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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN regret or embarrassment?
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IT WAS NEARING the end of my 8th shift on the Druthers, and exactly 1 week since that night on the mainland.
I hadn't seen Rafe for 7 whole days; not around the house, not on the boat, not at all. At first, I had thought that maybe it was something I had done to him, but after a while I realised that it was just the same as always.
For once in my 17 years of life, I thought I had finally had something with a boy who was different. He had spent the whole day focusing solely on me, and I let my guard down because I wasn't used to that sort of attention.
Things were never meant to happen for my benefit or happiness. From a young age, I had always been taught to value other people before myself- for I would have been nothing without the help of others. It was always the sort of thing I believed, partly because I had to; but partly because it was true.
I don't think there was ever a time in my life where I didn't have to seek help from others. I would try and try endlessly to convince people that I was independent and didn't need help, yet it seemed like I was only ever convincing myself.
There was an art to lying in my eyes. Something about the way you could spin a story to fit your perception appealed to me more than it should've. I wasn't ashamed to be a liar, rather I was proud in some twisted sense.
In this case, I guess I was lying about that night.
When questioned about where I had disappeared to last Saturday, I simply said I had gone to the beach. When asked about the clothes, I said I picked them up from my house. Everyone believed me- it's not like I had done anything particularly bad for them not too.
But with lying came the question; was I pretending that night never happened, or just telling people it didn't?
For once, I wasn't convincing myself enough that it wasn't real. Any time I was embarrassed in the past, I would tell myself that it never happened and all would be solved. Yet some part of me didn't want to let go of what happened.
Rather, some part of me didn't want to let go of him.
As much as I knew he meant nothing to me, I couldn't help but wish that he had at least given me some closure- a warning, even. If he wanted to just fuck me and then fuck me over, he could've said so.
I was used to it, after all.
Instead, he insisted on spending the whole day on me; and only me. I was blind sighted into believing that he cared for me beyond just being another bitch in his bed. From that night in the hospital to the bar, he constantly had me convinced that he cared.
It was my own fault for believing Rafe Cameron ever had the capability to care for someone apart from himself.
I had told him things I hadn't dared to speak about before. He was there for me with May, I cried in front of him, and I even started talking about my dad. I hadn't even told Kiara that much about me, and I classed her as my best friend.
