When He Leaves - R. Cameron

26 𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑡
𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔

summer of '19

                   Rory was standing in front of a massive white house, the one that matched the address that Rafe had sent her after he had been gone for two days. She looked at the text and then up at  four black numbers on the mailbox. 2138. There were no lights on and it had her hesitant to ring the doorbell. She did anyway, crossing her arms over her thin tank top and looked all around. Her heart was racing.

                   She had texted him, called him, waited on the couch at night for him to show up. The address was the only thing she got in response. And all she needed to do was lay her eyes on him, know he was okay, and then she wanted to be done. Walk away.

                   But self restraint and Rafe did not meld well together for her. 

                  The door swung open, revealing a tall shirtless boy, dirty blonde hair hanging in his face, and bloodshot eyes that peered painfully down after her. Her heart wrenched and she visibly swallowed when she realized she would have a hard time walking away. "I didn't think you would come." He said, through a gray voice. 

                    "Well." She mumbled, not looking directly into his, more at the dark circles that resided under them. 

                     Rafe stepped back and opened the door wide enough for her to get through but have to brush up against his body. She walked further into the house, taking in the modern decorations, stopping at the family pictures of a people she did not recognize. She glanced over at him in question, feeling goosebumps rise up on her arms at the way he was watching her from a few feet away. 

                   His eyes leveled her and the picture frames on the wall. "This is the Glissons' house. They are in Sun Valley all summer." And then he walked past her, going through a door that led outside onto an outdoor porch. She followed after him and looked around. On the glass table, there was a bag of pot beside a grinder, and a large bong there also. She  just blinked and looked away.

                   Rafe was sitting in a lounge chair, subtly smiling at her in enjoyment.  "You're so fucking pure and good." He mused and then tilted his head to the side, something she had always liked. "It's what I've always needed in my life." He chuckled as if it were a joke and ran his hands down the front of his athletic shorts.

                  She leaned against the rails of the porch while shaking her head. "Are you high?" She asked him. "If you are or not, is that really funny to you?"

                   "I wasn't joking, but yes, I am, a little. I hit it every time I almost lose my shit again." He explained while staring at the bong, as if  he was wondering if that time was about to come. "It's wearing off. You know," He reached beside him and grabbed the beer that she had not seen, taking a slow sip before continuing, "It's not as bad when you're around."

                  There was a tingle up her spine, but she ignored it. "But you still end up leaving me. Does't make sense." She muttered and looked away, hiding the pain on her face. 

                   Rory could hear Rafe sit up straighter and then there was another gulp of beer, like he needed the liquid courage. "Well, that would be fucking selfish of me to stay when I'm like this. Just because something helps me, or is good for me does not mean it is for you. Right? I would be an asshole to stay at your house, go through these withdrawals, relapse the next day, disappear to resolve shit with my dad . . ." His sentence veered off and he shook his head.