/Rafe Cameron/
She's lying, I know she is. She saw who it was. In and out of consciousness, between blurbs, she knew.
But for some reason, she wouldn't talk..
Bella was a born pogue, maybe more so than any of her fellow pogue friends yet somehow sh...
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My eyes tiredly watch Rafes gaze, only inches from mine as his fingers continuously brush over my cheek in a soft gentle motion. My body nearly crushed under his, but he supports his weight so I don't suffocate under his massive size.
The moisture forming in my eyes comes with a painful burn a single tear trickles down my cheek. Rafes brows furrow as he wipes it away before pressing a soft kiss to my nose. "Don't cry anymore baby" he tells me softly. My chest swelling at how gentle he speaks to me as if I didn't just say the most horrible things I could think of to hurt him.
I deserved what he did, what he said. He's been so patient with me and I slit him open, clawed out his heart and threw it to the cold floor. The things I said about his mother, as if her death was insignificant because he was so young. He went through more than I did, having to carry that through his entire life. Protect his sisters because he father wouldn't.
I knew what he was doing as he spewed venom, berating my mother and who she was. Reminding me exactly what I'm mourning but it still hurt and I don't blame him. He knows how to suck the right pieces from you and slap you in the face with them, he just does it so angrily.
But that's who he is, he's always let his anger seep in until it's all that was coming out of his mouth and not his logic. He's gotten better but it's still there and that's okay. He's changed every aspect of himself, become an entirely new person for me. If his brain still holds onto something that was formed to protect him as child then that's okay. He's learned to control it for the most part, it only flared up because I fed it gasoline laced words that cut him deeper than any knife could.
He loved his mother so much, he was so close to her. His father favored Sarah, his mother cherished him like her greatest possession, her biggest accomplishment. She was his everything and she was ripped away from him in the most brutal traumatizing way. He's right, my mother wasn't pure and full of love like she was. She was mean and abusive. I may have watched her high and unstable my entire life but I didn't watch her slowly die, or hear the cause of it go on for hours. His trauma is a wound that will never heal, one that can only be buried with time and love until it fades into his mind. Until someone digs it up like I did and it makes me sick.
He wanted me to feel what pain I caused him. I never spoke a language so cold that it burnt my tongue like dry ice, feeling foreign coming up my throat. Every cell and nerve in my body singed as the words left my throat and connected with my ears. I never should have said I didn't love him because it's the furthest thing from the truth. No one will ever love anyone, as much as I love him and I will die on that hill. The beating muscle in my chest encaged by my ribs is his, every breath in my lungs belongs to him. He's my everything.
And I continuously forget that I don't need to push him away when the pain gets too heavy. It isn't going to cut him the way it's bleeding me dry. It won't burn his hand the way its singeing my veins. He'll fight it for me, I just have to let him. He's gone from bullying me my entire life to being my fervent lifeline.
