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The sun was sinking low, bleeding rust and gold through the blinds, but the light in the room felt cold. Annabelle sat curled up on the couch, knees tucked under her chin, a blanket draped over her even though the air was thick and warm. The television murmured low in the background, playing something she wasn't watching. Her eyes kept flicking to the door. Then to her phone. Then back again.

Something in her gut had knotted then and hadn't loosened since.

The house felt swallowed by shadows, even with the lights on. The kind of darkness that crept into corners and sat behind your back like it was watching.

Then—a key turned in the lock.

The door swung open and Rafe stepped inside.

She barely recognized him.

His hair was a storm, clinging to his forehead with sweat. His shirt was damp, clinging to his back and chest, the collar darkened and wrinkled. One hand hung by his side, trembling, streaked with something dark and dry — dirt, blood, or both. His eyes were swollen, red-rimmed. His face was blotchy, uneven, as if he'd been crying hard and recently. His mouth was drawn tight, like he was holding something back that wanted to break free.

She shot to her feet. "Rafe—?"

He didn't answer. He just stood there — swaying slightly — and shut the door behind him, too forcefully, like he couldn't control the weight of his own limbs.

"Jesus, are you okay?" she whispered, walking toward him cautiously. "What happened?"

He didn't answer right away. His jaw locked tight, trembling slightly.

"You—baby, you're shaking—what the hell happened to you?"

He raised his hand, palm up, a small signal to stop her. "I-I need you to sit.." He rasped, his voice barely there.

"You- What?"

"Please, Annabelle. Just... sit down."

That alone made her heart spike.

She backed up, never taking her eyes off him, and sank slowly into the edge of the couch. She stared up at him where he stood, a few feet in front of the couch.

"I didn't know how to say this. I—I still don't," he started, his voice breaking.

Annabelle sat frozen. "Say what?"

The boy stared at her and something about his gaze twisted Annabelle's heart.

"It was John B."

She blinked. "What about John B?"Her voice was shaking, her mind racing with every possibility.

Rafe looked at her, like he hesitated. The girl shot up to her feet, glaring at him, her chest already heaving. "What about him, Rafe?" Her tone was sharp, demanding answers.

"John B lost it. Something about his dad. I don't know. He was rambling, saying he'd figured something out, and then..." Rafe stopped to swallow, hard.

"What?" she whispered.

"Peterkin—Sheriff Peterkin—she was trying to calm him down. I thought she was getting through to him. I swear I did. But then he—" His chest rose with a shallow breath. "He shot her."

The room tilted. Annabelle physically felt her stomach turn and her mind go black.

"No." She shook her head slowly, like that could undo what she'd heard. "No, no, John B wouldn't do that. He wouldn't—he—" Her voice broke and she took a unsteady step back, sinking back down on the couch. "I've known him my whole life.. He wouldn't.."

Her hand shakily came up to cover her mouth, like she didn't know what else to do with her body. Tears welled over her sight, allowing a flood of blurry images of John B, with a gun in his hands, pulling the trigger.

"I know," Rafe said quickly, stepping forward, kneeling down in front of her, and grabbing her wrists. His grip was tight—too tight. "I know, baby. I know. I didn't want to tell you like this."

She met his gaze, shaking her head over and over again. "No-"

"I was there, Annabelle." Rafe's voice was low now, tight and tired. "I saw it."

She choked out a sob, trying to wrap her head around it. But Rafe might as well have told her that aliens were real. She couldn't believe it. The pouges had told her that John B had gone on a rampage and that he was violent but she could never imagine him this violent.

Annabelle's hands trembled in Rafe's. "I have to call them. Kiara, Pope—someone. I have to—"

"No." His voice was sharp now, cutting the air. His grip tightened. "No, you can't. You can't call anyone."

She looked at him, her expression twisting in confusion and something else. "Rafe-"

"Because the cops are gonna be looking. And if you get involved, if you start calling people, they'll start asking questions—and they'll drag you into it, Bells. I'm trying to protect you here."

The girl blinked, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. The cops, John B in prison, the aftermath of all this squeezed her chest together and she let out a strained breath, her face falling into her hands. "Oh my God-"

She felt Rafe lean his forehead against her knee, his hand caressing and holding onto her ankles, not hard but enough to let her know he needed her to keep breathing.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. The house suddenly felt too small, too quiet, like it was holding its breath. She tried to steady her breathing and looked down at Rafe, feeling the tremors from his hands on her skin.

"Baby, you're shaking." She whispered.

The boy's fingers tightened around her ankles and he pressed his forehead against her knee as if somehow that would make the image go away. "I watched it. He did it." He breathed out, like he had repeated those words to himself over and over again.

She didn't want to question him. Not after everything he'd been through. Not when his hands were still shaking against her ankles. Instead, she leaned down and gently placed a kiss on the top of his head, inhaling his scent.

He sniffed—sharp, raw—and let out a breath like it hurt to breathe.

"I-I love you." He said, his voice cracking. "You know that right?"

Annabelle gently dragged her hands through his hair and nodded. "I know," She whispered. "I love you too."

Later, Rafe had left. He said that he needed to talk to his father, get updates on Sheriff Peterkin, and then he mumbled something else about him taking care of things, like it was the only thing swarming his mind. Annabelle watched him leave and it didn't take long before she reached for her phone and tried to call both Kiara and Pope, but neither of them answered.

Annabelle sank down on the couch, wrapping the blanket around herself, her mind spinning so much, she mistook it for the room itself spinning around her. Eventually, she couldn't take it anymore, and walked into the bathroom, finding the box, finding the relief.

𝟏𝟏𝟓𝟐 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬
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𝐀/𝐍
liar liar, Rafes pants are on fire

trying to fit all of this into the plot without making it boring so a struggle YALL but I'm making it as juicy as possible for u guys