021. such a pretty color

( the twenty-first chapter )

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Rafe had barely slept, his mind too restless for rest and his body too tense from the night before. He spent the early hours pacing his room, the black duffle bag of coke stuffed under his bed, and Olivine's purse resting conspicuously on his desk. He could've waited until later to return it—used it as an excuse to meet up with her alone—but something about the idea of it sitting there nagged at him.

So, as the sun stretched over the sleepy streets of Figure Eight, Rafe pulled his bike out of the garage. His truck felt too loud, too obtrusive for the errand. The bike, sleek and silent, would let him approach without too much notice.

He didn't expect to see her standing on the lawn when he arrived.

Olivine's house was small but cosy, surrounded by a neat yet small garden bursting with colorful flowers. She was outside with her mother, Mariah, who stood with an air of calm authority. Both women looked radiant under the morning sun, their dresses swaying softly in the breeze.

Olivine's purse was slung over his shoulder, awkwardly out of place against his blue shirt. He would've just tossed it to her later—found an excuse to meet up somewhere less... public—but something about today made him want to show up unannounced.

As he approached, the sound of soft laughter drifted through the air. Rafe slowed the bike to a halt at the curb, his gaze snapping to the porch.

Olivine stood there with her mother, Mariah. The older woman was radiant in a pristine white church dress, her elegance softened by a warm smile as she leaned down to adjust the strap of her heels. Olivine, on the other hand, looked almost ethereal in a light pink bubble dress that floated just above her knees. The soft, playful fabric contrasted with her intricate braids, which framed her face perfectly.

Her braids were long and neat, adorned with small gold cuffs that caught the sunlight. The patterns wove elegantly along her scalp, drawing attention to her high cheekbones and the subtle gloss on her lips. Rafe found himself staring longer than he intended, taking in how the style softened her features while making her look impossibly regal.

She looks beautiful. That was his first thought.... so fucking beautiful and carefree

Olivine laughed at something her mother said, her hands clutching a small beaded purse that matched her dress. Rafe noticed how the morning light made her skin glow, the soft pink of her dress complementing her warmth in a way that felt too perfect to be accidental.

And then, as if she felt his gaze, Olivine turned. Her smile faded into something smaller—softer—as her eyes met his.

Rafe swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the purse on his shoulder. He slid off his bike, the leather seat creaking under his movement.

Mariah noticed him next, her smile never faltering but her eyes sharpening in curiosity. She nudged Olivine gently before heading inside, giving her daughter a knowing look over her shoulder.

"Uh, hey," Rafe said, walking toward the porch. He held the purse out like it was something fragile. "You left this in my car last night."

Olivine's lips curved into a polite smile, though her eyes betrayed the hint of surprise she was trying to suppress. "Thanks. I didn't even realize I forgot it."

He handed it over, his fingers brushing hers for the briefest second. "No problem."

Rafe hesitated, his gaze flicking to her braids again before he spoke. "You look...very nice."

Olivine raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. "Nice?"

"I mean—you look great, where are you going," Rafe said quickly, stumbling over his words. His fingers twitched at his sides.

She raised her brow expectantly, a look of annoyance on her face was present. "Thanks, Rafe. And I'm going to church with my mom."

Rafe smirked faintly. "Doesn't surprise me. She's got that whole... angelic vibe going on."

They stood in silence for a moment, the quiet buzz of cicadas filling the gap between them. Olivine clutched her purse tighter, her head tilting as she studied him.

Olivine's gaze sharpened slightly as she stared up at Rafe, her posture stiffening. The warmth in her expression from moments ago disappeared like a curtain dropping, replaced by something colder.

"So... do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?" she asked, her voice steady but edged with irritation.

Rafe tensed, his jaw clenching as he tried to decipher how to handle her mood. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away briefly before meeting her eyes again. "Yeah, I guess we should."

She crossed her arms, her nails tapping rhythmically against her elbow. "Guess? That's all you have to say?"

"Olivine, I—" He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "I didn't mean for things to go that way, alright? I didn't think you'd still be mad."

Her eyes widened, and she let out a dry laugh. "You didn't think I'd still be mad? Seriously, Rafe? You dragged me into some... mess I didn't ask to be a part of, and now you're acting like it's no big deal?"

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "I didn't drag you into anything. You're the one who wanted me to drive you home, remember? I was just—"

"You were just being reckless!" she snapped, stepping forward, her dress swaying with her movements. "Like always. You think you can just... charm your way out of everything, but it doesn't work on me."

The tension between them was thick, like the humid summer air, pressing against them both. Rafe shifted on his feet, his usual cocky demeanor faltering under her sharp tone.

"I get it, alright?" he said, his voice low and firm. "I messed up. I should've handled things better."

"Should've," Olivine repeated, her eyes narrowing. "That doesn't mean much, does it?"

Rafe's lips pressed into a thin line, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was overreacting, but deep down he knew she wasn't wrong. Instead, he tried a different approach, forcing a small smile.

"Look," he said softly, "can we just... start over? Forget about yesterday. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

Olivine raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Make it up to me?"

"Yeah," he said, his tone hopeful. "I'll take you somewhere nice, or we'll do something you actually want to do. No surprises this time. Just... let me fix this."

She stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she shook her head, a tired sigh escaping her lips. "I don't know, Rafe. You keep saying you'll change, but you never do."

Her words stung more than he cared to admit. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "I'm trying, okay? Maybe not fast enough, but I'm trying."

She didn't respond, her gaze drifting toward the street where his bike idled. The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncertain.

"I should get going," Olivine finally said, stepping back toward the door. "My mom's waiting for me."

Rafe nodded, his hands slipping into his pockets. "Right. Yeah. Of course."

As she turned to leave, he called out to her, his voice softer now. "Olivine?"

She paused, glancing over her shoulder.

"You really do look... beautiful," he said, the sincerity in his voice catching her off guard.

For a fleeting moment, her expression softened, but she quickly masked it, giving him a curt nod before disappearing inside.

Rafe stood there for a moment longer, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He didn't know what frustrated him more—her anger or the way she made him feel so off-balance.

With a sigh, he turned back toward his bike, the roar of the engine breaking the stillness of the morning as he sped off down the street, the lingering scent of her perfume still etched into his memory.

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The ride back home did little to clear Rafe's head. The tension from their conversation sat heavy in his chest, mixing with the guilt he hadn't fully admitted to himself.

He didn't want to lose whatever fragile connection he had with Olivine, but every time he tried to fix things, it felt like he only made them worse. She saw right through him—through the excuses, the charm, the half-hearted promises—and it left him feeling exposed in a way no one else ever had.

Parking his bike in the driveway, Rafe slumped onto the steps of the porch, running a hand through his hair. His head dropped into his hands as her words replayed in his mind: You keep saying you'll change, but you never do.

He hated how much they stung. She was right, though. He knew she was right.

But what was he supposed to do? Change didn't come easy for someone like him. The life he led—the expectations, the pressure, the endless cycle of needing to be better than everyone else, even if it meant stepping on them—had carved those bad habits deep into him.

And yet, for her, he wanted to try.

Olivine stood just behind the living room curtains, watching Rafe's bike disappear around the corner. She hadn't missed the way his shoulders slumped as he walked away, or the flicker of vulnerability in his voice when he told her she looked beautiful.

Her mother's voice startled her out of her thoughts.

"How was it, baby?" Mariah asked gently as she walked into the room, her tone more curious than judgmental.

"I don't know mom," Olivine replied, her fingers tightening on the curtain. "He brought back my purse. I forgot it last night."

Mariah raised an eyebrow, her expression patient but knowing. "And you wanna tell me what's going on between you and Rafe? Because that looked very tense baby liv."

Olivine sighed, letting the curtain fall back into place. "It's complicated."

Her mother sat down on the couch, motioning for Olivine to join her. "Well, complicated usually means there's something worth figuring out. Unless you're telling me he's no good for you."

Olivine hesitated. Was Rafe no good for her? Probably. But the thought of cutting him out completely left an ache she didn't want to confront.

"He's... trying," she said carefully, sitting beside her mother. "But sometimes it feels like he doesn't know how to be different."

Mariah hummed thoughtfully, her gaze soft but probing. "Do you believe he wants to be different?"

"I don't know," Olivine admitted. "Maybe. But wanting and doing aren't the same thing."

Her mother nodded. "True. But people don't change overnight, sweetheart. Sometimes, they need someone to show them it's possible."

Olivine bit her lip, her thoughts tangled in memories of Rafe—his rare moments of gentleness, the way he'd opened up to her, and the darker sides of him she couldn't ignore.

"Just... be careful," Mariah said, squeezing her daughter's hand. "I know you've got a good heart, but don't let someone else's mess drag you down. If he's worth it, he'll prove it to you. Not with words, but with actions. Now come on-you know how Pastor Michael feels about being tardy."

Olivine nodded, a brief smile graced her face even though her thoughts were still far away, lingering on the way Rafe had looked at her—like she was the only steady thing in his chaotic world.

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Rafe sat on the edge of his bed later that night, the dim glow of his lamp casting long shadows across his room. Olivine's purse was gone, but the memory of her expression when she'd stared him down remained sharp in his mind.

He'd screwed up again.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he opened their last conversation and stared at it for a long time before typing:

"I know I keep messing up, but I'm not giving up. Tell me what I can do to make this right."

He hit send before he could second-guess himself, tossing the phone onto the nightstand.

It buzzed a few minutes later.

Olivine's reply was short, but it sent a spark of hope through him:

"Actions, not words, Rafe."

Rafe stared at the screen, her words hitting harder than any punch he'd ever taken.

Actions, not words.

It was simple, but it cut through the excuses he'd been feeding himself. He couldn't charm his way out of this. If he wanted Olivine to believe in him, he had to give her a reason.

But where did he even start?

He lay back on his bed, arm flung over his face as the weight of the day pressed down on him

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KIKI SPEAKS ;
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