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The humidity of the atmosphere always vanished when the sun went down. The warm air that mingled with the beach and the vivid sunlight that shone across Figure Eight had finally died down, now replaced with colder winds and breezes that fluttered through nearby trees.
The teenage girl was halfway through a restless sleep, laying on her bed. She was practically covered in heat as her blanket was thrown over her body, cuddling a pillow that matched the rest of the bedroom set.
The breeze in the trees then suddenly grew harder. Not like some sort of hurricane, but something that was more interactive.
What woke her up was the slight, but constant tap on the window that a small branch of the tree had done.
Of course, the girl tried to ignore it. She twisted her body to face the other direction as an attempt to ignore the noises that were trying to alert her. She wouldn’t accept another night of distractions.
The noises stopped for a second, which should’ve relaxed her in an instant, but her instincts had already known that the commotion was not going to give up that easily.
Instead of the familiar rhythmic taps that she expected to follow up after, three slow thuds then pressed up against her window.
Her body tensed up from the unusual racket. She didn’t anticipate that the thuds would be that loud.
The girl twisted over once again. She now finally faced the window to see the sight of the same rugged hand that she saw often, pressed up against the frame to hold himself up.
For a second, she wondered whether or not she should let him in. In the end, the young girl wasn’t held accountable for another babysitting session with a retired kid.
The same thought went around her head as she just stared toward her window, her breath finally slowing down from now seeing what the noise was from.
In a second, the blanket was fully lifted off of her body.
She made her way toward her window, her bare feet walking against the cold, wood floor.
When she slid the glass up, a cold breeze had softly brushed onto her face. The chilly air outside had collided with the warmer bedroom and instantly, the girl felt her body go slightly numb from it.
It didn’t have to take much to look down and see Rafe Cameron leaning on the tree that she had presumed he climbed again. Even in the moonlight, it was obvious that this man was wrecked. His white linen shirt, a classic wear of Figure Eight, was torn at the shoulder and smeared with dark, wet stains that definitely was not only dirt.
She couldn’t even bring herself to say anything to the boy in front of her.
Rafe always ended up a little wounded after a confrontation that he would cause himself, but just the quick glimpse of him like this was way worse.
It was like all of the injuries that he received from his fights combined, wasn’t even worse than what she was seeing right in front of her.
Rafe couldn’t even make eye contact with her. It was like he was ashamed that she was seeing him like this, even though he couldn’t even count the amount of times that he would come over to his rescuer after a run-in.
His mind was a frantic mess. All he wanted to do was be cured of this illness that he had thought he acquired. He shivered the top of his body as the air was now getting into the hole that was torn into his shirt.
In desperation, Rafe’s eyes finally locked onto hers for the first time since the glass slid open. The predatory confidence that he always wore like armor had vanished.
He looked at her with a wide-eyed intensity, silently begging for her to not see the monster that everyone talked about. Rafe was terrified that if she saw the blood on his hands, she would be the one to finally close the door on him for good.
“I told you not to come here anymore,” she whispered, "My dad wakes up at five. If he sees another Cameron on this property-"
"I didn't know where else to go," Rafe interrupted. His voice was quiet, stripped of that usual shark-like confidence. Her eyes then darted to the split across his cheekbone and moved to the way he was cradling his right hand.
She ticked her head to get out of this manipulation that she knew he would pull. This was exactly the reason why she didn’t want Rafe coming to her for help after a fight like he always does, then ignoring her in plain sight when they pass each other in the daylight.
Her head was kept down as she looked away from his soft expression that was placed on his face to prevent further convincing. “Listen,” she looked to the side, “I’ve told you. I don’t want to be involved in this anymore.”
Rafe took a jagged breath. "I just need a minute. Please."
She couldn’t help it. The girl just observed the state that he was in and knew that whatever he just went through was so much different than his other fights.
It was so odd to her how the only interaction the two had was in her room in secret. As the day went by, Rafe had never even laid an eye on the girl. Then after the same old scenario where he would come across a Pogue that picked up a fight or a heated argument with his father, Rafe wouldn’t be afraid to show his most vulnerable side to him that no one else has ever seen.
Especially with the lingering theme of their two fathers happening to be against each other, it all just seemed like she was roleplaying as a Capulet. It was like this peculiar scenario had shifted into the storyline, as she looked out her window to see the one that she wished she could call her lover.
She should have closed the window. That was the smart move. But there was something about the way she saw how his fingers were trembling that made her step back and gesture him into her bedroom.
Rafe didn’t move at first. He stayed exactly where he was, one hand braced against the tree trunk. He let his chest continue to rise and fall.
For a second, it almost looked like he was waiting for her to change her mind, to slam the window shut in his face.
His eyes flicked past her shoulder into the dark of her bedroom.
“Rafe,” she whispered, sharper this time. “Move.”
Her tone of voice was still soft, but now impatient. This made him finally snap out of the desperate trance he had pulled himself into.
He dragged himself through the window awkwardly, climbing in with a grunt of pain. Normally he would’ve made some cocky remark about her room again, or just the fact that she still had the same stupid furniture that her parents bought during their middle school years, just to break the tension.
Tonight, he didn’t.
The moment that his feet hit the floor, he swayed slightly as if he had just been on drugs. She wouldn’t have been surprised at that point. Rafe caught himself by leaning on the wall beside the window he just climbed through, feeling slightly relieved that he was finally let in.
Up close, the girl had seen that the damage was worse. The cut across his cheekbone had split open again and the blood that was a streak down toward his jaw had dried up. His white shirt had finally revealed more than a tear, but a bruise that was already turning a deep shade of purple. His right hand was clenched up tight against his chest, as if he didn’t want anyone to see it.
She shut the window quickly and turned the lock. “God, Rafe…” she muttered under her breath.
Once again, he avoided her eyes. That alone told her how bad it was.
Sure whenever he would come over, he would never really interact with her. Rafe would either be extra vulnerable due to his excessive drug or alcohol intake, or just wait til the cleaning process was over. This, though, was more of a moment to finally stop this madness that was happening up in his head.
Rafe Cameron was one of those people who almost never avoided eye contact. He associated this to mean that he either felt guilty or weak, and Rafe hated both. Somehow, both were happening right now.
The girl slowly let her hands from the window lock slide down to face Rafe. She crossed her arms, “What did you do?”
His jaw tightened immediately, not wanting to converse. “Nothing,” he said automatically.
She let out a quiet, disbelieving breath. “That’s not an answer.”
Rafe dragged his hand through his hair, pacing two steps into the room before stopping. “Just- some guy at the Cut,” he muttered. “It’s handled.”
“... Handled how?” She asked, her eyes narrowing.
For some reason, reading people was always a good skill for her. While no one could read the dangerous bad boy of the island, she always knew when Rafe would simply lie to her.
Of course, he didn’t answer. Instead, he looked around her room like he hadn’t been there a dozen times before. As he turned and twisted his head, the restless energy that was still inside of him hummed under his skin. The adrenaline clearly hadn’t worn off yet.
“Sit down,” she finally said, pointing to the edge of her bed.
Rafe glanced at the area like it was some kind of trap. “You gonna kick me out after?” he asked quietly, suspicious.
The girl took a moment, “Depends,” she replied, “Are you gonna bleed all over my sheets?”
She didn’t know where this humor was coming from. Of all the times that Rafe had come over to her rescue, she was always too scared or cut off to even speak. It was possible that since Rafe was in this exposed state, she felt slightly stronger.
The mattress dipped under his heavy weight as he sat on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The boy allowed his head to hang for a second as if the act of stopping had finally let the exhaustion catch up to him.
She moved to the small bathroom that was connected to her room and pushed open the door. The girl pulled open a bottom drawer where the small first aid kit sat. It had practically become a permanent appliance in these situations.
When she returned, Rafe was watching her.
The usual predatory stance was gone. Only a soft gaze had remained, as he waited for her patiently.
His look had alerted her. She didn’t expect for him to watch her ever move, even observe the steps she took to exit out the bathroom.
The girl pulled a nearby chair for her to sit with him. Up close, he smelled of his famous, expensive cologne that he was known for. Although he had barely put any on and even though it was from early in the day, the smell was still sharp enough to invade her nostrils.
“Give me your hand,” she said.
Rafe hesitated, not moving from his position. The girl didn’t react to him, simply grabbing a cotton pad and soaking it in antiseptic.
As she reached up, he flinched instinctively, his blue eyes darting to hers.
"Easy," she murmured, "I'm not going to hurt you."
Rafe exhaled slowly, releasing all the tension that was held inside his body. If he was going to get better, he would have to trust the girl in front of him. It always went well for him in the end anyway.
He finally listened and extended his arm out for her to hold.
The moment she took his wrist, she felt how tense he was. His knuckles were practically split open and swelling badly. Blood had dried and crusted along the cuts.
“Jesus,” she murmured.
Rafe looked away, “Guy had a hard head.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
She continued to clean his wounded hands with the cotton pads, being extra careful to glide over the injuries that he sustained, not going any deeper.
As she switched to a damp cloth and pressed the cool fabric to the cut on his cheek, he let out a hiss. He sucked in a sharp breath, but not pulling away.
The girl worked in complete silence, other than the two of their breathing that collided with each other. She focused on cleaning the grime and blood from his face, not aware that his eyes were now on her again.
As she worked her way around his injuries, Rafe couldn’t help but glance to the places she would touch that were on hers. Each movement and slide the girl would perform on his face, he would mirror onto hers, taking in every feature
He took this time to examine every feature of the girl in front of him. At first, it seemed to be a way to distract from the pain of healing from his grazes, but it had suddenly turned to a tactic that helped him calm down.
For some reason, whenever he was with her, everything had stopped and came to a slow. It was like his world had finally become peaceful when her presence would be next to him.
The interaction seemed extremely new to him. He had never been this close to another person that didn’t include pointless making out or getting in someone’s face. And for some reason, he was the only one that was aware of the connection.
"You're spiraling, Rafe," she said, her voice barely audible as she wrapped gauze around his palm.
"I'm fine," he snapped, the old Rafe flickered for a second. But then his head dropped, his forehead resting against her shoulder. He felt feverish, a frantic energy radiating off him.
The girl stopped winding the gauze. Her breathing had suddenly got quicker as disbelief came over her. Rafe Cameron had never even intentionally touched her, let alone crash into her shoulder in exhaustion.
It eventually got to her than the boy needed to be comforted. She felt silly just sitting there in awe as he rested on her shoulder in physical and mental fatigue.
"You're not okay, Rafe," she said, pulling back just enough to look at him. “You need someone to help you.” Her eyes lingered on his face for a second too long.
All Rafe wanted to do was deny her claim. He was better than this. He didn’t need someone to help him or even to give him advice on what he should do, but something in his gut was telling him to listen to the voice that was guiding him out.
The girl finally sighed, exiting her trance. “You can’t keep doing this,” she said quietly.
Rafe huffed under his breath, “Doing what?”
“Showing up here like I’m some kind of-” she looked over, gesturing vaguely toward the medical supplies, “-emergency room. I don’t want to always be cleaning up your messes for you.”
He leaned back slightly, studying her expression. “You’re the only one who doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy.”
The words came out rougher than he probably intended.
“That’s not true,” she frowned.
“Yeah, it is. My dad thinks I’m a screwup.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Sarah barely talks to me unless she has to. Everyone at Figure Eight either wants something from me or thinks I’m insane.”
Rafe eyes lifted to hers again, “But you-” He stopped himself.
“...What?” she asked quietly.
Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking irritated with himself. “Nothing.”
She knew for a fact and knew him well enough by now to know that was a lie. Before she could push further, he spoke again.
“You could’ve shut the window,” he said.
“I almost did.”
Rafe nodded once, like he expected that answer. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “makes sense.”
The girl thought that his next move was to stand up and climb right back out the way he came, but instead he stayed there, sitting on the edge of her bed in the dim moonlight.
He wasn’t demanding anymore for her attention, but just wanting to stay in this peaceful moment. Rafe needed it more than he’d ever admit.
Rafe reached up, his bandaged hand covering hers, pinning it to his face. He leaned into her palm, closing his eyes. For the first time all night, his breathing had finally leveled out.
“Can I stay here?” He asked, seemingly casual about the question. It was as if he would already know the girl’s reaction as he cut off quickly. “Just for tonight,” he pleaded.
She looked at the door, then back at him. The girl knew she was in danger from the moment that he stepped into her bedroom. Not from his known presence as a Cameron, but from the feeling of knowing herself and knowing she would fall into his manipulation once again.
Normally he’d drop from the tree carefully without thinking twice, but the way he hesitated told her everything she needed to know about how much pain he was actually in, even though he hadn't mentioned much.
From the singular sigh that the girl let out, Rafe knew his request had been processed in the way that he wanted.
Rafe let out a small chuckle, his ego shining through all that exposure he once unveiled moments before.
The predatory appearance that he always showed had now completely disappeared, along with his extensive weary and drained self that he revealed to the girl.
He somewhat felt grounded with the quiet patience he would receive and the kind of honesty that no one else gave him. And despite all his chaos, he finally recognized the girl like she was something steady in a world that constantly shifted under his feet.
Somewhere between the bandages and the late-night silence, the girl who once only cleaned the blood off his hands had become something much harder for Rafe to walk away from.
And Rafe, despite all the trouble that he had carried with him, had become someone she let stay.