012. green with envy

( the twelfth chapter )

( rafes' pov )

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Rafe woke to the piercing sunlight flooding through the half-broken blinds of Barry's trailer. His head throbbed, his mouth dry as sandpaper, and his body felt heavy, weighed down by the aftermath of last night's indulgences. He blinked a few times, squinting at the dingy room. Barry was sprawled on the couch, snoring loudly, an empty beer can dangling from his hand.

Rafe groaned, sitting up and rubbing his face. He needed to get out of here. He needed air, space to think—if his brain could even function properly. Memories of the night before trickled in: Olivine's anger, her sharp words, Barry's mocking advice, the sting of the drugs that hadn't quite dulled the ache in his chest.

He stumbled out of the trailer, the sharp sound of gravel crunching beneath his boots as he made his way to his truck. The humid morning air clung to his skin, the sun already scorching despite the early hour.

As he drove back toward Figure Eight, his mind drifted. He thought about the summer—the one that had started with so much promise and was now unraveling faster than he could keep up. Olivine had been the only constant, the one thing that made him feel... grounded. And now, even that was slipping through his fingers.

The truck rattled over the bridge, the sound of the water below briefly pulling him out of his thoughts. He didn't know where he was going until he found himself pulling into the driveway of the Cameron estate.

His father's voice echoed in his head as he climbed out of the truck: "Focus, Rafe. Don't embarrass me. This family is your priority."

It always was. Or at least, it had to be.

Inside the Cameron house, Sarah was seated at the kitchen counter, scrolling through her phone and eating a bowl of cereal. She glanced up as Rafe walked in, her eyebrows raising slightly at his disheveled appearance.

"Rough night?" she asked, smirking as she took another bite.

"Not now, Sarah," Rafe muttered, heading straight for the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of water, chugging half of it before slamming the door shut.

Sarah leaned back in her chair, watching him with mild curiosity. "What's got you all grumpy? Did Barry finally tell you to pay up?"

Rafe shot her a glare. "I said, not now."

She shrugged, unfazed. "Alright. Suit yourself. But you might want to clean up before Dad sees you. You look like hell."

Rafe ignored her, storming upstairs to his room. He locked the door behind him and sank onto the bed, his head in his hands.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. For a split second, his heart leapt, thinking it might be Olivine. But when he glanced at the screen, it was just a text from Topper:

Topper: Yo, party at the Boneyard tonight. You in?

Rafe stared at the message for a moment before tossing the phone back onto the nightstand. He didn't have the energy for Topper's nonsense right now.

He yanked his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric catching slightly against his shoulders before he tossed it carelessly into the hamper. The damp material landed with a muted thud, a testament to the day's humid weight.

The cool tile of the bathroom floor sent a brief shiver up his spine as he stepped inside, the faint scent of soap and shampoo lingering in the air. He reached for the shower handle, twisting it until the rush of water hit the porcelain with a sharp, steady rhythm. Steam began to rise almost immediately, curling around the edges of the glass and softening the sharp angles of the room.

With a deliberate pace, he undid the button of his shorts, the metal clasp giving way with a faint click. He pushed them down along with his boxers, the fabric pooling at his feet before he kicked them aside into a corner. The mirror across from him had fogged over, blurring his reflection into a ghostly outline as he stepped into the shower.

The first blast of hot water hit his chest, shocking his senses before his body adjusted. He let out a low sigh, tilting his head back so the stream cascaded over his face, drenching his hair and tracing rivulets down his neck and shoulders. Each drop seemed to peel away the tension clinging to him, the heat soothing muscles he hadn't realized were aching.

He pressed his palms against the cool tile wall, the water streaming down his back now, tracing every ridge and curve. The rhythmic sound of droplets hitting the shower floor was hypnotic, mingling with the faint hum of the exhaust fan overhead.

For a moment, he stood still, letting the water wash over him, his breaths evening out as he tried to clear his mind. The world outside the bathroom melted away, leaving him alone with the comforting cocoon of heat and steam.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

He had gone from the night's tension to the comforting warmth of the shower to... unconsciousness.

When he finally stirred, it wasn't to the patter of water but the sharp thrum of sunlight streaming through his window. His damp hair had dried into disheveled waves, and his pillow was half-soaked from where he had flopped down after his shower. He groggily glanced at the clock. 12:37 PM.

With a groan, he pushed himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as the remnants of his dream slipped away. Rafe felt no closer to clarity, the mess in his head just as tangled as when he'd stepped into the shower hours earlier.

Pulling on a wrinkled shirt from his chair, he headed downstairs. His footsteps echoed against the polished floors, and as he approached the kitchen, he heard Sarah's voice.

"Rafe, can you do me a favor?" she asked, her tone unnaturally sweet.

Rafe stopped in the doorway, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. "What now?"

Sarah was perched on one of the barstools, scrolling on her phone. She didn't even look up. "Run to the corner shop and grab me a drink, some chips, and one of those sandwiches from the deli."

Before he could retort, Wheezie piped up from the living room, popping her head into view. "Oh! Can you get me some sweets and chocolate, too?"

Rafe groaned, leaning his head against the doorframe. "You guys are unbelievable."

"Oh, and lunchables," came Ward's deep voice from the living room. His tone brooked no argument, as usual.

Rafe blinked, gesturing to the kitchen like a game show host. "Anything else? This is shaping up to be a full grocery haul."

Rose walked in at that moment, looking radiant as always, her smile bright and unfazed by his sarcasm. "Actually, yes. Could you grab a bag of spicy Doritos for me? Thanks."

Rafe opened his mouth to argue but quickly snapped it shut, his teeth clenching. "Anyone else want to add to the list? Maybe a gold-plated snack? A unicorn?" He gestured grandly, clearly annoyed.

Sarah chuckled. "You're such a drama queen. Just go, Rafe."

Snatching his keys off the counter, he muttered a string of curses under his breath, heading for the door. He slammed it shut behind him, his mood foul as he climbed into his truck.

The drive was uneventful, the kind of monotonous trek that gave his thoughts too much room to roam. Rafe's jaw tightened as the weight of the errands—and everything else—settled on him.

He parked at the corner shop, stepping inside and making quick work of grabbing everyone's items: Sarah's chips, sandwich, and drink; Wheezie's sweets and chocolate; Ward's lunchables; and Rose's spicy Doritos. Along the way, he tossed in a pack of gum, a bottle of water, and cigarettes for himself, determined to salvage something from this errand.

And that's when he saw her.

Olivine.

She walked in like she owned the room, her laugh light and unguarded as she spoke to the man beside her. Rafe froze in place, his hands gripping the pack of cigarettes so tightly it crinkled.

The guy with her was Eliora's brother, Abel. Rafe recognized him immediately—tall, dark-haired, and exuding the kind of effortless charm that made women swoon. His olive skin glowed under the store's fluorescent lights, and his green eyes had that unsettling ability to seem like they were looking straight through you.

Rafe's gaze shifted back to Olivine. She was radiant, her figure accentuated by the pink yoga shorts that clung to her hips and the fitted sports bra that framed her chest. Her cornrowed hair framed her face beautifully, emphasizing her high cheekbones and smooth, glowing skin.

He hated how much he noticed. How much he remembered.

"It was so sweet of you to pick me up from ballet," Olivine was saying, her gratitude evident. "You really didn't have to."

"It's nothing," Abel replied, his accented voice soft but distinct. "I'd do anything for my sister's friends. Besides, it's nice to catch up with you."

Olivine beamed at him, her dimples on full display. "Still, it was really kind. Thanks, Abel."

Rafe's fists clenched, his jealousy simmering under the surface. He moved toward the checkout, keeping a casual distance but close enough to eavesdrop.

Abel noticed him first. "Rafe!" he called out, his voice warm and friendly. He strode over, pulling Rafe into a firm hug.

Rafe stiffened slightly but returned the gesture. Abel, at 6'1", was only an inch shorter than Rafe, but his easy demeanor made him seem taller.

"Hey, man," Rafe said shortly. "Been a while."

Abel nodded, his green eyes alight with recognition. "It has. How've you been? Still keeping busy?"

"Yeah," Rafe replied, his tone clipped.

Abel didn't seem to notice. "We should catch up before I head back to Italy. A game of hoops, like old times?"

Rafe forced a tight smile. "Sure. Sounds good."

Abel turned to Olivine, who stood beside him, her body language slightly more awkward now.

"Hi," Rafe said, his voice soft but measured as his blue eyes fixed on her.

"Hi," she replied quietly, her tone neutral.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the unspoken tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, Rafe broke the gaze, nodding once before turning away.

He grabbed his bag of items and headed for the door, his boots heavy against the tile. As he stepped into the cool air, his grip on the plastic bag tightened, the edges biting into his palm.

Sliding into his truck, Rafe exhaled sharply. His chest felt tight, his thoughts racing as he drove back home, every laugh and smile Olivine had shared with Abel replaying in his head like a broken record.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Olivine sat cross-legged on her bed, fresh out of the shower and cocooned in her favorite oversized hoodie. The subtle scent of lavender lingered in the air, her skin still warm from the steam. Her face was covered in a cooling clay mask, the minty tingle making her feel refreshed as she absently scrolled through Netflix on her iPad, trying to find something to watch.

Her braids, neatly tucked under her satin bonnet, framed her face. A cup of chamomile tea rested on her nightstand, untouched as she settled on a romantic comedy she'd seen a dozen times before. It was the kind of film that didn't demand her attention but kept her mind blissfully occupied.

She was halfway through the first act when her phone buzzed beside her. Assuming it was another group chat notification, she picked it up without much thought. But when she saw the name on her screen, her heart skipped.

Rafe Cameron.

It wasn't a call. Not yet. Just a message on Instagram, the preview line visible under his name: "Hey... I know I've been a mess lately..."

Curiosity—and something she refused to name—got the better of her. She opened the app, her fingers swiping quickly to read the full message.

Rafe: Hey. I know I've been a mess lately, and I wanted to say I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did the other day. You didn't deserve that.

The message was long by Rafe's standards, and she could almost hear the strained vulnerability in his words. She frowned, scrolling further as she saw he'd continued.

I'm trying to be a better person. A proactive one, I guess. I get it if you don't want to respond or even care, but I wanted you to know that I really am sorry. I want to make it up to you. No pressure or anything... just, yeah. Sorry.

Olivine stared at the message, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. A part of her wanted to ignore him—he had been an ass, after all—but another part of her couldn't shake the sincerity of his words.

"Idiot," she muttered under her breath, more at herself than at him, as she started typing back.

Livvy: Thanks for apologizing. I wasn't expecting that, but I appreciate it !

Before she even had time to second-guess her decision, the screen flickered. Her phone buzzed with an incoming call. Rafe Cameron is calling you on Instagram.

Her stomach flipped.

"Seriously?" she whispered, staring at the screen like it had personally offended her. She hesitated for a second before answering, her voice slightly exasperated. "Rafe, what—"

"Thanks for answering." His voice came through immediately, low and a little rushed, like he was relieved she'd picked up.

"Uh, yeah. Hi," she replied, shifting awkwardly on her bed. "Didn't think you'd call."

"Well, you responded. So I figured I'd take my chances," he admitted, a nervous laugh slipping into his tone.

Olivine sighed, leaning back against her pillows. "Okay, what do you want?"

"To talk. Properly. None of the weird, defensive crap I pulled before." There was a pause, and she could hear him take a deep breath. "I meant what I said. I was out of line, and I hate that I made you feel like that."

"Good," she said flatly, but her tone softened when she added, "At least you're owning it."

Rafe let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah, well, I'm not great at this stuff. Obviously."

"No kidding," she teased, her lips twitching despite herself.

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them. Olivine could hear the faint hum of background noise on his end, likely the sound of his truck idling.

"So," Rafe started, his voice quieter now, "do you think we could start over? Like, clean slate or whatever?"

She arched an eyebrow, though he couldn't see it. "Start over, huh? You think it's that simple?"

"Not simple," he admitted quickly. "But... worth trying."

Olivine sighed again, running her hand over her bonnet. Her mask had started to crack, but she didn't move to wipe it off just yet. "I don't know, Rafe. You're a lot to deal with."

"I know," he said softly. "I know I am. But I'll try to be better. For real this time."

His voice carried a kind of sincerity that made her pause. Against her better judgment, she let herself believe him—just a little.

"We'll see," she said finally, her tone guarded but not cold. "I'm not promising anything."

"That's fair," Rafe replied, and she could hear the faint smile in his voice.

"Okay, I've got a face mask on, and it's cracking. Can we end this call now?"

He laughed, the sound low and warm. "Fine. But thanks for answering. And for not telling me to screw off."

"I'm still thinking about it," she teased.

Rafe chuckled again, and for the first time in a while, it sounded genuine. "Goodnight, Olivine."

"Goodnight, Rafe."

She ended the call and placed her phone down on the bed beside her, her mind whirling. She told herself not to read too much into it, not to let him get under her skin again.

But as her iPad resumed the movie, her thoughts were no longer on the screen.

Olivine had just settled back into her movie, trying to push the unexpected conversation with Rafe out of her mind. Her face mask was starting to feel tight, and she made a mental note to wash it off in a few minutes. She reached for her tea, hoping the soothing warmth would help clear her head, when her phone buzzed again.

She glanced at the screen, expecting another notification from Rafe. But it wasn't him.

Pope's friend girl: Olivine, can you come get us? Something bad happened.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

KIKI SPEAKS ;
not edited !!!
tbh y'all i'm in love with german memes like why did they eat it up like that

word count : 2.6k

enjoy !!!

xoxoxo
kiki 💋💋