•STOCKHOLM SYNDROME• [obx3]

Chapter 39: Pills and powder

DISCLAIMER: This chapter contains drug abuse

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This has got to be the most guilty Kie has ever felt in her entire life.

She never planned to just leave the pogues like that, but she couldn't stop thinking about him. Each time she thought she managed to get him off her mind, he'll somehow pop right back. Rafe. The essence of him sticks to her like glue. When she tried to sleep, she would only toss and turn, worrying about him.

The reoccurring image of Rafe being pinned down and beaten coats her vision. Kie can't stop thinking about it, about the way the blood grew and splattered from him at each blow. About the way he weakly looked over at her, his blue eyes begging her to put an end to it.

But she didn't help him. She didn't do anything. At that moment she just froze. Her feet were rooted to the ground and her breath had caught in her throat. She couldn't do anything, but watch as the two boys she loved most tried to kill each other.

And she just left him there. Alone. On the floor like he meant nothing to her. Why? ... Why did I leave him?

Her regret stuck with her for hours until she just got up and left.

Now Kies cycling hard on a stolen bike. Its still dark out, not that Kie cares about concealing her crime. For once she doesn't care. She just needs to get to him. 

The chilly breeze sends her hair rippling over her shoulders. Kies grateful she took a spare sweater before heading out. It still smells faintly of JJs cologne. I hope he doesn't mind I've borrowed it. But he'll probably only tease me about it later.

By the time Kie reaches his house, her legs are throbbing and her throat is completely parched. The driveway is empty, Rafe's family is still out, just like they said they'll be. They did, after all, say the meeting would last until tomorrow lunch.

She's quick to ditch the bike by his porch, the first of her steps are wobbly as she readjusts on her feet. Kie rings the bell. Standing around patiently. After a few moments pass, she rings it again. Maybe he isn't home... no he has to be. Where else could he be?

Kie rings the bell, this time pressing the button repeatedly. But still, there's no answer. She knocks at the door and it swings open. Not because he answered it, but because it wasn't closed in the first place.

The door creaks open, echoing around the eerily quiet room. Kie flips the light switch, illuminating the room. Everythings in place yet something feels strange. Very strange.

'Rafe?'

Theres no reply. Kie shuts the door behind her. The house is so quiet, she can hear her own breath, her own heart thumping against her chest.

Kie treks up the steps. Theres a hole punched into one of the walls, marking his presence. She stops at his door and bangs her fist at it.

'Rafe?... I know you're there. We need to talk'

When there's no answer, she repeats herself more irritatedly, but there's still no reply. 

'Okay. Fine. I'm coming in-'

Kie tries the handle. It's locked. She shoves it backwards and forwards in her clench.

'Rafe?'

The stillness sets her on edge. Her heart knows somethings wrong. Its pounds in her throat. Kie takes slow staggard steps backwards then throws a kick at the door. Once, twice. The door is thrown open.

The room is a mess. She stands frozen in his doorframe, her feet refuse to move. Kie can see the counter covered in traces of cocaine. Its no small amount. She can see an empty scotch bottle laying beside it.

Then she sees him. There on the ground, slipped beside his bed. Kie lets out a gasp. Her vision becomes blurry with her tears. She feels frozen in place but manages a small step forward. Her steps are so gentle as if walking on thin ice. As if at any moment everything could break, be ruined forever. This isn't real. This isn't happening.

Kie collapses beside him.

'Rafe?', She shakes him gently. 'Rafe?', Kie cries, shaking him harder.

But his body flaps limply as if its given in too.

'Rafe-', she holds his beaten face in the palms of her hands. His eyes remain shut. 'Rafe wake up... please', Kie holds him close, crying into his shoulder.

When she pulls away she notices an orange prescription vial. It lays beside his hand, as if it slipped from his hold. It's empty. Hes taken all the pills.

In a rush, she reaches for the phone at his bedside table.

'911, what's your emergency?'