Drowning » Rafe Cameron & JJ Maybank

008

(chapter eight)

The thrid time Clara woke up in Rafe's arms was when she realized the fluttering feeling in her chest. The calm expression on his face, the mess of dark blonde hair against his forehead and the sun hitting his tan skin. He was peaceful and his presence made her feel at peace.

She only now noticed that only with Rafe she didn't have trouble falling asleep. The thoughts running over her head suppressed, and she wasn't scared or anxious.

Her golden brown eyes scanned his face, grasping to every single detail in hope of never forgetting the calmness of the moment. She was hesitant in touching him, even when his hand was holding tightly her waist, just like the whole night, this time she knew he was making sure that she wasn't going to leave him again.

Clara was convinced that the Camerons had some kind of enchantment around them that draw her in, holding it deep so she could never escape.

Her fingers touched the skin of his cheek, smiling to herself as she brushed her tumb over some of his almost unnoticeable freckles. God, she hadn't realized how much she missed his friendship, his presence. Him, overall.

After a few more moments she stopped, retreating her hand, but Rafe huffed, clasping her hand with his, pulling it back to his cheek.

"Why'd you stop?" He mumbled, eyes still closed, as she could feel his tumb starting to caress her hip.

"How long have you been awake?" She inquired, observing him as he opened his eyes, leaning against the warm of her palm, closing his eyes again.

"Not long," he answered, flexing his hand, then circuling her waist with it, pulling her to his chest.

"Rafe, we need to get up-" Clara tried to get away from his embrace, but he held tighter.

"No, not gonna work, it's too early to get out of bed," he declared, shielding his face on her shoulder from the light of the window. "Please, a little more."

"You're like a baby, you know that?"

He hummed, melting when she surrendered, accepting the fact she couldn't leave, then wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Clara had noticed that Rafe was more clingy, starving for physical contact, but she knew she was too.

Ward always asked too much from Rafe, since they were kids. It was obvious the different treatment Sarah and Wheezie received and what Rafe got. He was the man of the house, supposed to follow his father's footsteps and become the future head of the company. He was never actually allowed to be a teenager.

If you looked at Rafe a couple years before, you wouldn't recognize him. He was always at home, studying and preparing for whatever Ward would throw at him. He got onto the university of Chapel Hill with his grades, not his last name, even if it helped. He didn't have time for parties and to hang out with his friends, so he distanced himself from them. But something snapped, and he realized he never enjoyed his youth. His life was molded by what his father wanted, and he never had any choices or any say about it.

The boy didn't want to be a shadow of his father, he wanted to be himself, but who exactly was he?

And then it went downhill. Everything he didn't have time to experience came rushing to him. The college parties, the drinking and the drugs.

The first time he did a line was by pure pressure of his college friends. Every single one of them cheered and hyped him on, until he did. And the feeling was sureal. The effects were fast, and he felt for the first time in a really long time happy, like maybe life was everything but predicted.