CASTAWAY ⚓ R.C, J.M

T W E N T Y F I V E

It had been a year since Harley had been in Rafe's room. Nothing had changed. It was bright, yet so dark in its own way. The bed still felt like an amalgam of clouds beneath Harley, however it wasn't soft enough to take away the pain in her leg. White towels spread haphazardly under her body catching droplets of blood. Rafe had a medical box out and lots of bandages unwound in his shaky hands.

"Rafe. I need a doctor or something. Please." The idea of Rafe mending her wound made her stomach knot tightly. Her mind reeled at the sick sense of deja vu she got.  

"N-no. No. You'll be fine. You're fine. It's just a flesh wound. I-I can wrap it for you. Stop the bleeding."

Sure it was a flesh wound, one that had torn her flesh a part. She might need stitches. She refused to look and well with the blood, she couldn't see even if she wanted to.

Harley's head fell back. She stared at the ceiling in aggravation. "Rafe. Please. I really think you should take me to a hospital or something."

"Mm mm." Rafe shook his head vehemently. His fingertips on Harley's cheek made her flinch. "I can't do that. They're gonna ask too many questions. And, with Peterkin..."

"You shot her!" Harley exclaimed. She was so angry with Rafe, so so angry. She wanted him to fully grasp the severity of what he'd done. She didn't know if it was drugs or adrenaline, but the dilated, guilt-free look in his eyes wasn't that of someone who had shot two people and potentially killed one. 

"You need to calm down. Okay, baby? Getting worked up isn't going to help you."

"What? Do you hear yourself?" Harley cried. She was hysterical at this point. Rafe had ranted and raved the entire drive back to the Cameron estate. He had separated Harley from Sarah. And carried the brunette upstairs to trap her in his lair. She wanted out. She wanted to be away from this psychotic family. "You killed a cop. You cracked up, maniac! Let. Me. Go."

"No! No! I was protecting my dad. She was going to shoot him. And what? You think that's alright because she's a cop?" Rafe spat. "She was going to blow his head off."

"How high are you?" Harley leered. "She was arresting him, because your dad is a murderer."

"Shut up. Shut the fuck up!" Rafe barked. A lone tear ran down his flushed face. "I've had it with your bullshit, Harley! Why don't you understand me? You used to understand me. I was doing what needed to be done. I'm a proactive type of person. Hope is not a strategy. Do you get that? I'm a problem solver. I solved a problem. Okay?" Rafe shook Harley. "Okay!"

"Yes. Yes!"

"I'm here right now. I'm here for you. Unlike those lowlifes you're hell bent on sticking with. John B, your brother, he left you. He ran off, but I'm here. Me. Rafe." He wiped away the blood on Harley's leg and pressed a gauze pad on the wound. Harley winced and tried to move away but Rafe caught her. His right hand stroked patterns over her hip.

When Harley stopped shifting so much, Rafe wound a bandage over the pad. He smoothed the material and kissed his handy work.

"You're going to be okay. You need rest and to stay off your leg for a little bit."

"Rafe-"

He wasn't listening to her. She could see that he was retreating into his own mind. What Rafe says goes. She couldn't do this again. "Yeah, rest." Rafe rounded his bed. He pulled out a cherry red, cashmere blanket, that used to be Harley's favourite. He spread the soft cover over his bed and gently covered Harley. "You'll feel better after sleeping a little."

"I'm not tired, Rafe." Rafe's piercing eyes let Harley know he knew she was lying. It was written across her face that she was exhausted, but she was also scared. She didn't want to lay here beside Rafe as if everything was a bed of roses. She wanted to see John B. She wanted to hug JJ. And she wanted to scream from the top of the bell tower that Rafe had shot Sheriff Peterkin and Ward murdered her dad.