Posthumous Recognition
chapter i.
warnings: sexual situations, drinking,
cocaine use
OUTER BANKS WAS PARADISE ON EARTH, according to the sign that read at the front of the island, and according to Layne's mother. Rory Hetfield was a 51-year old woman, who was raised in New Jersey. Kurt Hetfield, Layne's father, was born and raised in the OBX, like Layne. She hadn't seen any of the world outside of the island, except for when she roomed at East Carolina University during the past school year. Even then, that didn't count. Rory never wanted to leave, but Layne didn't blame her—everything they needed was right here on the island. There was no need to leave. That's why Layne was going to commute to college from here on out—she couldn't stand not being near the water. Being near her childhood. Most people who were born on the OBX stayed there.
Layne liked to pretend Rafe wasn't another reason for her coming home. She hated the fact that she missed him. She had kissed plenty of boys within the span of time she was away from home, but still texted him as if she never left. On her holiday breaks she'd spend nearly every night with him. She hadn't told him about any of the boys she kissed, even the few she slept with—she was truthfully scared of how he'd react. They weren't dating—he made that very, very clear, yet Layne felt so obligated to him.
It was May when she returned to the island. There weren't many tourons yet, but she knew Alberto would want her back at the marina as soon as possible. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to work there yet. But, she wasn't a minor anymore—so he'd actually have to pay her normally. But, Marian and Claudia both said they could get her a job bartending or waitressing at the Ocean Course Clubhouse they worked at. Or maybe she could work as a cart girl and get tipped by pervy men. Either way, she needed a new job, a break from the place she was working at since she was fourteen, and move onto something new.
The ferry ride was something she was used to, but she hated lugging her bags around. Especially when she didn't have people there to help her out. But, when she arrived back on the island, she spotted her parents, Marian and Claudia waving to her from the dock. There was a sudden nausea that washed over her, one that she accredited to the idea of being back home. Maybe she shouldn't commute to school next year. The longing to go back home nearly disappeared once she got it. But, the sun was high in the sky, and she could see the seagulls chasing people with their food, and she felt home, safe. She was still scared of seeing him.
The rest of her luggage was getting carried out by the workers, and she gave them warm smiles as they sweat through their uniforms. Her dad rushed to her side to grab her items as her mom engulfed her in a hug before anyone else.
"Oh, my sweet pea—I'm so glad you're home. I never want you to leave again," she breathed into her hair. Despite having seen her mom not even five months ago, she looked so different. Her hair was down past her breasts, and it was obvious she had gone into town and got highlights. Unless she had squirt lemon onto her roots to bring out more blonde—nevertheless, she looked beautiful. But, Layne always knew her mother was beautiful. Sometimes, when Layne looked in the mirror, she would get homesick, because she looked like her. Or maybe it was her mind convincing her that that was the case.
"Rory, let go of her, I want to see her face," Kurt had announced from behind them, shooing them away from where everyone was, and carried Layne's bags away. His hands then clasped over her cheeks. "Oh, my gorgeous girl," he placed two chaste kisses on her cheeks, and then one on her nose. Layne couldn't help but flush red, and flushed even more when Claudia and Marian gave her a hug. She could hardly wrap her arms around the pair of them.
"Alright, alright," Layne tried desperately to squirm away from them, and it took a few moments before they let her go. "We missed you so much," Marian placed a kiss on her forehead, and when Layne got a good look at her, she hadn't changed. She still had straight hair that fell a little below her shoulders. Maybe she got a few layers, and now had a septum piercing, and wore less makeup. Claudia had her hair tied back, and her skin was glowing beneath the sun. Layne sometimes was in awe of their beauty—she wondered if they ever felt the same about her. But, she wasn't entirely sure what they were doing there, waiting for her. They never really spoke anymore. They only texted when Layne did first—and when she would come for holidays, she'd only see them for a few days. Rafe said they were jealous of him and her, but she didn't think so—they had their own flings, their own boys. Sometimes Layne thought Rafe assumed everyone was out to get him—she thought it was because of the coke, but it could've been a copious of things. (Probably his ego, too.)
The drive home was a solace in and of itself. They brought her Jeep, and Rory had let her know that her father had basically claimed the car as his own for the time she gone. Layne didn't mind—it seemed as though he had fixed the roof, and gotten the floor fixed so there wasn't a hazardous hole beneath the seat. The AC worked now, too, and Layne assumed they used the money they would've spent on her, fixing the car. She wasn't complaining.
"It's your welcome home, present, honey," Rory reached behind the passenger seat to hold onto Layne's hand. Layne squeezed back, and smiled softly. "Thanks guys, I'm really happy to be back," she nearly had to yell out from the wind that was ruffling through the open roof. She laid her cheek on the open window and breathed in the air as they drove through the Cut, her father playing Bad by U2. She remembered this song from when her dad put it on her college playlist. It made her cry the first time she heard it—she was in her dorm room, laying in a fetal position under her duvet and wishing she could go home. Now that she was home, she felt sick. She might hurl out of the window.
"Alberto wants you working at the marina as soon as possible, he's been asking since March when you were coming back," Kurt cleared his throat as they turned at a stop sign, and he reached to turn down the music. Layne let out a sigh. "What's that for?"
"I dunno. I was thinking of working somewhere else, this year," she muttered, pushing her face in the passenger seat in front of her. She heard kids playing in the skatepark as they passed it. She could tell they were getting closer to the Cut by the smell—it reeked of weed and fish. You never got used to that.
"What do you mean work somewhere else? You've been there since you were fourteen!" her dad exclaimed, looking at her through the rearview mirror. Layne shrugged. "Exactly. I need something new. Plus, he hardly pays me anything,"
"But—"
Rory held up a hand to her father, to silence him, and he bit his tongue. "We'll support you, no matter what you do, baby," Rory soothingly rubbed her knee, and Layne leaned back in her seat. She missed the feeling of driving through the island. All she needed was Rafe—she tried to fight the urge to text him. He needed to text her first. She wondered why he didn't show up to see her off the ferry, but then she remembered who he was. Rafe Cameron didn't date. They weren't dating.
The Cut didn't change at all—it still had trees fallen over that had been there for years, houses turned to shacks turned to crack-houses with boarded windows and doors. Layne wondered how their house looked now. It seemed as though houses in the Cut only seemed to go downhill.
But, it looked the same. The whale and crystal wind chime still hung over the door, and the hole in the screen from when a racoon busted through the sun room was still taped up. She wondered why they spent money on her car instead of fixing the house—the screen door still wasn't properly hinged. Her surfboard was still propped up beside the garage, next to the outdoor shower. It hadn't moved since she was home in January. "Home sweet home," Kurt muttered, putting the car in park, before moving to help load her bags out of the back.
"Wait, wait, I want a picture," she waved both of them to a stop, and the pair of them turned to her camera with wide smiles and cheesy thumbs up. She posted it on her story, with the caption happy to be home. :)
Part of her was just trying to get Rafe to say something. He hadn't texted her for nearly two weeks. Layne wanted to curse at herself for overthinking something so little. She was away at school, with other guys, yet the idea of him with any other girl made her want to throw up. A lot of things made her want to throw up.
Her room looked the same, as well. A pile of clean swimsuits and wetsuits were laid atop her bed, and her records had obviously been picked through. "We were using your turn table the other night," she heard her mom breathe from the doorway, and Layne turned from running her fingers over her duvet. "I can tell," she nodded toward the lid on her record player that still hadn't been put down. Her Rumours album was still laying on the floor, and their cat, Luna, was messing with the plastic sleeve. Rory rushed over to pick her up and place her on Layne's bed.
"Do you think we could go out to dinner tonight?" Rory asked, sitting on the edge of Layne's bed. She tried to avoid her mother's stare. "Uh—I'm not sure, there might be a party tonight,"
"Can't you wait until the next one?"
"Mom, I haven't seen my friends for months,"
Rory held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay . . . I just—we missed you, Layney, dearly," she played with the ends of Layne's hair, twirling the locks around her fingers. Layne almost felt bad, but she didn't want to talk to her parents about her time at college. It was boring and repetitive. The few college parties she went to were fun at first, but then they just felt like the same thing, over and over again. Show up, get drunk, fuck someone, leave. She could never remember if she danced or had a good time. Most of the kids there commuted anyways, so there weren't many girls in her building—and football was the prime there, as it is most schools. Layne hated football. She hated sports, period, besides surfing. The cheerleaders walked around like packs of Barbies and fit right into the cookie cutter mold that the entire university had crafted for them. She hated it. She would've much rather stayed home, but there weren't many (if any?) colleges on the island. Rafe told her she should drop out, like him. Layne knew he was unreliable and his empty promises of spending more time together was faux and painfully unrealistic. It almost made her cry thinking about it.
"Okay, well . . ." Rory started, looking to Kurt who was standing in the door, and pulling through Layne's bags.
"I've got to get unpacked," Layne sighed, and it sound almost aggravated. She wasn't annoyed at them, nothing close to it. She just needed her space, and time to unravel. She missed her room.
"Okay. We'll leave you alone. Let's go, Kurt," Rory pulled gently on his shoulder, and Kurt nodded firmly. "Love you, Layne," he whispered, before shutting the door behind them. Layne appreciated having parents that gave her space. They weren't always on her back or breathing down her neck. She loved them more than anything. More than Marian, Claudia . . . more than Rafe. No, she didn't love Rafe. Not yet.
She tried to ignore her phone for as long as possible, as it sat on her nightstand. She had taken out her clothes and tried to place them back in the drawers as cleanly as possible. She had forgotten how much clothes she had. A lot of them were hand-me-downs from her mother and older cousins, a lot were from Goodwill—they had a giant Goodwill near ECU. She'd go there nearly every weekend, right when they got their new shipments in. That was probably the only thing she'd miss from Greenville.
She lit her incense by the open window. It smelt of fresh rain—literally, that was the name. She had made sure to buy nearly thirty sticks of it from the hippie store in town before she left. It calmed her, and smelt so good. Luna fell asleep on her pillow, and Layne put on Joni Mitchell's Blue on her record player. All I Want hummed from the speakers and mingled with the outdoor ambience. Her mom had remembered to water her succulents, and she praised her in her head.
It had been around twenty minutes before Layne caved in and checked her phone. Two texts from Rafe. She wasn't sure if her stomach flipped and her heart dropped for the right reasons. Maybe it was the feeling that deep down, she knew what he wanted—and how convenient it was, that he texts her back right when she's back in town. But, she still wasn't sure why he picked her. Maybe the faux kook girls weren't doing it for him while she was gone. She couldn't understand why he always came back to her—and why she always let him.
It took her a few moments before she let herself open it:
You didn't tell me you were back
Layne rolled her eyes. She told him three weeks ago she was coming home today. And then again, one week ago. He hadn't answered her. She sighed, before flopping down on her bed. Luna was disrupted from her sleep, and meowed right in Layne's face, before getting comfortable on the other side of the bed.
i told you three weeks ago??
She closed her phone, as if that would stop her from looking. Maybe if she snapped Kiara or JJ she would feel a bit better. She hadn't seen them in a while—she promised JJ she would go surfing with him right when she got back. But Rafe took a higher place on her podium at the moment, and she hated it.
My bad
Let me take you out tonight
Take me out. What did that even entail? Layne knew immediately—taking her to the beach, late at night. Maybe an empty parking lot. Or, if she's lucky, take her to a party. That was a rare occasion when Rafe had promised for the third time he would be a good boy. She didn't like saying boyfriend. He wasn't her boyfriend.
i hate you
She didn't mean to send that, but it was too late now. She said that all the time. Layne did hate him. He was a douchebag that treated her like a piece of shit most of the time. But, she let him. It was easy to put up with the bad parts in order to look forward to the good ones. Plus, he was really good in bed. Probably the best she's ever had. Her friends were astronomically jealous. He was tall and protective, and despite the fact that he never really wanted to act like a boyfriend, he got jealous easily. Sometimes it was scary, but sometimes Layne wanted to get him jealous on purpose. Usually after she did a line or smoked a joint—she got more confident. She definitely needed to smoke before she saw him.
I know
Why did he have to be so goddamn dry? She thought if she rolled her eyes anymore they might stay like that.
pick me up at 8
He responded faster than she thought.
8:30
She didn't answer. Be the bigger person. It was pathetic that she celebrated something like that.
It was almost six o'clock by the time she was finished unpacking, because she tried to keep her mind off of him. What was she going to wear? Should she buy something new? No, that's stupid. He doesn't deserve that, he didn't text her for three weeks and was picking her up for a "date" at eight-thirty. She wondered if he grew his hair out like she asked him to. Layne always preferred when he had long hair, she thought it was more attractive—so, naturally, he would then cut it. Maybe he listened to her this time.
She thought going into the kitchen would be a good idea, but it seemed to be worse. Her parents must've thought they were going to go out out to eat, because now her mom was scraping the cabinets for something to cook, while her dad fished out a few beers from the back of the fridge. "Hey honey. You finished unpacking?" Rory asked, while she cut some cheese and placed it on a plate with crackers.
"Uh—yeah. Pretty much. I still have to do some laundry, though,"
"Well you're going to have to wait until Saturday. That's usually when I do the laundry,"
Layne scrunched up her face. "Since when?" Laundry day was always on Sundays. Today was Thursday.
"Dunno. Just seemed easier,"
Layne sighed, picking up a cracker. "Well, I'm nineteen. I can do my own laundry,"
"Okay, you can do that when you pay the water bill," Rory muttered, bending over to get a bowl from beneath the sink. Layne clicked her tongue and walked over to the fridge to get out a bottle of water. It wasn't cold, exactly, but it was good enough. Luna had made her way out of Layne's room, and jumped on top of the washer, and stretched across to the dryer.
"Are you going out tonight?" Kurt asked, cracking open a beer and leaning against the counter. Layne nodded, reaching for another cracker. "Yeah,"
"Is there a party?"
"Something like that,"
Kurt nodded, and Layne felt slightly guilty. They didn't really know about Rafe. One time, Rory had accidentally mistaken Layne's phone for her own, and saw some texts he sent her—she had left her bra at his house. Rory hadn't said anything to Layne, however. There wasn't much she could do about it—it was bound to happen, eventually. But later that month she suggested birth control to Layne, and Layne was mortified, but obliged. She still made Rafe wear a condom.
"Are Marian and Claudia going?"
"Uh—yeah, I think so,"
Rory took a sip from her wine glass. "Are you driving? If you're going to drink, I don't want you driving. I will take you,"
Layne sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. "Someone's picking me up,"
Rory furrowed her brows, and Kurt stopped chopping up cucumbers to look over his shoulder wearily. "Who? Are they drinking?"
Layne slammed her hand down on the table, and they jumped slightly. "Jesus, why are you asking so many questions?" she shook her head, taking a heated sip of her water. She felt guilty, but it washed away for a moment. "Don't raise your voice at me," Rory said sternly, gripping the stem of her wine glass like it was a lifeline. "I am just worried about you, Layne. You're our baby, we don't want anything happening to you,"
"I am nineteen years old, mom, almost twenty. I was away at college all year, I can handle myself," she muttered, picking up her phone and water before retreating back to her room. The tinge in her chest was still there, but it normally was when she talked to her mom about that stuff. It was just—uncomfortable. When she got back to her room, she texted Rafe.
pick me up two streets down
It took him a few moments to respond. Her Joni Mitchell record was done spinning, on the B side.
U don't want ur parents knowing abt me??
Layne couldn't help but smile. At least, she hoped he was joking—but he wasn't exactly lying.
u don't want ur parents to know abt me.
She wasn't sure if that was true. Layne wasn't even sure if his friends knew about her—the pogue he'd been fucking since their junior year. She wondered how he talked about her. She reckons it was much different than the way she spoke of him. Layne was attached, but not stupid. She knew he probably spoke of her like she was some sort of prize. Talked about her body like it didn't have a brain and a heart attached to it. Probably talked about her boobs or the way she bit his ear sometimes. She didn't talk about him like that. She told her friends how his eyes still glowed when they were in the dark, or how he would trace shapes on her shoulder blade and how she taught him to braid her hair. Layne would endure another three weeks of radio silence if it meant he would play with her hair and hum Jeff Buckley in her ear.
She could hear his voice when she was in the shower, and she got flashbacks to the months before. Getting all pampered for him, for one night, when all he would do would slap on some cologne and minimal hair gel. Maybe he would shave if he wasn't feeling lazy. Most of the time, he was feeling lazy.
She had cut her leg shaving, and had to run through the living room to grab a band-aid from the laundry room. Her mother hadn't said a word to her, and her dad only gave her a small nod with a smile. Layne cursed at herself and patched up her cut quickly, before fingering through her clothes—a sigh left her lips. Even after all that unpacking, and all that money spent, she still felt as though she didn't have any clothes. She settled on a brown skirt and a white blouse. The skirt was short enough that Rafe liked it without telling her to get changed. She knew they weren't going in public, so it didn't matter. She felt pretty, but she needed a tan. Her hair was still wet when she put on her makeup, and even afterwards. Her blow dryer had broke when she accidentally started a—small—electrical fire in the bathroom. She wasn't trusted around heat since then.
She looked anemic. It made her sick to her stomach—bruises all over her legs, and she was as pale as the moon. She missed the waves. Her appetite had vanished once she left the island, and it showed. But her parents didn't say anything to her—her friends didn't say anything to her. It wasn't bad if no one said anything.
It was 8:45 when she finally got a text from Rafe that he was here. She asked him what street he was parked near, and he told her to turn right out her door and keep walking, and she'd see him. She rushed out of the house and quickly called out goodnight before she left. Her mother hardly even had time to react before Layne was out the door. It took everything in Rory to not watch her out the window to see who was picking her up.
Layne did as Rafe said, and turned right when she left the house. It was already past dark, and she hated walking in her neighborhood past dark, alone. They'd especially be a hot attraction based on what care he was driving. He always had to make a statement to everyone else on how rich he was.
She saw him, parked at the corner. His head was down, looking into his lap, and she figured he was on his phone. He used to get out and open the door for her, but she got in herself this time. He looked up at her, and Layne felt her stomach do flips, as they normally do when he looks at her. He was so handsome, it made her mad. How someone could be so pretty yet so ugly. But she didn't care enough to see the bad parts. He was so beautiful, sometimes she wanted to cry.
Rafe could tell she looked different—she wore different clothes, and she was more tense in her seat. Her shoulders nearly reached her ears when she sat. He looked at her legs, and her hands were clasped over her lap. "Hi," he smirked, his head turned to look at her. Layne glanced over at him for a moment, before turning out the window. He laughed to himself before putting the car in drive and driving away. He always drove fast, as if it would impress her. It never did. Maybe when she was seventeen, but not anymore. She had other morals.
She didn't talk to him, even as they reached the town. She could hear Better Man by Pearl Jam playing on the radio. How fucking ironic.
"Hey, Layne, I just want to say I'm sorry," he said, after a long moment of silence. Layne tried to act nonchalant. "Like, sorry for not talking to for like a month," she reached forward to turn the volume up on the radio, and only looked at him, without an answer, before turning away again. She could tell he was getting agitated. That was what she wanted.
He pulled up to a gas station in between Figure Eight and the Cut, that didn't ID. He would've gotten away with it, anyways, but it helped to not have that down your back. "You want anything?" he asked, pushing the door open. "Get me some of those cherry rolling papers,"
"Okay," he slammed the car door behind him, and Layne watched as he walked up. He looked stupid going into a gas station dressed like a pimp. Part of her wanted him to get jumped. Maybe she should drive away and leave him here. The song on the radio made her want to take his stupid golf clubs and slam them into his stupid windshield, mirrors, headlights. Make him pay, even if it was daddy's money.
He came back outside with a paper bag, and it looked like a bottle in it. Probably vodka. He was stupid for drinking and driving, but it was probably for her.
He handed her the rolling papers, and she stuffed them in her purse and hummed in acknowledgement. The tension was unbearable, and stifling, that it made Layne want to roll down the window of his stupid convertible.
"Are you going to fucking talk to me?" he spat, and Layne could tell his fuse was running short. He kept one hand on the wheel, and the other one was tapping on the center console, along with the new song playing on the radio, Home Sweet Home. Of course he listened to fucking Motley Crue. Still, Layne sighed loudly. "Yes,"
"How was college?"
She was surprised he was actually asking her something genuine. "Uh—great, I guess. No, it wasn't, I hated it,"
"Was it great, or did you hate it?"
"I hated it,"
He sighed, eyebrows quirking, and made a sharp left. Layne gripped the door. "See, I told you, you should've dropped out like I did,"
Layne shook her head, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers. "Not everyone has the ability to drop out of college and be stable,"
He breathed, hard, out of his nose. Rafe hated it when she talked down on him—it made his fuse even shorter. "I told you to stop talking about that shit,"
Layne placed a hand on his arm. He calmed down a bit. "I was just joking . . . you were right," she slumped down further in her seat, and he looked over at her for a split second. Her skirt was riding up the side of her leg.
"I bet there were a bunch of guys that you fucked there,"
Layne pinched the bridge of her nose. "Not really,"
"I don't believe you,"
She swallowed thickly, and readjusted in her seat. "What are you, my chaperone?" she whispered, and watched the other cars as they passed. She still didn't know where they were going. Part of her didn't want him to stop.
"Was it good?"
"Was what good?"
"The sex,"
Layne unrolled the window a smidge, but Rafe immediately put it back up. "You didn't answer my question,"
"What do you want to know, Rafe? If they were bigger than you?" she laughed, finally turning to face him. It was dark, but she still noticed the slight blush on his neck. His hair was slightly messy, and God, he was hot.
There was a beat of silence. "Were they?" she chuckled at how fragile his masculinity was. But, she wasn't surprised. "So what if they were?"
"I'd fucking kill them,"
Layne laughed, like throw-your-head-back laugh. Rafe liked her laugh. He would've stared longer if he wasn't driving. But the context of her laugh made his stomach churn. He didn't like the idea of anyone else having her. It made him feel dirty. It wasn't right, and he knew that deep down, but he still didn't like it. Layne didn't like the idea of him with other girls, either.
"Dead or alive, they'd still have bigger dicks than you," she chuckled, putting her feet up on the dash. He immediately tapped her legs down. "Get your shoes off the dash," she rolled her eyes, but obliged. Layne leaned her elbow on the center console, right as he pulled into an empty parking lot near the beach. There wasn't even any lights, and when Layne looked out to the beach, she could hardly even see the water. She reached her one hand forward to brush away a strand of hair from his eyes.
"I missed you," she whispered, her index finger running down his cheekbone. God, he loved when she did that. He missed her more than he could even express, but he wasn't sure if it was for the same reasons. Layne missed him even when he was right in front of her. "I missed you too," he breathed, staring right at her lips. She felt dirty.
They did it in the backseat of his car. His BMW convertible, and Layne hated it. It was too small back there, she had to do rhythmic gymnastics only to be remotely comfortable. She preferred his Range Rover—he could at least put the seats back. She wondered if he was trying to impress her with his new car. Or maybe he had gotten rid of his Range Rover. She'd be real upset if he did get rid of it.
He was tracing shapes on her shoulder blade, and Layne reached forward to trace smiley faces and hearts into the condensation on the window. She would need another shower when she got home.
"I did miss you," she muttered, adjusting her hand beneath her chin. "I like you a lot," she had said, and it felt almost sour coming from her mouth. It felt almost like she had to whisper it, in fear of someone hearing them. They were completely alone.
Her face was flushed, and her hair stuck to her forehead. Her eyes were shut and he feared she might fall asleep like this. Rafe felt a sudden wash of sorrow over him, and he wasn't sure why. For a moment he thought he might cry. Layne lived a considerably carefree life, he could see that—but, he had an overwhelming amount of factors to consider. He cared what people think—too much, that was. He even cared what Layne thought about him, though he tried to hid it, it was obvious now. He moved at once to reach for something in his pantleg pocket, that was discarded on the small sliver of space on the car floor. Layne recognized the case he brought out, and her heart nearly dropped to the floor.
"I thought you said you were getting clean," for me, she wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. It wasn't worth it. She sat up, and pulled her bra and underwear back on. "Take me home," she breathed, and Rafe sighed, moving to grab her arm.
"Oh great, now I'm just a piece of shit, aren't I?" he grunted, aggressively running a hand through his hair.
"I never said that," she whispered, her own hand reaching to caress his face. He pulled away harshly. "Y'know, I'm going through a lot of shit right now," he breathed, and Layne thought for a moment he was crying. Maybe she was crying, too. If she was, she couldn't tell.
"I know, I know . . . I'm sorry, I was wrong," she moved to pull him into her chest, and his arms wrapped around her torso. Layne could sense the crocodile tears, but still stroked his hair like he was a child. In some ways he was—a big baby. He moved to grab his car keys from his pocket, as well, digging one into the small bag and taking out a bit of the coke. He snorted it like it was nothing, and Layne swallowed. He got some out for her, and said he wouldn't make her pay, as if that was something to be proud of. His other hand reached for the back of her head, and held the key by her nose. She tried not to hesitate when she snorted it. Her head felt lighter, and he kissed her again.
Her lips were soft. He liked the noises she would make—he wasn't sure if his response was fueled by the coke, or not, but it helped. Sometimes he didn't like to look at her face, or he would turn sweaty and hot like a schoolboy. Rafe sometimes wondered what would happen if they did go public. It would ruin his life—his already fucked up one, that was. What did she have to lose? Practically nothing. He sometimes wondered if the noises she made were authentic.
authors note: yayyy chapter one. i'm literally churning out these chapters in between reading bc i get inspired asf!!! i don't think i'm really going to have a schedule for updating—just kind of write when i want and publish when i want. makes me feel less tied down. love you guys! hope you enjoyed!