"it's only us, it's all so cold
and i am a fool."
— thomas reid

BEING LOVED BY YOU

ERIN HAD TOSSED AND TURNED until 6am the next morning, thinking about what she would say to Rafe when she eventually did decide to speak to him. Or what she would do, for a lack of a better word.

She had wracked over it over one hundred times, there were only two options really. To give it another chance, or cut all ties before she gets wrapped up in his bubble again. That intoxicating bubble.

She had fallen asleep before she came up with an answer.

She had woken only two hours later with a small groan, wondering if the voices she could hear outside the bedroom door despite the early hours of the morning were just a figment of the pounding headache she was carrying.

It was John B, and a voice she couldn't quite put her finger on. She seemed adamant about something, the blonde sitting up just to hear their conversation better.

"A body was found in the marsh yesterday, were you in the marsh yesterday?"

She frowns at that, throwing the duvet from her legs, unable to help herself from eavesdropping.

"Yeah we were fishing for some drum."

"You catch anything?"

"Nah, we were skunked."

"Strange. Fishing's usually good after a storm all sorts of things get stirred up."

Her eyes travelled curiously out of the window, sighing when they land on the blue and white car she had seen outside the chateau too many times to count on one hand, two and two immediately together at exactly who the mystery woman was standing in the Routledge boy's kitchen.

She only allowed her feet to touch the wooden floor at the sound of an engine restarting outside, and peering out of her door, she catches a glimpse of him, a heavy sigh leaving her lips watching him throw a can of empty beer in frustration, burying his head in his hands.

     It seemed the Maybank siblings both had a knack for eavesdropping, because the sound of her brother's voice echoing through the hall she was standing made her jump slightly.

She couldn't help but glare when he passed by her in the doorframe, she forgot she was mad at him.

Mad wasn't even the word.

"What she want, man?" JJ mutters.

"Foster care, mainland, the usual," he grumbles.

"You're not going to the mainland John B— we'll figure it out," she shrugs, sending him a sympathetic smile that he could only try to reciprocate. He was grateful for her, how she was always there to look out for him— one of the only lights in a house filled with now poisoned memories.

After letting the Routledge boy relish in his own thoughts for a few minutes, and trying to ignore JJ who was lingering around her like a leech, sensing the irritation radiating off the girl like he was a dog; Erin decided finding something to eat was her way forward.

"So you guys were in the marsh yesterday?" she questions nonchalantly.

The panic in her brothers eyes was evident, making her narrow her eyes at him. "What— who told you that? No," missing the way John B pinched the bridge of his nose at his terrible attempt of a lie.

"Then why'd you tell Peterkin you went fishing in the marsh," she trails, pointing her finger accusingly at the Routledge boy.

"We did. We went fishing."

"Fishing— right yeah we went fishing," the blonde boy agrees, her head snapping toward him in a flash of irritation, "I didn't ask you."

"Fishing," she repeats.

"Just some— old fashioned fishing," he assures.

She stays silent for a minute, giving the two boys slight hope they had wormed their way out of her accusatory looks, but if anyone could read John B Routledge and JJ Maybank like a book, it would be Erin Maybank. She never missed the way they kept looking at each other, or the way JJ was pathetically attempting to mime things to his friend behind her back.

She huffs slightly, letting the butter knife fall onto the counter with a clang, "you guys aren't giving me much hope that you're not getting yourselves into trouble."

"You don't have to know what we do all the time, Rin," JJ grumbles.

Her eyes widen at that, "don't even get me started with you."

     Just that alone was enough to shut him right up.

    "—I don't care what you guys do," she continues, "I just don't want to have to be the one to pick you up at the station any time soon, so please."

     John B nods, sending her a quick salute, "yes, m'aam."

She nods, lazily dragging her feet before accusingly pointing a finger in her brother's direction.

     "We're talking later after my shift is over, and you are telling me where you got that gun— so you better think of something good," she warns, giving him a sharp glare and disappearing back into the spare bedroom.

     "You are so lucky you don't have siblings man," he groans quietly.

     "Heard that, asshole," she shouts, throwing the piece of buttered bread she had brought with her, quite aggressively, out of the crack in the door, hitting him square in the head.

     She reemerges fifteen minutes later after fighting off the urge to crawl back under the duvet and into a world where problems just didn't exist, sporting fresh clothes and holding a crumpled up apron in her hand.

"Okay, because I am the best sister in the world—" she pleads, "— will one of you drive me to work please." She sends the sweetest smile she could muster toward John B', a short laugh echoing in her direction.

"Yeah, cmon," he breaths, throwing an arm over the girls shoulder after he rummages for his keys, kissing the top of her hair as the two trail towards the twinkie, a gesture that really meant thank you for being the ray of sunshine he needed in times like it was.

1.21pm
"What did Rafe say to you, last night," JJ mumbles from the backseat, her head turning only slightly to look at him, pursing her lips.

She frowned, somehow she had forgotten all about talking to Rafe last night.

"Just wants to talk."

He scoffs.

"You're not seriously thinking about it?"

"— I have to at least talk to him, he is my boyfriend."

But she turned around to face the window again as she said it. She didn't sound very confident in saying that anymore.

She would always be his, she just couldn't decide if he was really hers anymore. As much as it killed her to even think it.

"Boyfriends don't give you black eyes," he mutters quietly.

He contemplated for days after she came home that day two weeks ago how worth it it is to go to prison for the first degree murder of Rafe Cameron.

It took some heavy restraint by Pope and John B, but she managed to convince him to let her handle it on her own.

She knew he was right, but she also knew it was an accident, and her black eye she was still very mildly sporting was a mix of both her drunk clumsiness and her own projections.

But she thought how many heated moments and accidental black eyes would there have to be until it was no longer accidental anymore. How he couldn't just listen to the only boundary she had put in place in their entire two years of being together.

"Thanks," she murmurs as the twinkie pulls up outside The Wreck, stepping out onto the pavement and her stomach already churning at the greasy smell that poisoned her nose.

"See you later," John B calls.

    She stares up and into the restaurant, scrunching her nose up. She could just make a break for it. She was sure Matilda would cover for her. She had too many times before.

In fact she wasn't even sure why Anna and Mike Carrera hadn't fired her yet.

     If she didn't desperately need the money she would have made a break for it a long time ago.

     She spots Matilda chatting with one of the other waitresses in the kitchen, the two girls catching each others eye and only a stare between them enough to say what the fuck happened last night.

     "Hey, Bree," she breaths, nudging the red headed girl gently as she smiles sympathetically over at her. She had also been at the beach the previous night. It made her feel embarrassed knowing everyone had seen the chaos her brother had caused.

     Matilda finally breaks the comfortable silence as the Maybank girl ties the apron behind her back, raising her hand up in defense, "you have permission to hit me once for forcing you to go."

     "Parties are cursed," Erin breaths, perching herself up on one of the kitchen counters, covering her face with her hands.

     "Yeah, you aren't lucked out in that department," Briana grumbles, twirling her pen around in her fingers, earning a muffled laugh from the blonde.

It wasn't even funny, she didn't luck out in a lot of departments. But laughing made it feel less tragic.

     She stood quietly waiting on an order she had taken twenty minutes before, watching Briana bringing in and out her own orders, humming quietly when Matilda hisses her name from across the kitchen.

     "Tell me you're just hungover and not being all twisty," she warns.

     "I'm not being twisty," she defends.

     "You've barely spoken two words since your shift started— and you have been sitting staring at that order in front of you for ten minutes," the Carrera girl points, Erin muttering curses as she perches the plates up on her arms.

     "I'm not being twisty— promise," she says flatly, disappearing back into the restaurant to hand it out, placing the plates down in front of the couple.

     "Is there anything else I can get for you—"

     "This is cold."

     "What?"

     "My food, it's cold," the older man shrugs, pushing the plate back into her hand as she sucks her teeth.

     "it's fine," she grits.

"It's not fine—"

She didn't really mean to let go, not expecting him to actually drop the plate into her hand, fries now littered across the table mixed with some shards that had shattered as it crashed against the wood.

"Shit," she mumbles.

His face was burning red with irritation, hers almost a mirror image as he stood up to shout condescending curses right in her face.

She was going to apologise until he did that.

     Now she wished she had smashed the plate right over his head instead, and she was sure she would have done something close to it if Matilda hadn't ushered her back to the kitchen, singing her apologies quietly as she urged a different waiter to attend to their table, promising it will get sorted for them right away.

     An I told you so look plastering itself on Matilda's expression.

The blonde tugs on her apron, gripping it in her fists.

     "Okay, alright," Erin groans, "I have a lot on my mind okay."

     "—Between JJ, Rafe, I feel like i'm a full time mother," she mutters.

     It wasn't really supposed to be funny, but even she mustered up a laugh when Matilda snorted at her comment, linking her arm through the Maybank girls.

"At least you're getting the full experience," the brunette reasons, covering her mouth when a glare is sent in her direction, "okay, sorry, sorry."

"—Don't worry about JJ," she assures, "they're all being weird and I know last night was a bit chaotic, but he is fine," she adds, the blonde silently agreeing with her with a nod of her head.

"They're definitely up to something, I can tell Kiara is lying about something— I mean when are they not up to something."

"—But forgetting about that for a minute, I think you are just going to have to speak to Rafe," she sighs.

     "You were singing the blues about how I should hate him yesterday," the blonde smirks.

    The Carrera girl shrugs, "Well you should," pursing her lips, "but I guess I can't decide how you should feel."

     "I just don't know what to say to him."

     "Do you want to stay with him?"

     The Maybank girl meets her gaze, rubbing her palms frustratingly over her eyes, "Of course I do."

     But she shakes her head after, contradicting her words.

     She wanted to stay with the boyfriend she had that wasn't a drug addict. That wasn't mean and cold and so angry at the world.

Anna's sudden appearance at the kitchen doorway had them both scrambling to pretend they weren't dossing around, both looking guilty as ever. "You girls are with each other every second of every day, what could we possibly have to talk about," she groans.

"Sorry, Anna," Erin sighs, pulling her notepad fron the pocket in her apron, brushing past her with her lips pursed.

The rest of her shift went the exact same as it started, occasionally hiding in the big freezer hoping minutes would past quicker than they were dragging out.

The buzzing of her phone in her pocket four times while she was trying to concentrate on putting an order through the tills had her muttering things under her breath, eventually pulling it out the final time it rang, quickly bringing it to her ear.

"I'm working, Rafe."

"You weren't answering."

"I just told you i'm in work obviously I wasn't answering."

"I'm sick of this Erin, just talk to me— i'm sick over this shit."

He had muttered the last part, but she couldn't concentrate on what he was saying with the looks she was getting from Anna from the other side of the restaurant.

"I can't do this right now."

"Then let me pick you up then after, please."

She had registered the desperation in his voice, bringing the phone away from her ear when a customer had appeared in front of her to pay, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

"Erin?"

"Jesus— yeah, alright."

She could hear him let out a breath on the other line, but she hadn't even let him reply, stuffing the phone back into her pocket and apologising to the woman growing impatient in front of her.

She really only agreed to get him off the phone, staring blankly in thought as the woman finishes up paying.

**

She had texted him two hours ago to pick her up at 7:30pm, it was now closer to 8:15pm when she was still sitting in front of the restaurant waiting for him. Looking over and over the various messages she had sent to him asking if he was still picking her up.

     He hadn't even read them.

     She felt stupid, she didn't even want to talk to him yet, and yet she was the one desperately waiting on his car to pull up.

     She had given up at 8.20pm, deciding making the long walk back to the chateau would be better than just looking desperate. She had only made it to the end of the street when the screech of his tyres had her huffing slightly.

     He rolls the window down, "I'm sorry."

     She rolls her eyes, not giving him even the satisfaction of as little as a glance as she continues walking.

     "Erin just get in."

     "No."

     "I know i'm late— i'm sorry, I had to do something for Dad."

     "So you couldn't have told me that? I've been waiting here for an hour," she huffs.

     "I know, I know, okay."

     She finally looks at him, really looks at him, and it killed him more that she didn't look upset. Just disappointed by him. Again.

     But for whatever reason unknown to him, she slid into the passenger seat, arms crossed over her chest as she throws her bag by her feet.

     She wasn't sure either, maybe it was the way when she looked at him his eyes were red, frantic almost— enough that it looked like he had been crying. She almost sickly wished he was, if it meant the actual reason was nothing but a mere dream.

     "Where were you really," she says quietly.

     "I just told you."

     "No, you told a lie," she mutters.

     God. She was speaking to him like he was a child.

     She shakes her head, glancing over at him, "this is never going to work if you keep lying to me."

     And she wasn't sure he would ever stop.

     She studied the icy eyes that were now frowning over at her, and her knees felt weak. Because she knew now, looking at him, that if she didn't leave his car this time without looking back she might get stuck there forever. So she just studied them for what she achingly planned on being the last time.

     "We can make it work—i'm going to get better. Okay. I am getting better. For you. This is the last time I—"

    She interrupts him before the devil on her shoulder starts to convince her what he was saying was real, voice barely above a whisper. "Rafe I think we should break up."

     His face twists slightly, a bland expression masking the way her heart was beating a million miles an hour.

"What?"

     She had to make it quick. If she made it quick she wouldn't have to look at him. And if she didn't have to look at him she wouldn't have to feel that aching feeling in her chest.

     Because as she was, now looking up at his tired eyes, she was sure if she kept feeling it, she would stay there forever.

She digs her fingernails into her palms, "I just don't think it's working."

His grip on the steering wheel had tightened so much she thought his bones might pop out from his knuckles, sucking the inside of her cheek to swallow down the lump that had already formed in her throat.

     "So you planned this," he spits.

     "I just decided."

     "What cause I was late?" he scoffs.

     "No Rafe, because you lied to me. Again."

     And he scoffs again, smashing his fist frustratingly into the steering wheel, the girl squeezing her eyes shut at the action.

     There he was.

     The other Rafe.

     The one she was breaking up with.

     They both just stare at each other, heaving chests and reddened cheeks, faces now only half lit by the few street lights around The Wreck. She didn't even realise how dark it had gotten.

"So what? That's it then?"

     She nods. Attempting and failing now to swallow that lump that had made itself known in her throat. "I wanted this to be easy— i'm breaking up with you because nothing can ever just be easy."

She opens her mouth to speak again, closing it when her eyes fall onto one of the hands he was cradling. Clearly hurt through his own flash of anger.

   "You don't make it easy to love you, Rafe."

     It might have been the worst thing she could have said in those moments.

     Because all Rafe Cameron wanted was to be loved by her.

So he didn't even try and stop her when she turned her back on him, not when she slammed the car door or when he was still staring after her when she reached the end of street.

Perhaps despite not wanting to admit it, he knew he had pushed her too far this time.

bellas notes—
crushing my own heart with this one :(