042. angers aftermath
( the forty second chapter )

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

The sun hadn't yet risen when Olivine carried Rafe into his bedroom, his body limp and heavy from exhaustion. Her arms trembled slightly as she maneuvered him to the bed, careful not to let his head knock against the frame. With a tender yet practiced motion, she peeled off his clothes, folding them neatly, and replaced them with a pair of his old sweatpants and a faded t-shirt she found in his drawer. He stirred faintly, murmuring unintelligibly, but his eyes remained closed. She set two buckets beside the bed and pulled the covers over him.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Downstairs, the chaos of his loft hit her like a wave: boxes scattered, clothes draped over furniture, dishes piled high in the sink. Her heart ached as she took it all in, the mess reflecting the storm Rafe was living through. Despite the overwhelming sadness, she started working, moving boxes to the corner, folding clothes, and scrubbing countertops. She worked tirelessly, the rhythm of the washing machine humming in the background.

Tears pricked her eyes as she cleaned, the weight of everything—Rafe's relapse, his spiral, his lies—pressing on her chest. She bit her lip, determined to keep it together. Every thirty minutes, she crept upstairs to check on him, ensuring he was stable, his breathing steady. On one of these checks, she lingered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his clammy forehead. He looked so peaceful in sleep, but the chaos he caused was still looming large.

Back downstairs, needing something to fill the silence, she pulled out ingredients and baked—cinnamon rolls and cupcakes, the process grounding her amid the storm. By the time she finished, it was nearly 4 a.m. Exhaustion weighed her down, but she grabbed one of Rafe's old shirts and curled up on the couch, trying to sleep despite the turmoil inside her.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

At 6 a.m., Rafe woke with a start. His head pounded, and nausea churned in his stomach. He groaned, grabbing the bucket on his left as the contents of his stomach emptied violently. The acrid taste burned his throat, and he wiped his mouth, leaning back against the bed. He sighed, rubbing his temples, and noticed the Advil and water bottle on the nightstand. Gratefully, he took the pill and sipped the water, his throat raw.

His gaze swept the room—his clothes from last night folded neatly on the ottoman, the laundry basket empty. The haze in his mind began to clear, and fragmented memories of the night before came rushing back. Barry. The coke. Olivine. Panic bloomed in his chest as the pieces fell into place.

He stumbled to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and splashing cold water on his face. After freshening up, he grabbed his phone and checked Find My. Olivine's location showed she had been at the loft two hours ago. A mix of relief and guilt settled over him.

He groggily made his bed, cleaned the bucket, and tidied his room before heading downstairs. The sweet scent of cinnamon rolls and cupcakes hit him first, drawing him toward the kitchen. He froze when he saw her—Olivine, curled up on the couch, her hair splayed out, her breathing soft and steady. She looked so peaceful, and the sight shattered him.

Anger at himself surged beneath his skin—anger at his weakness, his lies, his failure to protect the one person who still believed in him. The loft was transformed—boxes tucked away, furniture neatly arranged, everything cleaned. The weight of his shame intensified as he took it all in. She deserved so much more.

He gently picked her up, carrying her to the master bedroom. She stirred slightly but didn't wake. A soft sigh escaped her lips as he laid her down, brushing a kiss against her temple before covering her with the blankets. He lingered for a moment, watching her find comfort in the warmth before quietly closing the door behind him.

Downstairs, he paced, emotions warring inside him. His pulling out his phone, to text Barry: Did you call Olivine?

Barry left him on read. Fury bubbled in his chest as he sent a string of angry texts, before hurling his phone against the wall. It shattered with a loud crack. Rafe ran a hand through his hair, pacing as frustration seeped into his bones.

His gaze drifted to the cupcakes and cinnamon rolls, reminders of her care. His throat tightened. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve her. But she stayed anyway.

Swallowing hard, Rafe moved to the fridge. Eggs, bacon, fruit, cheese—he grabbed what he could, his hands shaking slightly. He had to do something—anything—to make up for the night before. Cooking breakfast was a small gesture, but it was the only thing he could think to do. As he worked in the kitchen, the smell of pancakes and sizzling bacon filled the space. But it didn't erase the suffocating guilt in his chest. Would this even begin to make up for anything?

After a long while, the food was ready. He set the plates on the table, and as he did, his gaze fell on her mug—simple, ceramic, the one she'd once left behind. The sight of it made his heart ache. Despite everything, she still had a place in his life, and he had to do better, for her, for both of them.

Olivine's footsteps reached his ears, and he turned to see her standing at the bottom of the stairs. Her hair was messy, her eyes tired, but her gaze, when it met his, was sharp, assessing.

"Morning," he said, his voice rough, barely above a whisper.

She blinked, then crossed her arms. "You cooked?"

He nodded, looking down at the table. "Yeah. Figured it's the least I could do."

She stepped closer, glancing at the food before meeting his eyes again. "The least you could do is be honest with me, Rafe."

Her words struck deep, sharper than he expected. His jaw clenched, and he looked down, running a hand through his hair. "I know," he muttered. "I know I screwed up."

She sighed, the weight of everything between them heavy in the air. "You promised me, Rafe. Three weeks clean, and I find you like... like that." Her voice wavered for just a moment. "Do you even understand what it felt like to get that call from your dealer? To see you like that?"

"I never wanted you to see me like that," he said quickly, his voice breaking with the effort. "I—I wasn't planning on it. It just happened."

"That's not how this works!" she snapped, the frustration spilling out. "Relapses don't just happen. You made a choice, Rafe. You chose to use again."

He flinched at the sharpness of her words, the guilt surfacing like bile in his throat. "I know. I messed up, okay? I know I did." His voice softened, desperate. "I'm trying, Liv. I really am. But sometimes... sometimes it's like everything's too much. And I don't know how to handle it."

She clenched her fists around the edge of the table. "And what about me? You think it's easy for me to watch you destroy yourself? To lie to me about being clean? I want to help you, Rafe, but you have to let me. You can't just push me away and expect me to pick up the pieces every time."

Rafe's grip on her hand tightened, his expression shifting as frustration sparked in his eyes. Abruptly, he pulled his hand away, leaning back in his chair with a scoff.

"So, what? You think I'm some junkie who doesn't care about you or myself?" His voice rose slightly, bitter. "You think I don't know I messed up? You act like I don't hate myself enough already!"

Olivine blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. "Rafe, I'm not attacking you—"

"Yes, you are!" He cut her off, his jaw clenching. "You sit here, acting like you're perfect, like I'm this broken thing you need to fix."

Her breath caught in her chest, stunned by his words. "That's not what I'm saying."

"Isn't it?" He shot back, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "You're always 'helping' me, telling me what I need to do, how I need to change. What about you, Liv? You think you're perfect?"

Her heart sank as she watched him spiral, his words stinging more than they should. She clenched her fists, steadying her voice despite the tears threatening to spill. "Rafe, stop. You're twisting this around to make me the bad guy, and I'm not going to let you do that."

His lips parted, ready to argue again, but she held up a hand, silencing him.

"If you keep doing this," she said firmly, her voice trembling but unwavering, "if you keep trying to gaslight me, making me feel like I'm wrong for caring about you, you'll lose me. Do you understand that?"

Rafe froze, his jaw tightening, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut.

Her heart cracked as she watched him, the vulnerability in his eyes almost too much to bear. She placed a hand on his chest, her touch gentle. "I don't want to leave you, Rafe. But I can't do this alone. You have to want to change—for yourself, not just for me."

He nodded, swallowing hard, his eyes searching hers. "I do. I promise, I do. I'll do better, Liv. I'll get clean for real this time."

Her heart ached as she watched him, hoping this time his words would stick. She knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but for now, she clung to the faint hope that maybe—just maybe—he meant it.

"I love you," she continued, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But I won't stay if this is how you treat me. I deserve better, and you know it."

His chest heaved as his anger deflated into vulnerability—fear, shame, regret. He ran a hand through his hair, voice quieter now. "I don't want to lose you, Liv. I don't."

"Then stop pushing me away," she said softly. "Stop trying to make me feel crazy for calling you out on the truth."

He swallowed hard, guilt and desperation etched into his features. "I'm sorry," he muttered, barely audible.

"I don't need an apology, Rafe," she said, standing from the table. "I need action. If you want me to stay, you need to change. Not for me—for you. And if you can't, I can't stay and watch you destroy yourself."

Her words lingered as she walked away, leaving Rafe sitting alone, staring down at his untouched plate. For the first time in a long while, he felt the crushing weight of his actions—not just on himself, but on the one person who still believed in him. For the first time, he wondered if he could change before it was too late.

Rafe stood silently in the kitchen, his back to Olivine as he rinsed his plate. The tension in the room still lingered but felt softer now. When he turned back, he carried a small plate with one of the cupcakes and a cinnamon roll she had made. He placed it in front of her, his gaze tentative.

"Here," he said quietly. "You made them... you should at least have one."

Olivine looked at the plate, then at him. She nodded, picking at the cupcake as Rafe sat back down beside her. He watched her, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

After a long moment of silence, he cleared his throat. "Can I... can I touch you?"

Her eyes snapped to his, her fork pausing mid-air. She took a deep breath, chest rising and falling as she considered his words.

"It's okay if you don't want me to," he added quickly, his voice wavering. "I just... I need to know I still have you. That you're still here."

Olivine stared at him for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Okay," she said softly.

Rafe's shoulders sagged in relief. Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against her knee. She tensed but didn't pull away, her leg bouncing nervously beneath the table. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as if afraid she might disappear if he held too tightly.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his thumb tracing light circles against her skin. "I'll be good. I promise."

Olivine didn't speak, her eyes focused on the plate in front of her. But the slight relaxation in her posture, the way her leg stilled under his hand, told him she was listening.

They sat like that for a while, the silence no longer heavy with tension but filled with something more fragile—hope, maybe. Rafe's touch remained soft and steady, a silent vow he was trying, even if he wasn't sure how to make things right.

Finally, Olivine finished her cupcake and leaned back, letting out a quiet sigh. "I need to go home," she said gently. "I left without telling my mom, and she's probably worried."

Rafe nodded, his hand slipping away from her knee. "Yeah, of course," he said, standing up and moving to collect her plate. "I'll drive you."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," he interrupted softly, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Olivine stood and grabbed her bag, watching as Rafe placed the dishes in the sink. His movements were slower, more deliberate, as if he were trying to show her he was serious about being better.

As they walked to the door, Rafe reached out, his fingers brushing hers. She looked at him, and for the first time that morning, he saw a flicker of something that wasn't disappointment—something softer, more forgiving.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he hadn't lost her completely.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Rafe drove them back in her dad's car, the quiet between them comfortable, yet filled with unspoken words. The sun had long set, leaving the world outside bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. When they arrived at her house, he turned off the engine and turned to her.

"Just stay indoors and sleep," he said, his tone gentle, but insistent. "You only slept for two hours, and I know that's not enough. Rest, Liv. You need it."

Olivine nodded slowly, her gaze meeting his. She wasn't sure how much sleep she'd actually gotten, but she knew he was right. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. "I will," she promised, her voice soft.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a small sigh. "Text me when you wake up, okay? I'll be here if you need me."

"I will," she said, giving him a faint smile.

Rafe nodded, his hands gripping the wheel for a moment before he continued. "I'll leave the car at your dad's place, so you don't have to worry about me getting home. I'll catch a ride from someone."

She looked at him, concern flickering in her eyes. "You sure?"

He gave her a soft smile. "Yeah. Don't worry about me. Just focus on resting, okay?"

Olivine nodded again, her heart aching in the quiet affection that filled the air between them. "Okay."

Rafe's expression softened, and he leaned over the console, brushing his lips gently against her forehead. "I love you, Liv," he said quietly, his voice sincere.

Her heart fluttered, and she met his eyes, her voice barely a whisper as she replied, "I love you too."

She slowly unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door, stepping out into the cool night air. As she made her way to the front door, she looked back at him one last time. Rafe gave her a small, reassuring nod before she disappeared inside.

The door clicked shut behind her, and she leaned against it for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of home. Her mind was tired, her heart heavy with everything they had said, but one thing was certain—she was going to rest now, for herself. And maybe, just maybe, things would start to get better.

As she headed upstairs to her room, she glanced at her phone, knowing she'd text him when she woke up. For now, though, sleep was what she needed most.

Olivine closed her bedroom door softly, the weight of the day pressing down on her. She dropped her bag by the bed and sat down, rubbing her temples as she tried to clear her thoughts. Her phone sat silently on the nightstand, but she didn't reach for it. The words Rafe had said, the way he had looked at her—there was hope in that look. But there was also the lingering question of whether things could truly change.

She pulled the covers back, slipping under the soft sheets. The coolness of the room contrasted with the heat of her emotions, but she welcomed it. She closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would come easily, that her body would surrender to rest.

But thoughts of Rafe lingered in the silence, his words, his touch, the way his voice had trembled when he said he loved her. She felt it too, more deeply than she cared to admit.

Minutes passed, then hours, but sleep never fully came. Her mind kept drifting back to him—the way he had promised to change, the way he had tried so hard to show he cared. The weight of his guilt, the vulnerability in his eyes when he said he was sorry. She wasn't sure if he meant it, but part of her believed that he did.

Eventually, exhaustion won, and her body succumbed to the pull of sleep. The last thought that crossed her mind before drifting off was that maybe, just maybe, they could both find a way back from all the mess they'd made.

When Olivine woke, the light filtering in through her window told her it was already late afternoon. She reached for her phone, rubbing her eyes as she unlocked it. One unread message from Rafe.

Hope you're resting. Text me when you wake up. I'm thinking about you.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she typed a quick reply: im up, and im okay, Rafe. promise.

She sent the message, then set the phone down beside her. For the first time in a while, she felt like she could breathe a little easier.

The next few hours passed quietly, the familiar rhythm of home settling around her as she did nothing but rest and think. She kept her phone close, waiting for Rafe's response, though she didn't expect him to reply immediately.

When the message finally came through, it wasn't long before he called her.

"Hey," his voice was soft, almost hesitant. "How're you feeling?"

Olivine leaned back against her pillow, letting out a sigh. "Better. Rest helped."

"I'm glad," he said, a small relief in his voice. "I wasn't sure if you'd sleep at all. I know you're carrying a lot."

"I am," she admitted, "but I need to keep carrying it for a while. I need time."

There was a pause on the other end, and she could almost feel the weight of his gaze through the phone. "I get that. I'm not rushing you, Liv. I just want to be here... whenever you're ready."

She smiled faintly, her heart softening. "I know. Thank you."

"I love you," he said, and though the words were simple, they carried a weight, a promise.

"I love you too," she whispered back. "Just... don't give up on us, okay?"

"Never," he replied without hesitation. "I won't. Not ever."

The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable—it felt like a mutual understanding, like they were both trying, even if it wasn't perfect yet. "We'll figure it out," she said finally, the words lingering in the quiet space.

"We will," Rafe agreed. "One day at a time."

With that, they hung up, and Olivine set her phone down again. She wasn't sure what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, she felt the flicker of hope inside her. Maybe things wouldn't be easy, but maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

KIKI SPEAKS ;
not edited !!

this is also quite sad, but we see Olivine stand her ground towards rafe- and that getting clean is a process, it's not linear and rafe needs to have an anchor that's not her or else he's gonna relapse soon and he probs won't come back from it and everyone will hate her for it

word count : 3.4k

ENJOY !!
xoxo kiki 💋💋