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Rafe Cameron had known something was wrong with him ever since he was ten years old. It was after his mother died, and things began to shift inside him in ways he didn't understand.

His mother was the only person who truly loved him, or at least that's how it felt. She had been the only person in the world who seemed to truly see him. He remembered the way she used to hold him close, smoothing down his hair and whispering the sweetest of words that now became foreign to him. But after she died, that sense of safety disappeared with her.

His father, Ward Cameron, didn't have the same warmth. Ward always seemed distant, hard to please, his disappointment in Rafe constantly lingering in the air. He made it clear—Sarah was the golden child. Even as a kid, Rafe felt the sting of favouritism. It wasn't that Ward outright said it, but he didn't have to. The way he smiled at Sarah, how he listened to her, how he proudly introduced her to anyone who came around—Rafe saw it all.

At first, it was subtle. A whisper here, a nagging thought there. Something wasn't right. Something was wrong with him, something deep inside. By the time he grew older, those thoughts grew louder. He started hearing things—his own voice, but twisted, dark, telling him things he didn't understand, telling him he didn't belong, that no one loved him, not even his father. It scared him. How dark his thoughts had grown. He didn't know how to control it, and he never dared to tell anyone.

Now, years later, Rafe stood in his room, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. His heart raced, hands trembling as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He had just come from another fight with Ward, another reminder that he was a disappointment, not good enough, not responsible. Ward's words echoed in his head, sharp and cutting like they always did:

"You're a failure, Rafe. You can't do anything right."

"Shut up," Rafe muttered to himself, running his hands through his hair. He could hear the thoughts again, louder now, feeding off the anger and frustration. "Shut up, shut up, shut up." He hated how weak he felt, how desperate he was for his father's approval. But it was never enough. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, Ward would always see him as a failure. Sarah was the one who had it all together.

Rafe was just... broken.

He muttered to himself, his voice low and unsteady. "Not good enough... I'm never good enough." He stopped suddenly, gripping his hair as if to quiet the storm brewing in his head. The voices were louder now, clearer. They echoed Ward's words but twisted them into something even darker.

"You're not responsible, Rafe. You're a disappointment to this family."

He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "Shut up!" he shouted, but the room was silent except for the sound of his own breathing. The voices were inside him, and no matter how much he yelled, they wouldn't go away.

His chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. He was spiraling, losing control. His mind felt like a battlefield, torn between anger and despair. A part of him wanted to prove his dad wrong, to show him that he could be the man Ward always expected him to be. But the other part, the part that was louder tonight, told him he would never escape the shadow of his father's disappointment.

It told him he was broken, beyond fixing.

He began pacing again, faster this time. "I'm not a failure. I'm not. I can do this," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince—himself or the voices.

But deep down, the doubt was creeping in. What if his dad was right? What if he was just a screw-up, destined to ruin everything he touched?

Rafe stopped again, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The person staring back at him didn't look like someone who had it together. His eyes were wild and bloodshot from sleepless nights and pent-up frustration. He barely recognised himself anymore.

"I need to get out of here," he muttered, grabbing his jacket from the chair. He needed air, space to think, to clear his head.

But as he stormed out of the room, the voices followed him, somewhere in the back of his mind, the fear that he might never escape them lingered, gnawing at him.

No one saw him for who he really was. Not his father. Not anyone.

He just wanted to be loved.

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Rafe sped down the empty road, the roar of his motorcycle filling the silence around him. The wind whipped at his face, stinging his eyes, but he didn't care. He needed this—the speed, the noise, anything to drown out the thoughts racing through his mind.

You'll always be a disappointment.

He clenched the handlebars tighter, pushing the bike harder, faster, as if he could outrun the storm inside him. But no matter how fast he went, the voice followed, nagging at him, tearing at whatever was left of his confidence. There was no escaping it, not really.

Eventually, without even thinking about it, Rafe found himself driving through the quiet streets of Figure Eight, the familiar roads that led him to the place he'd been trying not to think about.

Imani's house.

It had been weeks since he last visited, and even then, when he was around her, it had only been in passing, a glimpse of her smile as she joked with her sister or friends.

Rafe hadn't been able to look away. He never could, when it came to her.

As he approached her street, his bike slowed, the noise of the engine dying down as he coasted to a stop just a few houses down. He didn't know why he'd come here. He hadn't planned to, but somehow, he always ended up near her. Like she was the only thing in his life that made any sense, the one thing that wasn't tainted by the darkness he carried around.

Rafe cut the engine and stared up at Imani's house. Her balcony, the one just off her room, was dimly lit, a soft glow spilling through the curtains. He could imagine her inside, maybe sitting by the window, painting or sketching. A part of him wanted to see her, to hear her voice, even if it was just for a moment.

She had this way of making him forget, of silencing the storm in his head, even if only for a little while.

But as he sat there, staring up at her balcony, the thoughts returned, sharper, louder.

You don't deserve her. You'll ruin her, just like you ruin everything else. You're no good for her, Rafe. She'll hate you, just like everyone else.

He swallowed hard, his chest tightening as the words sank in. He didn't deserve her. He knew that. Imani was good—too good. She had a life ahead of her, a future. And him? He was stuck. A disappointment to his family, to his father. He was a mess, barely holding it together, and the last thing he wanted was to drag her down with him.

Still, he couldn't stop thinking about her. The way she looked at him sometimes, like she saw something in him that no one else did. It scared him, how much he wanted her to be right, how much he wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as broken as he felt. But the voice in his head wouldn't let him believe that. Not for long.

You'll hurt her. You'll break her heart. She deserves better.

Rafe closed his eyes, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the handlebars. He tried to push the thoughts away, to focus on the sound of the wind or the distant crash of the waves. But the voice was relentless, always there, reminding him of every mistake, every failure. He didn't know how to make it stop.

A light flickered on inside the house, and Rafe looked up again. His heart pounded in his chest as he saw movement behind the curtains. For a brief moment, he thought about going to her, about telling her everything what was going on inside his head. Maybe she'd understand. Maybe she'd know how to help him, how to quiet the noise.

So, he found himself stood at the front yard, looking up at her balcony. His heart raced, his mind torn between the urge to leave and the need to see her, but the pull toward her was too strong to resist. He couldn't get her out of his head—couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, she made everything better inside him.

With a deep breath, he made his decision. He was pulling himself up onto the balcony, and when he saw the door slightly ajar, he shook his head. He'd told her to lock it every night, warned her about how easy it was for anyone to slip inside.

But Imani never listened.

He pushed the door open gently, slipping into the room. It was dark, save for the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting a silvery light over the space. The room smelled like her—sweet and warm—and for a moment, it soothed him.

Rafe's eyes found her, curled up in her bed, asleep. Her dark curls spilled across the pillow, her chest rising and falling with each slow, peaceful breath. For a second, everything went quiet. The noise in his head, the voices telling him he was no good, all of it faded. It was just her. Just Imani, sleeping, untouched by the chaos that seemed to cling to him.

He moved closer, his footsteps silent against the floor, and sat down on the edge of her bed. His heart ached at how beautiful and peaceful she looked, like something he didn't deserve to touch. But he couldn't help himself. He reached out and gently stroked her cheek, his thumb brushing against her soft skin.

Imani stirred, her eyes slowly fluttering open, and when she saw him, a lazy smile curved on her lips. "Rafe..." she murmured, her voice soft and drowsy.

He gave her a small, crooked smile. "You didn't lock your balcony," he said quietly, shaking his head. "Like I told you to."

She sighed softly, her smile widening just a bit. "I was waiting for my stalker to come."

Rafe chuckled, playing along. "You sure that's a good idea?" he teased, his voice low. "What if he's dangerous?"

"I think he has a thing for me," she laughed quietly. "He might be obsessed with me."

Rafe swallowed hard, his jaw tightening for just a moment as he pressed his lips into a thin line. Oh, you have no idea, baby.

"What if he wants to hurt you?" He said, his tone still light enough to pass as a joke, but there was something beneath it—something darker, something real. He wanted to see how she'd react, wanted to know if she'd laugh it off or if she'd sense the weight behind his words.

Her gaze softened, her voice quiet but sure. "He won't."

His heart clenched at her confidence, the way she said it without a trace of doubt. He looked at her, searching for something—anything—that might show a crack in that certainty. "How are you so sure?" he asked, his voice a little rough, betraying the uncertainty he tried to hide.

Imani shrugged sleepily, her eyes half-closed. "Because he could have hurt me the moment we spoke," she murmured, her words slurring slightly with exhaustion.

"Good," he forced a smile. "Or else, I would have to hurt him myself, if he did."

Imani let out a sleepy laugh, her hand lifting to touch his cheek, her fingers tracing his jawline with a feather-light touch. The moment her skin met his, Rafe felt that familiar calm wash over him. Her touch, simple as it was, always brought him back. Like she had the power to quiet the chaos, to pull him from the edge of the storm that constantly raged inside him.

"Why are you here so late at night, Rafe?"

He hesitated for a moment, unsure how to answer. Part of him wanted to spill everything, to tell her about the fight with his dad, the voices in his head that wouldn't leave him alone. But instead, he gave her a grin, deciding to play it off. "I came to make sure you weren't waiting for anyone else," he said with a smirk. "Wouldn't want to find someone else sneaking onto your balcony."

Imani smiled again, that lazy, sleepy grin that made his chest tighten in the best way. "Oh, just you," she murmured. "You're the only stalker I allow."

Rafe couldn't help but laugh softly, shaking his head. "You should really be more careful though, baby," he said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

She tilted her head slightly, her fingers still tracing his jaw. "I knew you'd come."

Her words sank into him, and for a brief moment, he didn't know what to say. And right now, sitting on the edge of her bed, watching the way she looked at him like he wasn't a disaster, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: safe.

Imani's touch lingered on his cheek, her fingers light but steady, grounding him in a way nothing else could. "So," she murmured, her voice soft but curious, "why did you really come?"

Rafe smirked, leaning in slightly, his tone teasing but warm. "Maybe I thought it was Cynthia's Davis house'," he said, his eyes locked on hers.

Imani raised an eyebrow, a glare in her tired eyes. "Maybe you should piss off then."

Rafe chuckled softly, holding her wrist and kissing the inner part, multiple times. "You're the only girl I think about."

"I best be."

There was a beat of silence until Rafe's voice was soft, almost hesitant. "I want to stay with you tonight."

"Is that a question or...?"

Rafe smiled faintly, his eyes locked on hers. "I'm staying tonight."

Without a word, Imani shifted slightly to the other side of the bed, making room for him, her movement clear in its meaning. She wanted him there.

"Outdoor clothes don't go under the covers," she murmured

He chuckled softly, standing up and beginning to undress, feeling her eyes on him the entire time. He peeled off his shirt, kicked off his jeans, until he was left in just his boxers. He slipped into bed beside her, feeling the warmth of her body.

Imani shifted closer, reaching out and grabbing his arm, pulling it around her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Rafe felt his heart soften, smiling at her confidence and how easily she showed what she wanted. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer, her back pressed against his chest. She fit perfectly against him, and for the first time that day, Rafe felt like he could actually breathe.

"If you snore," Imani teased, her voice sleepy but playful, "I'm kicking you out."

Rafe chuckled under his breath. "I heard you snoring the moment I entered the room."

She playfully elbowed him in the side before moving away slightly, but Rafe wasn't having it. He dragged her right back into his arms, holding her even closer.

"Rafe!" she protested with a whisper, but a giggle escaped her lips.

He smirked, resting his chin on the top of her head. "You're not going anywhere."

Just as Imani began to drift off, her voice broke the quiet, soft and full of concern. "Rafe... are you okay?"

That was the first time anyone had asked him that.

Rafe hesitated for a moment, staring down at her as she lay in his arms. He wanted to tell her the truth, to let her in, but the words caught in his throat. "Yeah," he finally said, his voice quiet but steady. "I'm okay."

Her eyes fluttered open just a bit, and she reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You can always talk to me, you know. I'm known to be a good listener."

Rafe smiled at that, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. There was something about the way she said it, so sincere and full of care, that made him feel safe. But even though her offer was there, he couldn't seem to bring himself to speak about the struggle raging inside him. The voices, the pressure, the weight of being the person he was. It all felt too heavy, too dark to share with someone as bright as her.

So instead, he just listened. He listened to her breathing, slow and soft, as she drifted back to sleep. He focused on the steady rhythm of it, letting it calm him, letting it drown out the noise in his head.

The voices in his head were quieter now, almost silent. Here, with her in his arms, everything felt... right.

And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to just be still. To let the quiet moments with her be enough.

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author's note:

- it's a short chapter today but i wanted to show a glimpse through Rafe's pov, and also how he feels around Imani.

- don't forget to vote and comment on every chapter to help me give motivation to update more!