𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 | 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

０１８．

Rafe felt exponentially more guilty about having shot his own sister once he'd experienced it himself.

And to think, he'd actually shot Sarah. A real, entry-and-exit-wound gunshot. This was only a graze, and fuck, it was painful.

It was deep, too. Blood surged from Rafe's arm with such force that it was dizzying, stars wheeling across his vision as his father's face appeared above him. "Rafe," Ward said, his tone so desperate that it was little more than a wheeze. "Rafe!"

Despite his head spinning, despite the struggle it took just to right himself, Rafe sat up. "I'm good, Dad," he said, hearing everything as though he were underwater, blackness pushing in on the edges of his vision, "all good."

And then his father was kneeling in front of him, studying his face closely, his chest heaving as he assessed him for any injuries beyond the graze in his arm. "I thought I lost you, son," Ward gasped, and Rafe couldn't tell if it was his blurring vision or if there were tears in his father's eyes.

But before Rafe could even really understand what was happening, Ward was releasing him and turning back to the front of the boat -- the front of the boat, where a body lay, still and bleeding.

Eberhimi. The captain was dead.

Rafe had been so stunned after being shot that he hadn't even realized his father had continued to grapple with Eberhimi over the gun. But Ward appeared to be unscathed, and Eberhimi was undeniably very dead, so he could guess how the rest of the fight had gone.

His father had killed someone else, right in front of him this time. Eberhimi's blood was splattered over Rafe's face and clothes, pooling at the bottom of the boat. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about any of it.

He staggered to his feet, doing everything in his power not to keel over the edge of the boat.

Ward turned back to him with wild eyes. "I have to get home, I have to get to the girls," he stammered, running blood-soaked hands through his hair. "I -- we have to split up. You have to take the body, son, and I'll go back home to make sure Rose and Wheezie are okay."

And despite the fact that his father had just murdered someone to protect him, despite the fact that none of this had been planned, Rafe couldn't shake the feeling that he was being set up. As though Ward didn't want to risk being found with Eberhimi and was shoving the task on him instead.

It must have been clear as day on his face, because Ward's expression bordered on desperation. "Look, Rafe," he rasped, "I'm not strong enough, okay? I haven't recovered enough to do this by myself. I can't -- I can't take care of Eberhimi by myself, and somebody has to get back home. You understand why I need you to do this for me, right? I'll be back for you in the morning. I promise."

Rafe's every instinct begged him to argue, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything but nod. "I understand, Dad. It's alright," he lied.

Ward nodded, his features still tight in panic. "Okay," he said, his voice hoarse and wavering, "it's all going to be okay. Let's get you to shore. You feeling okay?"
If Rafe was being honest, he felt like hell. Every breath had pain electrocuting along the length of his arm, blood pouring from the gash relentlessly, and his head was still swimming. He was dizzy, unable to discern whether he had the spins or if the boat was just rocking that violently, and even more so unable to discern whether he had lost that much blood or it was just his body begging for more cocaine.

Without a shadow of a doubt, he'd chosen the wrong day to try to get clean. He'd need to pay Ren a visit after this. Fuck quitting; he deserved a bump or two.