"Ma, I swear I'm fine
but when evening comes around
I swear to God"
Rose was one of those girls that perceived themselves as different—meaning better—from all the others, while simultaneously being terrified that these very others might think she was different—meaning worse.
Within her sorority, between golfclub wifes, moms at tennis matches, she always found herself trying to fit in, while looking down on those women that didn't play, were actually just that.
She'd never wanted kids, lose control over her body and beauty for a random person that would grow to hate her anyways—the Cameron kids proved so much. Never wanted to be a mom, servant to the wishes of her husband, or God forbid, not being able to work, dependent on a man's feeding hand.
It was no doubt Ward who provided for her and the family, her salary making almost no difference to the kind of money he brought in; to the point she could've chose to not work, Ward understanding her well enough to never even suggest, but if she needed to, she could've left, would've been fine on her own.
It was Rose who had suggested the prenup. Had insisted on separate bank accounts even, to make it crystal clear: She didn't want Ward for his money. "I know that", Ward had chuckled with affectionate confusion when she told him, but it wasn't him she needed to prove it to, needed to prove anything to, in fact.
More so 12-year old Rafe who had asked if he had to attend the wedding or could just stay home, playing GTA. More so to rub it into coworkers faces, she wasn't a gold digger, she didn't even take his money...although no prenup changed the value of the diamond on her hand, or the pin to his black amex in her phone.
But it was entirely true: she didn't want Ward for the money. And not even for his appearance, that of a respectable man, important figure in town, well known, beloved, awarded Knight of the Rhododendron, one she liked the look of herself standing next to, just like any other pretty trophy wife, just like all the others.
She didn't want him for the great man everyone saw he was, she wanted him for what they didn't see, what made her different, for loving it. Making her more than just that empty rich kook cliché —pretty, blonde and alcoholic—that seemed so terrifying the thought of ending up like her had pushed Sarah to the other side of the goddamn island, making her special.
The way her life had slowed down since they arrived at Guadeloupe, none of her fake yet entertaining girlfriends to talk to, no clients to tend to, no houses to put on the market (they had plenty of money anyways), had taken a toll on her mental health.
She tried cooking, even, tried being that women, anxious to let strangers into the house to do work yet anyways, without discussing it with her unconscious husband first. Rafe and Wheezie had complained plenty about the food, and other chores a maid should've handled. Rose provided nice drinks to wash it down with tho. If she knew one thing it was how to make a cocktail and it had soon turned into silent routine, setting down a drink for dinner at Rafes place and hers, something no word was lost about, not even thanks.
If Ward was just awake, this would be bearable, instead, she was left alone on an island with two kids that hated her, and now, a goddamn trailer trash druggie on top of it.
Rose had expected the worst and was met with..a surprising sense of calmness settling in the house.
Most times, they spent locked in the office anyways, doing god knows what. Rafe had claimed it the day they got there, splitting tasks even between him and Rose. He'd take care of the Cameron and finance side of things. Rose could take care of the no-name new family things like...buying new furniture or getting Wheez into school, equally important stuff. She hadn't fought him about it, assuming anyways, Ward would wake up after a day or two, and Rafe had thought so too, when he all too eagerly claimed the responsibility. Hadn't planned to carry it for longer than a week.
Sometimes she'd see them get in from the beach when she'd just woken up, taking over the kitchen to make beacon and eggs when she'd never even seen Rafe near a fucking stove, only using the kitchen to get beer out of the fridge anyways. Waking up by noon, pissed and already high on whatever substance Rose could only assume turned into morning workouts with the boyfriend, and it got harder to hate the guy day by day.
Rafe had complained to Barry about the lacking luxury of a home gym, not exactly being met with the understanding he hoped for.
"You don't need that shit, bro", Barry argued, flexed his arm. "Look at me, huh. You think I got a home gym?"
Rafe expressively raised an eyebrow. "You're skinny, bitch", he grinned the insult, his teeth all showing and Barry grinned back.
"Wanna work out like a U.S. soldier, bro?"
Rafe gave him a sceptical look. "Er-"
"Nah, right, you not cut out for it anyways", Barry shrugged, scrapping the idea with the wave of his hand.
"What?", Rafe made, grinning.
"You couldn't handle it, bro", Barry repeated slow and clear. Didn't need much more to push him through the cruel program, push-ups, burpees, sit-ups and laps in the deep sand...Rafe was dumb and easy like that.
Working out had always been a safe space in his life, where he could gain a sense of pride over lifting heavy weights with his friends, feel successful about something, when all else failed. Accomplish, when he couldn't accomplish nothing else, good at one thing at least.
The slight push on his confidence did wonders, although it couldn't compare to coke, and it helped with everything else too, sleeping, anger, eating.
Besides, it felt good to follow Barry's easy orders anyways, get praised and called a good boy simply over drinking a glass of water put down in front of him. In a way, Barry had just the right amount of strictness, paired with the subtle mocking in every order, that made it easy to comply. He made it sound like a joke, when he told Rafe to drink or eat up, and even more so when he praised him for it, a joke that was easy to lean into, taking away the shame he'd otherwise feel for his obedience.
Even the paper work turned out to be no harder than a work out, once you got to it, once you stepped over the barrier inside your mind, or were pushed over, anyways. The big cryptic mess clearing into manageable tasks, once he just started looking at it, no room anymore, for fear of failing or core belief he wasn't enough, because he had to try anyways.
Although Rose, thankfully, didn't see Rafe all that often anymore—Barry kept him entertained just fine—she couldn't deny the progress he was making. At least, for what she saw. Rafe wasn't violently drunk enough to full on walk into glass doors, or pass out on the way to his room, only finishing his walk there when Rose woke him up in the morning. And Rose was just a kook, appearances mattered to her more than the truth so she couldn't care less if it was really just coke, or other well dosed drugs that kept him that composed.
Rafe disappeared into his fathers room at least once a day, sometimes just to watch him rest in peaceful slumber. Sometimes to find such an expression of pain carved subtly into the old man's face, Rafe wondered if he was foot deep in hell right now and negotiating with the Devil to just let him go for a few more years. Sometimes to realize his fathers face couldn't even possibly change from peaceful to painful, not even in the micros, he just read into a blank expression like he always had to with his father; his own taste of hell.
Barry stood leaning against the wall across Wards room when Rafe slipped out of it.
"Oh", Rafe made, hadn't expected him there.
"Didn't wanna interrupt", Barry justified and pushed himself off the wall, Rafe awkwardly shrugging his shoulders. "I was just checking", he said, and made it sound like a defense.
"How long are you gonna wait?", Barry asked, nodding toward the door now closed. For all he knew, the whole thing could be made up, maybe even just real in Rafes mind, although apparently Rose and Wheezie saw the ghost too.
"What?", Rafe made.
"I mean, you're just chilling on this damn island for him, right?", Barry clarified. "There's a chance he's not gonna wake up, so, like, when are you gonna call it quits?"
"And pull the plug?!", Rafe asked sharply.
"I-Sorry, bro", Barry said, looking away. "I'm just...tryna plan my life. I know you're not the typa guy to look too far into the future, but I got all my shit back home and-"
He hadn't known how long this was gonna be, when he left home, just knew Rafe urgently called for him, and somehow assumed he'd be able to help him work through his issues and come back home. Now, with the Cameron head unconscious behind that white door, everything had turned uncertain.
"You wanna leave?", Rafe interrupted, his chest tightening uncomfortably.
"No. No, just wanna plan ahead, bro, you know", Barry was quick to rationalize. Plan, whether he'd just move here, completely, cause he felt it, every damn second he spend with him, that this was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. And he didn't wanna overwhelm Rafe with that thought, but if Rafe told him, he'd wait forever for his dad to wake up, Barry would wait forever by his side.
"D..do you need a date?", Rafe asked. The thought horrified him, and even more that if he said something wrong, Barry might decide to not wanna put up with it, go back home. "I mean, he was technically already dead r..right?" He anxiously thought about the maximum time Barry would be willing to spend here. "Next week?"
"Oh god, Rafe", Barry sighed, hiding his face in his hand. Sometimes he really forgot the boy was mentally ill, talking to him. "I shouldn't have brought it up, please, just forget about it, alright, bro"
At first, Barry's words had been scary and hurtful, but after a while the idea grew to Rafe. There was a possibility that his father might never wake up again. Might never take control back, might never make a goddamn single decision over him ever again. And how much longer was he gonna wait, how many weeks or months until he stopped acting like it? Would he wait for the rest of his goddamn life, always the thought of what is father wanted in the back of his head?
Eventually, Rafe started living more like the man was dead.
The realization pushed him into a new state of consciousness, a kind of high that didn't end in a comedown, or at least none was in sight.
Not everything was fine, he still had his mood swings, his break downs, panic attacks when he woke up at night and he had sweat out the effects of coke and it felt like the man handling all that shit was someone he'd watched from afar instead of himself, that he was crazy, for believing he could ever do this shit.
Other times, then, when shrooms made the night sky look fake and Barry's finger tips on his skin feel real, he felt the other way around. He'd been watching for his entire goddamn life, and only now, finally, what he was on the inside had come out, only now, after damn near 20 years he felt real.
Barry kept him well medicated throughout the days, drugs was the one thing he knew, was an expert in, timed when a high would kick in, timed when a comedown was close, timed when it was time for the next line or whatever substance to redose. He did it so casually Rafe didn't even notice his drug use wasn't lead by urge or need like he was used to, but carefully crafted to keep him as stable as could be.
So sure, he did a lot of drugs, especially after Barry secured a good guy in town, but the shrooms faded, the coke wore off, the liquor broke down, the weed lost effect, and the feeling stayed, a sort of wholeness, like his skin finally fit, and he didn't feel like tearing it off anymore—in the most literal sense at bad nights.
"You know what's funny?", Rafe asked, turning the office chair with the loose movement of his feet, on side to the other, and Barry raised his eyebrows. "I never wanted this". He gestured losely over the desk and himself.
It was half true and half lie. Really, this was all he ever wanted, to have power and control, to be in charge and make the rules, become an important man, but not for the sake of it, only ever to gratify what his father expected of him, trying to become the man Ward wished he raised, a respectable heir, a man worthy to take his place, one day.
Rafe hadn't proved himself to be all too successful at it, a tremendous distance between what his father wanted, and what he was, a gap he tried to close by desperately reaching for power and control where he could. Following footsteps that didn't fit his strive, because he knew the man he was supposed to become, saw him every day across the dinner table, just didn't know how to get there.
"My dad just wanted me to want it", he added.
"What did you want, then?", Barry asked. Rafe blinked a few times at the outrageous question.
Maybe, to not have to achieve, or fulfill, or try to, or pretend —or be, for once.
What, it's not like he'd ever wanted a career, become a doctor or a firefighter or an astronaut, and not a family either, not a babygirl or son of his own, never wanted to accomplish a goal, tick a certain thing off a list, reach a milestone, in short: have a future.
Rafe smiled lightly, shrugging his shoulders.
"I never wanted anything", he said. At least he couldn't remember ever wanting anything but what his father wanted.
Maybe that's why it was so easy for his fathers desires to fill up that empty space, devoid of fantasy or dreams or hopes. Maybe that's what had kept him from closing that gap before, what separated him so clearly from his father: utter lack of ambition, and nothing in life to get up for.
Barry pushed air out of his nose. Surely, only someone who had everything handed to them anyways could be saying shit like that.
"Well that's nice", he offered, anyways. You can't fail at achieving nothing, at everything else, you can; not that Rafe ever took that risk.
Rafe didn't answer, for it wasn't nice, but he also couldn't explain in which ways it wasn't, just a vague feeling that he shoud've wanted something out of life, that made all the effort and pain worth it. It was easier to justify the means, in his case murder, when there was an actual end to meet.
At the end of the day, Rose appreciated most things Barry did, although she would never admit it, of course. For others, she could've killed the guy.
She saw Rafe leaning against the kitchen island, straw between his lips as he watched Barry handle a variety of pans on the stove. He hadn't offered much more help except cutting new lines on the kitchen counter every now and then, and emotional support, while Barry cut vegetables, seasoned meat and fried onions. But Barry enjoyed his presence there, and Rafe enjoyed watching.
Rose had damn near snuck up on the two of them, wiping the coke off the counter with a flat hand, the straw dropping out of Rafes mouth as he gasped, before his eyes automatically darted to Barry's, who was equally stunned.
"That's 50 bucks right there", he commented dryly and Rafe grimaced.
"Euros, actually", he corrected like they were two experts holding an intellectual discussion, before he caught the straw with his lips again and pulled some more. There were times in his life, where he would've literally lost his shit.
"Oh, yeah, that's right", Barry nodded in the same professional tone as Rose clapped the powder off her hands.
"Your sister's right there", she hissed at Rafe, pointing at Wheezie on the couch, busy with her phone. She'd gotten accustomed to treating Barry like air.
"Gee, not like we're sharing", Rafe shrugged. It was almost hilarious, to think Wheezie needed to be protected from seeing some drugs. To think, the girl was not, in fact, fucked beyond repair, like all the rest of her family, by what she'd seen and been through. To believe a little bit of coke on the kitchen counter could do any more damage to this girl who's world had turned upside down was straight up ridiculous.
"I don't want your drugs around her", Rose said sharply. The rehab she'd signed Rafe up for after he stole the goddamn watch—Wards master plan of getting Rafe back on track—had accepted her offer just yesterday, saying they had an open spot. She'd almost cried over the email.
"She's just mad", Rafe turned around to grin at Barry again, as if Rose wasn't even there anymore. "Cause we don't wanna eat her bland chicken anymore"
Barry chuckled and Rafe yelled over to the couch. "Right, Wheez?"
Getting no reaction from the girl he grimaced at Rose. "She can't even hear us", he argued and pulled out the baggy with more coke, wiggling it at Barry with a conspiring grin on his lips, tongue pushed between his teeth in sheer joy. Wasn't he the most adorable bully, if Barry'd ever seen one.
"You act like you father couldn't wake up any minute and walk in here right now", Rose spat, although the threat lost meaning with every day that passed.
"You act like he will", Rafe countered.
notes
Rafe never called Barry trailer park but he should've, he fucking should have.
I know its a lot of text and little dialogue/action in this chapter but I tried to create somewhat of a Timelapse. I might go over this and drastically cut it later, for now this is best i can do. I hope I'll be able to stick to my weekly updates because the next few chapters are still a mess and I don't really have any time to work on them right now.
Also should I post deleted scenes again? I technically have 2-3 deleted scenes from this chapter but they would need some work to be published, they're deleted for a reason..
05/25/23 | 3220 words