//Rafe Cameron\\
"You don't make deals with the devil, not unless you want to dance with him and maybe I did"
Lily Grant has spent her whole life slumming it with the pogues, being that she is one.
They're her day ones, her best friends. Life coul...
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—Rafe—
I'm not sure I could put into words how I feel. My thoughts are racing through my head, flashing every second of the events from tonight. Playing it over like it's on fucking tape.
I have an odd heaviness in my chest, making my lungs feel tight. I can still feel the anger burning under my skin but my rage seems to have faded..for now. I'm not done with him. I might have beaten him to a fucking pulp but I'm not certain that he got the message. Come near her, you'll fucking die.
I could see it in his eyes, the kind of sick fuck he is. He was afraid to say the fucking least. Anyone would be when getting their face fucking pummeled, but I know as sure as I lay here with her, that his intentions with her haven't been bled dry yet.
I think a..conversation..still needs to take place. I've never experienced such pure fucking rage, with nothing but burning hot red flashing in front of my eyes. I've never had the urge to kill someone so much as I did tonight. I didn't know what I was walking into when Aria called, all I heard was her shouting that Lily was screaming the second my tires hit the dirt of their driveway. I didn't need a second more to process what I should do, the second I saw his hands around her neck, my brain shut off. He was fucking dead. And he would've been if Liam wasn't there.
Not a single thought was behind my eyes as I pounded my fists into his fucking face, all I saw was red, felt the burning urge to implement as much pain as possible into his fucking flesh. Liam is the only reason he's not dead and I'm not behind fucking bars right now.
It took every ounce of every fucking piece of me not to chase him the fuck down when I saw her throat and the bruises he'd left on his skin. I've seen her afraid..of me. But nothing like the pure fucking horror in her eyes. It was an odd mixture to see but not witness. Minus the look on her face she was oddly calm, too calm. Like she wasn't even in her own mind. She'd shut down but somehow I could still see it. See the wheels spinning behind her eyes so fast she couldn't focus on what she was thinking. I found it even more odd that she'd reached for my hand for comfort, fidgeting with my ring to calm herself.
Not once has she touched me in anyway but with lust, or looked at me as anything but someone she despises, someone who fucks her and throws her to the side afterwards. But last night was different. She wanted me there, she wanted to feel my skin against hers. I just don't know why. I suppose being traumatized makes you do all sorts of odd things. Things you wouldn't do otherwise.
