salvation [rafe x barry]

black sheep

"That there might not be angels, but there are people who might as well be angels."
-David Foster Wallace

Barry often held spontaneous parties, when just a few of his friends gathered at the trailer to buy drugs and then these friends just called a bunch of other friends and all of the sudden it turned into a hangout and everyone was just getting high or wasted.

When Rafe saw the people and heard the music driving up to the trailer, he just wanted to turn around again, couldn't be bothered with facing people, other than Barry, after what had just happened, after what he just did, or almost did, for that matter.
But whom he specifically couldn't face right now was his Father, so turning around and driving back to Tanneyhill wasn't an option. In fact, Rafe was afraid. Afraid his Dad would see with a glance at him what he had done, see in his eyes the reflection of Sarah in the tank, see in his hands her throat and the cold water around his wrists and the guilt, dripping from his hair.

Seeing Barry sit at a campfire next to a women laughing, no matter her pale face and rotting teeth, didn't exactly brighten Rafes mood and he went up to Barry, pulling him off his chair and away from the fire on his forearm.

Barry went along with it, placing a hand on Rafes hip as he was guiding him away from the noise, away from the people and Rafe frantically slapped it away, turning around to look if anyone had been watching them.

"Well you're in a bitch ass mood", Barry complained as Rafe finally stopped around the trailer and Barry looked at him, eying the bruise blooming at his jaw.

"Damn, Sarah do that?", Barry laughed and tried to reach out to touch it, Rafe flinching away.

"No", Rafe growled back. "But I fucked it up. And I needed you. But you're too busy flirting with some trailer trash whore, huh"

Barry smirked. "Jealous, huh, Country Club"

"No", Rafe bit his lip. "But if you were to fuck someone else I would..", he thought. "..drown them"

"Shit, I'll take your word for it", Barry chuckled and failed at a last attempt to touch Rafe, who jerked away yet again.

"Don't fucking touch me..in front of people, alright", Rafe hissed, throwing concerned looks to where the party was going on.

"Whatever, bro, fuck Sarah, bro, take a line, calm the fuck down, get wasted and I'm all yours once everyone left, alright?", Barry offered, seeing how stressed out he was and there was no way Rafe was gonna pass an opportunity to get wasted. Distraction was what he needed desperately anyways.

He fixed himself a drink and joined the group of low life's gathered around the fire, people he had seen before at Barry's but didn't particularly like or care for. It was probably for his hardend jaw or the tense shoulders or his tight grip on his phone or maybe just the aggressive glimmer in his eyes, a hungry gaze, looking for provocation just to snap, that no one dared to talk to him, at least not directly.

And Rafe preferred it like that anyways, freeing his phone from the case and uncovering the dirty backside of it, glass that was dull and white from the residues of hundred lines and more, scratched from the times he had used a blade to lay a line instead of a plastic card. It was relieving in a way, to hang out with addicts like himself, where no one even batted an eyelash when you did a line in front people, unless they wanted to scrounge, which again, no one dared to with Rafe.

Rafe knew it was too much, really. He needed to lay back, on the coke at least, or his heart was not gonna make it through the night but it was hard to tell whether he had actually overdone it with the white powder today or if his heart racing in his thight chest was really just a panic attack finally setting in after the initial shock of almost drowning his sister had settled.