𝟎𝟒𝟎.                 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡

paralyzed    ────    nf

( we see an unlikely... bond (?) in this chapter,, it was fun to write though so do enjoy! )

☀︎ 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐥𝐲𝐧'𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐯

𝖶𝖤'𝖱𝖤 𝖨𝖭 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖢𝖮𝖴𝖱𝖳 𝖧𝖮𝖴𝖲𝖤 𝖶𝖠𝖨𝖳𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖳𝖮 𝖧𝖤𝖠𝖱 𝖩𝖮𝖧𝖭 𝖡'𝖲 𝖥𝖠𝖳𝖤．He stands at the front of the court, right in front of the judge who will deciding his sentence, and while he's only just there, he's still so far away from me. I want to break the rules again, run over to him and steal him away from this insanity but I'm frozen, paralysed by the fear of what will happen to him. 

I don't know what kind of sentence he will receive, but I fear the worst.

I'm not the only one fearing the worst.

My eyes flicker over to the other side of the court── the Kook side, the side that wants to see John B's head on a stick. My eyes land on Ward Cameron who actually had the guts to show up today, and despite being instructed to stay away from him, every instinct of mine is screaming at me to fight him.

I sit in between JJ and Sarah, my heart in my throat as my foot pounds against the wooden floor. I attempt to ease my anxiety, but nothing could've prepared me for this.

I had the worst night sleep, continuously tossing and turning with a pillow pressed over my face. Moments after I was seen kissing Kiara by Pope and JJ, the two of them walked off, and I didn't see them again until this morning. I would've ran after them last night to explain, but I just couldn't bring myself to run anymore, and I especially couldn't discuss it this morning with my brother's court hearing happening so there's just this tense air between the four of us.

Poor Sarah has no idea what's happened, only that something has happened.

I can't think about that right now, not with John B's fate being decided right before my very eyes. I do find Sarah reaching for my hand, just as nervous as I am, and I take it carefully, needing some sort of reassurance that all this will resolve itself in due time── that my brother will find a way to get out of this.

I'm still waiting for the nightmare to be over.

The gavel being struck brings me to the reality── to the nightmare I'm trapped in. I stare forward, holding my breath as the judge begins to speak.

"John Booker Routledge, pursuant to the North Carolina statute section fourteen, you are charged with murder in the first degree with aggravated circumstances."

My eyes close, my teeth grind together, and I cling onto Sarah's hand as the judge finally says, "If convicted, the maximum sentence would be the death penalty."

I'm on my feet before anybody else is, and words are flying out of my mouth faster than I would've ever thought possible. "What? Are you kidding?" Several cops look in my direction, probably ready to fling themselves at me in case I do something stupid. I'm already on thin ice, so it's not wise of me to yell, but I can't help it.

JJ is standing next to me now, yelling towards the judge at the front. "Your Honour, he's seventeen years old. He didn't do anything!"

My seventeen-year-old brother is going to receive the death penalty for a crime he didn't commit all because the fucking police won't do their bastard jobs. If you thought I was mad yesterday, today I'm on the verge of throwing somebody out the fucking window.

I barge past Sarah, being the first to reach the front. I press myself against the gate, wanting to reach out and pull my brother to safety, but I'm stuck. "We're gonna figure it out!" I yell, catching his attention.

He looks back at me, and that look alone is enough to bring tears to my eyes. Never, in my seventeen years of life, has John B ever looked so defeated, so hopeless about everything. He's supposed to be the optimistic one, the one who strives to achieve the goal, but here, standing in the courtroom, I can see it in his eyes that he feels nothing but anguish.

"I'm sorry," I say, voice cracking.

I feel hands on my arms, and I know they aren't my friends. Just like yesterday, I have cops yanking me back and away from my brother. "Let go of her!" I feel somebody else grab me, this time bringing me immense comfort as I force myself to look away from John B.

Pope has a hold on my arm as he pulls me away. "Come on. It's okay." We walk ahead, moving to the doors so we can leave.

I feel eyes on me as I walk away. I can just imagine what people will say. The sister of a convicted murderer── I can see the headlines with my face splashed next to them. John B's name is already all over the news, and because nobody has any respect for anybody's privacy when you're labelled a murderer, my name was said on the news as I'm his sister, but I quickly switched off the radio as I didn't want to hear what was being said.

As it's a small island, everybody knows about the stunt that I pulled yesterday in honour of John B. I'm unsure if he knows, but he likely suspects that I did something.

I still don't regret it, not even when I woke up with searing pain in my knuckles that was cured by taking a couple of painkillers.

We step outside to already be bombarded by news reporters and townsfolk. Pope keeps a steady hand on my arm, refusing to let go, and I'm glad he's holding on. If he lets go, I think I'll either crumble or do something that will actually get me shoved in prison.

"Is this a joke? Like, are we in hell or...?" If we are in hell, then I can just imagine my father shaking his head in the dark, looming corner, baffled that his darling boy is being arrested. I can see him staring at me, silently insisting that I do something to get my brother out from behind that cell. Believe me, Dad. I'm trying.

"I should have never come home," Sarah utters, tears glistening her eyes.

"They're gonna kill him, guys. I know it."

I don't need a reminder that my brother, the one I aspired to be when I grew up, is going to be killed. How is it that he, out of all those ugly people I've witnessed throughout my life, be the one to be on death row? He shouldn't be waiting for death, not when he hasn't done a damn thing wrong.

I just need to prove it. I will prove it, not just for him or myself, but for the looming presence in the dark corner of Hell.

Pope's grip loosens so I take one shaky step down the stairs, fully intent on walking away and being done with this entire day. I'm not even two steps away when I hear something irritating talking a little too close to me.

"Thank God the system works."

I come to a standstill, knowing full well that I shouldn't draw attention to myself, not when I'm already in shit with the police, but how dare somebody utter those words about a seventeen-year-old boy who has been wrongfully convicted. I turn slowly, finding that voice to be attached to whoever is walking alongside Ward Cameron.

Oh, now it all makes perfect sense.

"Are you kidding me?" My voice is loud, loud enough to have everybody turning and stopping, including the cops who look damn well fed up with me. Even Ward turns to look at me, his steps faltering like he's surprised to hear that I have opened my mouth. I feel somebody touch my arm but I pull it away, staring straight ahead at the monster who caused all this by taking my father away.

He's sitting there, looming in the darkest corner, watching as I glare over at Ward Cameron. Silently, he's pushing me towards him, insisting I don't let him get away without parting words.

"Of course you think the system worked because it was made to protect you and people like you." I jab my finger over in his direction, anger bubbling at the base of my spine, shooting up and burning my skin.

"He'll have his day in court. A jury will decide."

"That's my seventeen year old brother!" My voice breaks, but I don't show any weakness. Don't be weak. Don't let them see you weak, Brooke. My breathing deepens as I attempt to suppress the frustration seeping into my skin. "He shouldn't even be in court. You should, 'cause you're a murderer." I take another step forward, as do my friends and the police all while Ward attempts to walk away with his wife. "You have a lot of nerve showing up to court."

"I know you're upset," he says over his shoulder, not meeting my eyes directly. "I understand you're upset, okay?"

A manic laugh pours out of me. "Upset?"

"I know he's got you fooled. He's got you all fooled."

"Fuck you!" I don't get far. Instead I get pulled back by the police because, of course, I'm not supposed to be making a scene. You have a voice, Brooklyn. Use it. The looming presence in the corner becomes more prominent, forcing me to shout out, "You killed my father! You will not get my brother killed too!"

I'm forced away from Ward who is starting to walk away with his wife. I fight, my body squirming to get out of the hold of the officer, but he pushes me back to my friends. "Get off her!" Sarah grabs ahold of my arm, pulling me away from the cop.

JJ steps in front of me, holding his arm out protectively. "Muzzle your goddamned dog!" JJ looks over at the Kooks who are still watching. Some even have phones out, recording the damn thing. Well, I'm gonna be the talk of the town.

"You wanna get arrested?" Shoupe jabs a finger in my direction. "You're on thin ice, Brooklyn."

Don't just stand there. Fight, Brooke. Fight!

I squeeze my eyes shut, letting myself be pulled back by Sarah and JJ. I overhear one of the cops talking to Ward, apologising for my erratic behaviour like I'm some kind of wild animal who needs to be controlled. "Sorry, you shouldn't be going through this. Have a good night."

You're weak, Brooklyn. Just standing there, not saying anything. Not doing anything. Fight!

"Shut up," I mutter into my hands, trying my best to look away from the mess I've created.

"It's not a coincidence that your daughter's sitting with us." I open my eyes, finding those words came from Kiara's mouth. She then backs away, hand sliding against my arm as we're forced to move away. I notice JJ disappeared as he moves away from me, walking ahead.

Despite being pulled away, that presence in the corner from Hell doesn't fade. No, it's just there, following behind me as I walk away.

I don't think it ever truly left.

──────────────────────────

𝖶𝖤'𝖱𝖤 𝖠𝖳 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖠𝖴，𝖳𝖱𝖸𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖳𝖮 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖪 𝖮𝖴𝖳 𝖠 𝖦𝖠𝖬𝖤 𝖯𝖫𝖠𝖭 𝖳𝖮 𝖧𝖤𝖫𝖯 𝖩𝖮𝖧𝖭 𝖡．I've just been sitting, staring at the dark, ominous figure that lurks in my peripheral that's telling me to get up, go out there and fight.

I feel like crying. I feel like sleeping. I feel like taking a crazy long shower. I feel so many things right now, but I haven't moved from this chair on the porch. Sarah sits in the house, tapping away at her phone helplessly. Kiara sits next to me with Pope and JJ standing before us.

It's tense between us. Really tense.

My hands itch against the material of my shorts. Part of me wants to draw, sketch out my feelings on paper so it makes more sense to me. I want to draw, more than I've ever wanted to draw in my life, because an image is forcing itself into my head, desperate for me to use my hands and create an image.

You can't draw away your problems, Brooke. That's not real life.

I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away── pushing the memories away. My hands keep dragging against my shorts, burning my fingertips as I press down, checking I'm still very much here, sitting with my friends.

The rain patters loudly, and every part of me wants to just run out there and lay in the rain. It sounds crazy, yes, but it also sounds like the most therapeutic thing to do right now in the midst of everything that's happened.

"I'm gonna testify under oath." I press my fingers against my temple as I look behind me at Sarah. "I was there. I just need to get a hold of my sister." She's tapping away furiously at her phone, obviously desperate at this point.

"Sister?"

"Kie, do you have your phone?" Kiara hands off her phone to Sarah. "Wheezie is the only other person who knows Rafe wasn't home that day."

"Wheezie?"

"That's her sister," I utter, but nobody hears me.

You're his sister, Brooke. You're supposed to help him, you fool.

The fingers against my head move, instead digging into the base of my skull. I don't have my usual ponytail in── I don't know why── so my fingers are able to grasp at something just so I can feel the slight sting that brings me right back to the reality I'm in.

"I don't know what else to do. I got us into this mess. I'm gonna do my best to get us out." She presses the phone to her ear, hoping to get in contact with her sister. I hope she can get in contact with Wheezie, it could help.

It might not.

JJ scoffs, pulling the cap off his head in frustration. "Wheezie? Yeah, that will work." He sighs, his head shaking. "Well, she's right. We have to do something. Our boy is a PO-dub right now, okay? He's held captive by the enemy right now, maybe even scheduled for execution. Are we just gonna sit here?"

"What's your plan? We kidnap Shoupe?"

"Maybe, like, that's not the worst idea actually." My head falls forward, hitting my hands because that might be the most ridiculous thing he's ever said. Sure, I hate Shoupe, but kidnapping him will not solve a damn problem.

"Oh, it's not?"

"That is actually the worst idea I've ever heard," Pope says, leaning back against the wood post.

"It's pretty bad," Sarah speaks up from inside the Chateau, the phone still pressed to her ear.

"You know what? Please, just stay out of this." JJ turns to face Pope, looking away from me and Kiara. "Okay, Pope, look, we've been doing everything your way, and how has that been working out?"

"Okay, okay, so what's your plan?" Pope steps up to him. "You gonna storm a jail, guns a-blazing?"

Everything is so tense between everyone── Pope and JJ included.

"Look, Pope, all I'm trying to get you to understand is they got our boy." I lift my head just as JJ's eyes meet mine, and I find that those eyes of his don't shine with the same blaze as they did before. He looks mad at me, but I guess I can't really blame him. "What are you doing?"

My head rears back. "What?"

"Are you just gonna sit here and do nothing?" I open my mouth to argue with him, but he's talking again. "Are we just gonna sit here and do nothing? No! We're gonna go get his ass. We're gonna do something about it!"

I rise to my feet, sighing loudly. "JJ, we're not storming a jail."

At least he's doing something, Brooke.

I suck in a sharp breath as JJ steps over to me, glaring down at me. I've never seen him look at me like this, and that feeling of upset crawls its way up my throat, ready to make an appearance. "You know what, that's fine, Brooke. Sit in your comfy chair. Do nothing." His eyes flicker from me, moving to Pope and Kiara. "I'm gonna see what I can do. Make something happen..." His eyes find mine again, a horrid mix of blue and brown this time that would not look good on a canvas. "...even if I have to do it by myself."

And then he's walking off, heading straight into the rain.

Look at you, losing all the people you love in one fell swoop. Congratulations.

I let out a frustrated groan, pushing myself forward to run after him. "Brooke, just──" I don't hear the rest of what Kiara has to say, I just follow after him desperately, wanting to talk to him before he storms off.

"JJ!" He keeps walking, heading for his motorcycle. The rain is hammering down, but it's oddly relaxing, I can't explain it. I force myself to pick up my feet, moving faster. "JJ!"

He stops suddenly, and my front nearly crashes right into his back. He spins around fast, now facing me with a tick in his jaw and a glare in his eye. Never, in the nearly nine years I've known him has JJ ever looked at me in such a way, it's... heartbreaking.

"What, Brooke? What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you."

"We don't have time." He begins to back away, but I reach out and snatch his hand, fingers pressing into his in hopeless desperation of keeping him here with me. "Brooke."

"JJ, please." I can't have things be tense between us, not after all we've been through to get to this stage of us.

"I gotta get going. I'm gonna go visit John B."

"I would come with you but..."

"You can't," he breathes out, and I nod. I wish I could visit him, but because of this stupid fine I have to pay off, I'm not allowed to go to the prison. It's such bullshit, in my opinion, but whatever. "Look, how about we just talk when I get back later."

"Yeah, but JJ, I'm sorry." I step towards him, but I find that he steps back. That single step away hurts me more than I wish. "I-I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry you had to see that, and I'm sorry Pope had to see that, you know, because he really likes Kiara and──"

"What, and I don't really like you?"

"No, I'm not saying that, I just──"

"Not even twenty-four hours had passed, Brooke." I swallow the upset crawling up my throat, ready to unleash. "What happened between us── did it mean nothing to you?"

"Of course it meant something to me, JJ."

"Then why, not even twenty-four hours later were you kissing somebody else in the exact same place?" I've hurt him, more than I ever thought I could, but I don't want to cry in front of him, not when I know he's likely too mad to even look at me. I've hurt him.

"I'm sorry. I──"

"I can't talk about this now." He takes his hand back, moving away from me, but every part of me wants to reach out for him again. "We can talk later, okay?"

"JJ──"

"I said we can talk later, Brooke. I gotta go."

I don't fight him this time, not when he really is insistent on going. I just let him turn away from me and walk off. I stand there, letting the rain come down on me as he speeds off on his motorcycle, not even sparing me another glance. I feel something warm and wet against my cheek, but I choose to believe it's just the rain even though I know damn well it's not.

I'm a horrible person, aren't I?

Yes, Brooke. Yes, you are.

I love JJ. I've loved him for eight years, and I've ended up hurting him. I never wanted to be that person── that horrible, selfish person who wrecks something as good as this, as good as me and JJ.

You ruin everything.

"Yeah. I guess I do."

I cast a single glance over my shoulder, finding Kiara and Pope to be staring in my direction. I don't want to turn back to them, not when I desperately need to be alone right now.

So I walk away, and don't stop walking until I'm gone.

──────────────────────────

𝖬𝖸 𝖸𝖮𝖴𝖭𝖦𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝖬𝖤𝖬𝖮𝖱𝖨𝖤𝖲 𝖲𝖧𝖮𝖶 𝖬𝖤 𝖣𝖱𝖠𝖶𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖨𝖭 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖲𝖠𝖭𝖣．John B and Dad would always venture out to the water, but I always hung back just so I could draw in the sand. Dad would often try to drag me out, insisting that I needed to spend more time with him and John B, but back then, all I really had a love for was drawing.

I still do. It's the only thing that's been consistently in my life for the past seventeen years. Art has always acted as a guidance, as a barrier, and as lame as it sounds, art has acted as a friend. It's been there through the high points of my life as well as the low points. My art speaks volumes, talking so I don't have to, and I always liked that art spoke for me.

In times where I felt like this── utterly helpless, depressed and lonely── I turn to art, hoping it'll not only speak to those around me, but to myself. With it there, acting as my guidepost, I'm able to figure out what it is that I need to do.

I never went into the water with Dad and John B because, as a little girl, I'd talk back at my art. After drawing something, whether it was in the sand or on paper, I'd speak to the shapes and colours and lines as if it were talking right back at me. In more ways than one, my art was talking back at me, but that was never understood by those who know me.

Dad never understood my love for art, often believing I inherited my natural artistic ability from my mother who we don't discuss, not when she skipped out on us when John B and I were three. According to Dad, until me, nobody in the Routledge lineage adored art in the way that I do. For the Routledges, it was all about fishing and sport and work. Knowing I'm the first artist to be birthed into this family makes me feel special in a strange kind of way, I can't explain it.

I just like having something that is only mine.

Art is mine. It's all mine.

Although, I have often wondered that when── if── I have a child, I could pass on my artistic knowledge, teaching my child how to grow and talk to the art as if it were a friend. I like the idea of passing on all that I know and love about art to somebody as nobody was able to pass that talent on to me. It was born with me. I created it. Anyway, if I don't end up having a child, then maybe I can pass on my skills to a niece or a nephew because I do think they will come first── no pressure, John B.

Today, unsurprisingly, my art is sad. It's large and bold and depressed, and some of the water from the tide has wiped away parts of the piece I've been drawing, but it's no big deal, these things happen, right? Well, it does if you draw in the freaking sand.

This is why I hate the water. It ruins my art.

I've been sitting at the Boneyard for a couple hours now, just sitting and watching the water while drawing mindlessly in the sand. The sun has set, and while I would've loved to watch the sunset with... somebody── I'll leave you to guess who── I ended up watching it alone which, in a way, was quite nice honestly.

I still wish that somebody could be here, that somebody could sit with me and──

I hear shuffling behind me, stealing all my attention. I shoot a look over my shoulder, and I rush to stand on my feet as I come face to face with somebody I never expected to be near── not since the death of Peterkin.

I feel my heart sink to the floor because, naturally, that's what it does when I'm staring at him── the guy who took Peterkin from this world and pushed my brother into prison.

"Rafe." My voice shakes, exposing my fear.

He drags a hand across his face. "I-I didn't know that you── that y-you were here."

"Well, w-why..." I suck in a sharp breath, my chest tightening. "Of course you didn't know. I-I, uh, I'm here." I lift my arms, forcing a smile to my lips. I have no idea what I'm doing nor do I have any idea what I'm saying. I'm completely insane.

No. No, he is insane.

Hello, he killed Peterkin. I can't stand here with him, laughing and smiling awkwardly. I can't just talk to him. He's... a murderer. I'm talking with a murderer. What is wrong with me?

Don't be weak, Brooke. Fight!

"I-I'll go." I take a step back, fully intent on leaving.

"No." My eyes flare in surprise. He doesn't want me to leave? Rafe then steps forward, catching me off guard. I instantly step back, not wanting him anywhere near me because, you know, he's a murderer, thank you. "Y-You don't have to go. I-I just, uh, wanted to, um..." My eyes flicker from his face to his hands, seeing that the sleeves of his jacket are soaking wet.

The rain has since disappeared, so there's no logical reason why his clothes would be soaked. I quickly bring my eyes back to his face, afraid of the answer to why his clothes are wet.

"No, I should..."

"Don't." His voice has a slight edge to it, but he still sounds... defeated, in a way. "J-Just sit back down, alright?"

Rafe moves, stepping past me. I once again move as he passes by me, entirely ignoring my presence as he takes a seat in the sand, sitting right next to my art. I look over at him, my entire body tense and paralysed with fear. He's sitting there, acting like nothing just happened── like we can just sit and ignore all the problems that he and his father have caused.

But then again, I'm the insane one because I listen to him. I sit down, sitting a safe distance away but it can be argued that I'm sitting too close. He's a killer. He's not okay, but I'm the one who's sitting next to him, so if my body washes up, it'll be my fault.

I'm sitting next to the reason my brother is in prison.

What would he think?

He'd be disappointed in you.

I close my eyes, minimising the dark presence that's been ruining my day. I then suck in a small breath before exhaling. I do this several times, breathing carefully while a killer sits next to me, staring out to the water. As I sit and focus on breathing steadily, I wonder if Rafe comes here often, if he comes here just to sit, and he was unfortunate to run into me── somebody who has been ordered to stay away from him.

Why am I wondering what Rafe does? I shouldn't care, not in any kind of way, but I can't help but question if he has a... friend, guide, a barrier like I do with art. I mean, can the darkest minds on this island have that? A safe space? I just can't help but wonder.

My breathing levels out and the tightness in my chest is all but gone when he decides to open his mouth, speaking slowly and methodically like he's almost... afraid to say the wrong thing, if that makes sense.

"I-I did what I had to do." He's still staring out to the water, and I'm staring right at him. Without his eyes on me, I feel a little more relaxed. Sure, his presence isn't exactly welcoming, but at least he's not looking directly at me. "There was a problem, and I-I fixed it."

I don't say anything, I just keep looking at him as he speaks, his voice stuttering over particular words. He seems anxious or high, one or the other. Regardless, this side of him seems vulnerable, like he's easy to crack open, but if I pry in any kind of way, I still fear he could, and will, snap.

"She was going to..." He swallows. "...kill him." I know what he's talking about. He's talking about how Peterkin was going to shoot Ward, so that led to him shooting Peterkin. I know the story, I don't know why he's repeating it to me like I didn't hear about it from his sister and John B.

His eyes then meet mine, and all that air rushes out from my lungs, leaving me to suffocate because, until now, I was just fine to sit here in silence. I had worked on breathing and my heart had stopped beating outside my chest, but now he's looking right at me, blue eyes meeting my brown ones in the darkness.

I could just take my eyes off his, but there's something there── something sad and raw and exposed. I can't explain it, but I'm trying to read what his eyes say, much like how I attempt to read my art as I draw it out. In a sick, confusing way, Rafe sitting before me is like a piece of art I'm trying to talk to, but it's almost impossible to do so. He is impossible to work out.

"I-I was doing the right thing." My breathing quickens as he keeps his eyes on mine. "I-I couldn't let h-her kill... my dad, Brooke. I──" I force my eyes and head to turn the other way because there's something about hearing my name come from his mouth that has me feeling truly sick to my stomach.

I hear him sigh. "You can't look at me."

"Y-You killed her," I choke out, hating myself for feeling weak right now. My eyes shut, squeezing tightly to erase that nagging presence in the corner of my mind that's saying, you're weak, Brooke. Get a grip. "You killed her," I repeat, speaking clearly.

I then turn back, facing him again, our eyes meeting. "My brother is in prison because of you." Perhaps it's not a good idea to provoke him, but something tells me that he isn't here to hurt me.

You're stupid, Brooke. Too forgiving.

I swallow the words biting at the inside of my head, refusing to let it dictate how I decide to approach this. "H-He didn't do it, Rafe. You did."

"I-I know." He breathes out a laugh. "B-But I-I had to, okay? H-He's my dad. He's f-family."

"I get it." The words fly out of my mouth before I can drag them back in, and Rafe's eyes flare slightly, obviously not expecting me to say that. If I'm being entirely honest, I didn't expect myself to say that, but I'm not lying. I do get it. I do understand it even if I don't want to.

He remains silent, so I let myself talk, and for some odd reason, the words come out easily like I'm sitting here talking to a friend and not... him. "John B was Dad's favourite," I begin, bringing my eyes back to the water before me. If I close my eyes, not only can I see that stupid presence in the corner, I can see John B and Dad in the water, splashing around, laughing, and having fun.

Without me.

"John B did all the right things." I exhale a shaky breath, chin pressing into my knees that I've pulled up to my chest. "H-He did the sports. H-He fished. He loved history. He was the..." I feel a tear slide down my cheek, and I would wipe it, but I don't bother. "He was the favourite."

Much like Sarah is Ward's favourite, I think, but I don't voice it. I know Rafe is thinking that already as he listens to me.

"I would've done anything for my dad's attention. I wanted him to recognise me for me, but he only saw my brother." A few more tears trickle down, exposing me to somebody who should never see this side of me. "Don't get me wrong, I-I was loved. I-I was, but I was never recognised."

I look back to Rafe, finding that he's just sitting there, listening to me closely. I can't believe he's actually just listening, not saying a damn word. I never imagined I'd be discussing anything like this with anyone, never mind Rafe.

"I draw," I tell him, looking to the indents in the sand that have been made by my finger. "I draw because I find it easier than talking sometimes, and Dad never understood that. He, uh..." I force out a laugh because I hate being reminded of this. "He thought I was weak."

I heard him say it several times. He never said that word directly, but with how he pushed and prodded at me my entire life, I knew what he thought of me from a young age. He thought I wasn't strong enough to be a Routledge── to be as strong as John B and he were.

"I worked so hard to prove that I wasn't that, that when I finally felt... strong, he disappeared." I sniffle, dragging my hand across my cheek. "I-I wanted to be strong so he'd see me── so he'd recognise me, a-and love me as much as John B. I-I wanted to be the favourite just once." My voice cracks as I bring my eyes away from him, already feeling as if I've said too much.

"So I get it, Rafe." I keep my eyes on the water, choosing to cry to myself now. "I get being loyal to family, I do. I get wanting to impress somebody so badly that it kills you in the process, but Rafe..." I turn my head, our eyes clashing once again, cold meeting warmth. "He's your dad. He should recognise you already because you're his son── his firstborn. He should see you, Rafe. You shouldn't have to do all this to get his attention."

"Y-You don't──"

"I do." I sit up, turning my body to face him. "You want to be the favourite. You want to be the one he turns to. You want to be the one who is recognised, I get it, but if he doesn't already see you for you── however that may be── then he was never going to recognise you, Rafe."

What the fuck am I saying? Why am I here, confiding in a murderer who could very well kill me in a heartbeat if he decides to. For some odd reason, while he's not a good person, I don't feel unsafe in his presence. I feel this strange sense of calm talking to him, knowing that he's partly listened to what I've said.

"Don't do all this for him. He is not worth it."

"Shut up." He doesn't say it loudly or even in a harsh way, but I don't stop talking because the words just seem to pour out of me while in his presence, and that's dangerous.

"You've made mistakes, Rafe, but you can do the right thing."

He shakes his head. "No. N-No, you don't──"

"I need my brother, Rafe. He's the only family I've got left. He didn't do this."

He stands, and I find myself standing with him. At this point, I'm just begging him to kill me, but I can't seem to stop myself from talking. I can't stop myself from fighting for what's right in my mind, even if it means putting my life on the line in the process. "You can do the right thing. Y-You can turn yourself in. You can──"

"Stop, Brooke." He tugs at the hair on his head, frustrated as he steps away from me, but I step towards him rather than away. I'm trying to get under his skin, prying at him, waiting until he snaps because I know he's going to, but I still don't feel as if he's going to hurt me, I have no idea why.

"Your father started this, Rafe. H-He killed my father. He──"

Rafe spins around so fast that I don't see it coming, and his hands grasp my wrists tightly, pulling a shriek out of me. I'm yanked forward, much closer to him than before. He stares down at me, eyes cold and narrowed. His eyes contrast with the warmth in mine, I find, but in art, that's considered beautiful and rare. As always, I think with my art, not with my actual brain because look at where I am.

Trapped in the hands of a killer.

His chest heaves, matching the pace of his rapid breathing as he tightens his hold on my wrists, preventing me from moving. I feel paralysed as I stare up at him, trying my hardest not to let my fear seep out of me.

"You don't know anything."

"I-I do. I get it, Rafe, h-he's your family, but..." I utter, voice shaking. "...but why did you have to take my family from me?" A sob catches in my throat, exposing more of my vulnerability, and Rafe's fingers dig into my wrists, hurting me to a point where I feel like screaming out for help, but I suppress, still holding out hope that he won't kill me right now for all I've said.

He shakes his head. "Y-You don't get it."

He has no idea how much I get it, and he can deny it all he wants, but I do understand in the strangest way.

His grip on my wrists loosens, allowing me to take a step back and away from him. He doesn't fight me nor does he move to attack me. He just looks away, giving me my one and only chance to escape him, and I do.

I don't hesitate. I move away from him, quickening my pace as I walk by him, sobs and cries pouring out of me as I break out into a run, desperate to get away from him because regardless of what I've discussed with him, I hate him. I can never forgive him for what he did.

I hate Rafe Cameron, and what I hate more is that I understand his pain.

──────────────────────────

❀ soph speaks

idk why i chose to have brooke & rafe talk, but it was fun to explore a new friendship?? that might be the wrong word to describe them lol

anyway, rafe has done a LOT wrong, but i loved him in season four

no, rafe and brooke will NOT have a thing, but you may see a future friendship if he sorts himself out a little . . .

i now wanna write a rafe fanfic, i just don't know HOW or what plot i'd use

anyway, hope you enjoyed!!