Pretty When You Cry ୨୧ Rafe Cameron

forty one

Rafe would put his life on the line for Isla. He'd kill the whole world if it meant she'd live. He'd do anything for her. Even the flaws of this young woman were tied into delicate little bows. He'd pick her storms over anyone else's sunny days anytime. She was the best parts of the world all jumbled into one person. And he was drowning in her.

"Babe, I think I broke the washing machine," Isla said, feeling guilty. The load of laundry she put in was far too heavy, and she had put reds in with whites so everything would probably be pink. She didn't realize that yet though.

Her dad never taught her how to do laundry.

"Let me see," Rafe crouched down to inspect the machine. Yeah. she broke it. "Oh yeah, you did."

"Oh my god— I'm so fucking sorry, I'll pay for it, I'll—"

"Shh, baby. I don't care about the damn washing machine machine."

"Yeah but—" Isla panicked, only to be cut off by Rafe.

"Look, Isla, no matter what happens, I will never be mad at you. You could set this house on fire and I wouldn't put it all on you. I am on your side, always. You're allowed to make mistakes. Shit happens. But I'll always be here to deal with your shit, alright?"

That was when Isla first started staying over after that fateful day in South America. Rafe meant his words, and Isla held on to them.

And now, as they both stared at that damn stick with those two lines on it, Isla hoped he'd keep his word.

"I don't understand. We weren't— it wasn't like it was— we were always careful," Rafe said, being to pace around the room and panic.

"I know. I don't— I don't understand. I can't— I'm— I'm seventeen, I can't—"

"I can't do this period! I'm— look, I'm not cut out for that shit ever, alright? Not now, not in ten years. I never wanted any kids ever."

"I know! I know! And I don't either, I don't think so— maybe in like ten years but fuck, not now! God no," Isla panicked. She knew he didn't want this. She didn't either.

"Well you could uh— you know, get rid of it." But even saying it made Rafe feel a little sick.

"Yeah uh— maybe..." Isla said. She didn't know what she wanted. She didn't know how to comprehend it at all. It was everything crashing down around her. And she blamed herself. "It depends on um, how.. you know, far along it is."

"Right. Yeah. Shit." Rafe facepalmed.He couldn't stand still. He couldn't control his thoughts. He only knew one thing, this was something that could not happen.

Isla thought about what her friends would think. Her brother would lose his shit at her. JJ would lose his shit at Rafe, because let's face it, he still had feelings for her. Isla getting knocked up would not be enjoyable for him. Pope would just shake his head. And Kiara would probably support her through it. And her dad would call her a slut from the grave. Lovely.

And on the rare occasion she went to school, she could imagine what the kids there would say. There was enough drama surrounding her and her friends already, and they had a lot of attention on them. This would give everyone a real kick. And she would be a walking stereotype. Yeah no, she could not do this.

"You need to see a doctor. There's a walk in on Eighth.  We should go there, now," Rafe suggested. He wasn't a 'sit around and process' type guy. He wanted to confirm this as soon as physically possible, and get the problem taken away stat.

Isla was overwhelmed. She would've appreciated a moment to breathe. It was 8:30 in the night and they were gonna head into town and figure this out. She needed to sleep on it. But Rafe couldn't, and she knew that. It's not like she'd sleep anyways. "Yeah, yeah ok. Let's do that." She agreed reluctantly, already headed to his car. Then she realized she was still half naked and she turned around. "I'm gonna put on some clothes first."