059. my obsessions

( the fifty eighth chapter )

( rafes pov from 2 weeks ago )

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Rafe sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clutching at his hair like it was the only thing keeping him together. His head throbbed from the fight with Olivine, replaying her words over and over like a scratched record. He'd never heard her yell like that, never seen her eyes so cold, so distant, as she turned her back on him and left.

He couldn't breathe when the door slammed shut behind her. His chest felt hollow, his limbs heavy. He wanted to chase her, drag her back into his arms, make her understand that he was trying. He wanted to tell her everything about Logan, about why he left, but he couldn't. Not without blowing everything up.

And now? She was gone.

Rafe's thoughts darkened, twisting and spiraling into themselves. What if she didn't come back? What if this time, it was over for good? The very idea sent a sharp pain through his chest, an ache that felt like it was splitting him in two. He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to block out the images of her walking away, but it was useless.

"Fuck!" he yelled, slamming his fist against the mattress. The anger bubbled beneath his skin, threatening to erupt.

He stumbled to his desk and grabbed his phone, scrolling to Barry's number. His hands shook as he typed out a message.

"Need something. Call me back. Now."

He stared at the screen, waiting for the three little dots to appear. Nothing. Another message.

"Barry, I'm serious. Just—just answer."

Minutes passed. Still nothing. His grip on the phone tightened, and he threw it across the room, hearing the satisfying crack of it hitting the wall. He didn't care. What was one more broken thing in his life?

Rafe paced the room like a caged animal, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn't control. If Barry wasn't going to answer, maybe there were other ways to numb the pain. Other ways to keep Olivine from slipping through his fingers.

The thought scared him. His mother's voice crept into the back of his mind, soft and accusing. She would've been ashamed of him for even thinking it, for letting himself fall so far. But his mom wasn't here. She hadn't been here for years. And no matter how much he pretended otherwise, Rafe knew he'd never hear her voice in person again.

"What would she think of me now?" he whispered into the empty room, his voice cracking.

Would she recognize him? The broken man her son had become?

Rafe sank to the floor, his back against the bedframe, his head tipping back to stare at the ceiling. He couldn't stop thinking about Olivine—her laugh, her stubbornness, the way she always managed to calm the chaos in his head. The way she fit so perfectly against him, like she was made to be there.

He couldn't lose her. He wouldn't.

Dark thoughts surfaced again, ugly and desperate. If she didn't come back willingly, what would it take to make her stay? To keep her in his orbit, where she belonged? His mind raced with possibilities, each more twisted than the last. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but the thoughts clung to him like shadows, refusing to let go.

"This isn't me," he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse. But was it? He didn't even know anymore.

Rafe stared at the broken phone across the room. He'd fix this. Somehow. He didn't care what it took. If it meant lying, groveling, or dragging himself through hell, he'd do it. Anything to have Olivine back.

Because without her? He was nothing.

Rafe didn't know how long he sat there, slumped against the bedframe, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Time felt irrelevant. It could've been minutes or hours, but the ache in his body didn't subside. If anything, it deepened, sinking claws into him and dragging him further into the dark.

He thought about calling her. The rational part of his mind told him she wouldn't answer, not now. Not after the way she'd looked at him before she left. That icy glare, the tears she tried to hold back. She wanted answers he couldn't give her. Or maybe he just wouldn't give her. It was all too complicated.

Logan was his mess to deal with. Olivine didn't need to get tangled in that web.

But now, sitting here alone, he wondered if his silence had cost him everything.

Rafe let his head fall back against the bedframe with a dull thud. He'd built his life on half-truths, stacking them like a fragile house of cards. And Logan? Logan was the gust of wind that had blown it all to hell. He could still see the smug look on Logan's face the last time they'd spoken, the way he'd leaned against the car, tossing Rafe's desperation back at him like a weapon.

"This isn't your game, Rafe. Stay out of it, or it'll cost you more than you're ready to lose."

The warning replayed in his mind, over and over. It didn't matter how much money Rafe threw at the problem; Logan had left anyway. And now Olivine, the one good thing he had left, was slipping through his fingers because of it.

Logan was gone, but the damage he'd done lingered like cigarette smoke in the air—stale, suffocating.

Rafe's eyes flicked to the broken phone across the room. The screen was shattered, but he didn't need it to know Barry still hadn't called him back. Barry had been ignoring him for days, ever since Rafe started asking for more than the usual supply. He wasn't stupid—he knew Barry thought he was spiraling, and maybe he was.

But Barry wasn't a saint. The guy made a living off people's vices. Why draw the line now?

Rafe clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding. He needed something to dull the sharp edges of his thoughts, something to keep the memories of Olivine's tear-filled eyes at bay. He couldn't go to her like this, couldn't fix anything while his head was a chaotic mess.

The irony wasn't lost on him—he was trying to save the only person who made him feel sane by diving deeper into his insanity.

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Rafe's hands curled into fists at his sides as another voice echoed in his head—his mother's. Her laughter, her gentle scolding when he'd come home covered in dirt from a fight with Topper or Kelce. She'd always been the one to pull him back, to remind him that he was more than his worst impulses.

"What would she think of me now?" he muttered again, his voice barely audible.

If she could see him now, sitting in a room darkened by blackout curtains, fueled by anger and desperation, would she even recognize him? Would she try to save him, or would she finally admit defeat?

The thought made his throat tighten. His mother had always believed in him, even when no one else did. Even when he didn't deserve it. He could still remember the way she'd smooth his hair back, telling him he was meant for more than the chaos he surrounded himself with.

But she wasn't here anymore.

If she were, maybe she'd be able to tell him how to fix this. How to make Olivine understand that he wasn't trying to hurt her by keeping secrets. He was trying to protect her. But now, in the silence of the room, even Rafe wasn't sure if that was the truth. Maybe he'd been protecting himself all along.

Rafe pushed himself off the floor, pacing the room like a caged animal. His hands flexed at his sides, itching for something to hold, to destroy. He grabbed a whiskey bottle from the desk, unscrewing the cap and taking a long swig. The burn in his throat wasn't enough to drown out his thoughts, but it was a start.

The dark part of his mind, the part he tried to bury, started whispering solutions.

If Olivine didn't want to come back willingly, there were ways to make her stay. He hated himself for even thinking it, but the thoughts wouldn't stop. He could lie to her, manipulate her, find a way to make her need him as much as he needed her.

"Stop it," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

But the whispers didn't stop. They grew louder, feeding off his desperation.

He thought about showing up at her house, forcing her to talk to him. He thought about using the secrets he'd kept from her as leverage. Anything to keep her in his life, to stop her from walking away.

"You're losing it, Cameron," he said aloud, his voice harsh and bitter.

The whiskey burned his throat again as he took another swig, slamming the bottle onto the desk when he was done. He stared at his reflection in the window, his features distorted by the streaks of rain outside.

This wasn't him. Or maybe it was. Maybe this was who he'd been all along, a man so consumed by his own darkness that he couldn't see the light anymore.

His mother's voice echoed again, softer this time.

"You're not a lost cause, Rafe. You just need to find your way back."

He scoffed, shaking his head. He didn't know if he believed that anymore. But for Olivine? Maybe it was worth trying.

Maybe there was still a chance to fix this, to prove to her that he could be the man she deserved. The man his mother had always believed he could be.

Rafe grabbed the phone from the floor, ignoring the shattered screen as he scrolled through his contacts. He hesitated for a moment before pressing the call button.

"Barry," he said when the line finally connected, his voice steady despite the storm inside him.

Rafe's grip tightened around the phone as Barry's silence hung heavy over the line. He could hear the faint hum of background noise—probably the dingy garage Barry called his office—but still no reply. Rafe's jaw tensed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"You're really gonna keep ignoring me?" he asked, voice sharper now. "I know you've seen my calls."

Finally, Barry spoke, his voice low and indifferent. "I saw them, Rafe. Just figured you didn't need another reason to lose your damn mind."

Rafe's chest tightened, anger bubbling under the surface. "I don't need a lecture, Barry. I just need what I asked for."

"No can do," Barry replied curtly. "You're spiraling. I don't deal with desperate men—they're bad for business. Go home, sober up, and fix your shit before you call me again."

"Barry, I swear to God—"

The line went dead before Rafe could finish, the beep of the disconnect ringing in his ears. He stared at the phone in disbelief, then hurled it across the room, the already-cracked screen shattering further as it collided with the wall.

Rafe ran a hand down his face, pacing the room like a restless predator. His thoughts swirled, each darker than the last. He thought about showing up at Barry's garage and demanding what he needed, about forcing Barry to see how much he couldn't afford to walk away empty-handed.

But deep down, he knew Barry was right. He was desperate. And desperate men didn't think clearly—they acted on impulse, on fear, on the gnawing void inside them.

He sank into the couch, head in his hands. The faint scent of Olivine still lingered on the throw blanket draped over the armrest. It was faint, like she was already fading from his life, and the thought gutted him.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

He closed his eyes, the memory of her face flashing behind his lids. She'd looked at him like he was a stranger, like she didn't recognize the man she'd once trusted. He couldn't blame her.

The thought of her leaving for good was unbearable. Rafe knew he was teetering on the edge, but he couldn't let her go. She was the only thing grounding him, the only light in his otherwise chaotic world.

But how could he hold onto her without pushing her further away?

His mind drifted back to the argument, to the way she'd demanded answers he couldn't give. It wasn't that he didn't trust her—he did, more than anyone else in his life. But the truth about Logan was ugly, and Rafe couldn't bear the thought of tainting her with it.

He couldn't explain to her that Logan hadn't just walked away; he'd been forced out. That there were threats involved—threats that could come back to haunt both of them if Rafe didn't handle things carefully.

But Olivine wasn't the type to accept half-truths. She deserved the whole picture, and Rafe hated himself for not being able to give it to her.

He thought about the first time he'd kissed her, the way she'd laughed when he'd stumbled over his words trying to ask her out. She'd made him feel like he was more than his mistakes, like he could actually be someone worthy of love.

And now he'd ruined it.

The thought of losing her forever sent a wave of panic crashing over him. His breathing quickened, his hands trembling as he clutched the throw blanket, pulling it to his chest like it could somehow bring her back to him.

"I'll fix this," he muttered to himself, his voice raw. "I'll make it right."

Rafe's mind raced as he considered his options. He needed to prove to Olivine that she was his everything, that he wasn't the cold, calculated man she thought he was. But he also needed to protect her from the fallout of Logan's disappearance.

He thought about writing her a letter, spilling every emotion he'd buried deep inside. He thought about showing up at her doorstep with flowers, with apologies, with promises he wasn't sure he could keep.

But none of it felt like enough.

The only thing that mattered was keeping her in his life. No matter what it took.

Rafe's gaze drifted to the photograph on the dresser—a picture of his family from years ago, before everything had fallen apart. His mother's smile was soft, her hand resting on his shoulder like she'd known even then that he needed grounding.

"What would you tell me to do?" he asked the photograph, his voice barely above a whisper.

He imagined her voice in his head, gentle but firm.

"You'd tell me to fight for her, wouldn't you? To prove I'm better than this?"

But how could he fight for Olivine when he couldn't even fight his own demons?

Rafe sat there for what felt like hours, the storm inside him raging on. He thought about Olivine's smile, the way she'd laugh at his stupid jokes, the way she'd look at him Rafe slid into the driver's seat of his truck, the leather cool and familiar beneath his fingertips, but the comfort he used to feel here was gone. He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as his mind raced. Rain pattered against the windshield, each drop feeling like a ticking clock counting down to something he couldn't escape.

He didn't have a plan. He didn't even know if he could fix this. But he couldn't sit still, not with the thought of Olivine slipping further away from him with every second.

Her voice echoed in his head, soft but sharp, filled with hurt. "I can't do this if you won't trust me, Rafe."

Trust. The word stung like salt on a wound. He wanted to trust her, to open up, to let her in, but how could he when he didn't even trust himself?

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KIKI SPEAKS ;
not edited !!

welppp- here's rafes pov

word count : 2.6k

ENJOY !!
xoxo kiki 💋💋