Rafe

Chapter 1

Cleo's POV

"What the fuck rafe?" I yelled as tears streamed down my face. I couldn't even bare to look at his face. It pierced my heart, realizing that he doesn't give a fuck. He never did. There wasn't a flick of guilt on his face. He looked uninterested, pupils dilated as he concentrated on the TV infront of him.

"Can you shut the fuck up Cleo? you're starting to sound like your mom"

It was as if I was watching the moment happen in third person. I couldn't believe it. He brought up my mom knowing what type of relationship I had with her.

I couldn't believe he'd go that far. "what'd you just say?" I asked, eyes wide as I turned my head to meet his eyes.

His eyes were still focused on the TV. "I said-"

"No, how could you?"

He still couldn't meet my eyes.

"I can't do this anymore Rafe, you're not even sober right now!" I yelled.

"You promised you'd stop" I added, gently.

He still didn't say anything.

I couldn't take it anymore. I wiped my tears with my sleeve and headed towards our bedroom.

Rafe and I got this apartment together after we graduated from college. It wasn't much but we were happy with it. We were happy. There was a time when Rafe was happy and healthy. When he wasn't dependent on drugs and weed to make him feel things. After a while he started getting distant. He'd disappear and come home after a few days smelling like cheap perfume or some sort of alcohol. Lipstick marks on his collar. He'd never even feel remorseful about it or even regret it. That's what hurts the most because I love him with all my heart. 

I turned back and studied his face. His dark hair messy from running his hand through it, dark bags under his eyes from barely getting any sleep. His piercing blue eyes were the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. When I looked at him, all I saw was the shell of the man I once loved. 

Who was i kidding? I could never love anyone like I love him.

But there's only so much a girl can take. So many sleepless nights, bawling my eyes out. Waiting for him to come home. To know he's safe. 

I tried to help him. God knows I tried.

So many days of sitting by the toilet while he emptied his guts out, rubbing his back to soothe him. Trying to get him to talk, to open up to me. But he'd always shut me out with a "get the fuck away from me Cleo. leave me the fuck alone" and I'd have no choice because if I pushed him anymore I'd be the one to end up with having bruises to cover up.