I don’t care how much you lie to yourself, Y/N. I don't care what you do or say to me to push me away. I know you want me.”
You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t stop the whirlwind of emotions he stirred inside you. He was right. Somewhere deep down, you knew he was right, but you hated him for it. Your dad already sold you to him anyway.
“I hate you,” you spat, the words sharp, even though they felt hollow as they left your lips.
Rafe laughed, but it wasn’t a laugh of amusement—it was cold, cruel, and filled with dark pleasure. “Hate me all you want. It doesn’t matter. You’ll always come crawling back. Because you know, deep down, you need me. I'm the only one who could love someone like you. And I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. The bite was sharp, possessive, and you gasped, your body involuntarily shuddering under his touch.
“Stop pretending you don’t want this,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “Stop pretending you don’t want me.”
You wanted to push him off, to tell him to leave, to scream at him to get away. But the truth was, you couldn’t. Not when he was the only one who could see you. Not when he was the only one who understood the darkness that lived inside you.
Golden boys like JJ—they couldn’t touch that. They couldn’t love someone like you. Not when you were all blood and bruises and shadows, wrapped in silk and desperation. They were too warm, too good for someone who had been buried under the weight of so much coldness.
And Rafe? Rafe saw the mess, saw the broken parts of you, and he didn’t flinch. He didn’t care about your cracks, your imperfections. He didn’t want you to be something you weren’t. He wanted you exactly as you were—damaged, twisted, dark.
He was the only one who could love the monster in you.
And that thought, as sickening as it was, settled deep inside you, anchoring you in this twisted moment. He was the only one who could touch you like this—rough, possessive, and demanding. The only one who didn’t expect you to be anything other than what you were: a shattered, broken thing in desperate need of someone to break you even further.
And you hated him for it. For making you see it. For reminding you that no one else could ever look past the blood and the darkness. But he wasn’t asking for you to change, was he? No. He was asking for you to stay that way.
"Don’t look at me like that," you whispered, your voice strained. It was barely audible, but Rafe heard it. His smirk grew wider, sharper.
"Like what?" he taunted, his thumb brushing over your lips, his eyes darkening with something even more dangerous than before.
You shook your head, trying to turn your face away from his touch, but his grip on your chin tightened, forcing you to look at him. "Like I'm broken," you spat, the words bitter and raw in your throat.
"You are," he said, his voice low, a dangerous promise in every syllable. "But I like broken things."
His lips were on yours again, fierce and bruising. And for a moment, all you could do was let him claim you, let him push you further into the abyss. Because somewhere deep down, you knew he was right.
You were broken.