THE PERFECT GIRL.

chapter four, barry the. . . drug dealer?
[ original episode ]

JULY 2018.

RORY CONSIDERS TURNING AROUND AND GOING BACK TO THE CHÂTEAU. Back home to her boys. Big John, John B, Pope, and JJ. She tells herself that she should turn around.

She should go home.

But she doesn't.

Rory takes a deep breath, the salt air burning in her lungs as it mingles with the scent of jasmine and expensive landscaping that defines Figure Eight. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the immaculate lawn of Tannyhill, making the mansion look like something out of a dream. Or a nightmare, depending on who you asked.

Then she takes the first step forward, her pink Converse sinking slightly into the manicured grass. Another step, the weight of her decision growing heavier with each footfall. Twenty more steps and she's standing in front of the grand front door of Tannyhill, its polished brass knocker gleaming in the golden light, intricate vines carved into the dark mahogany.

She stares at it, wondering if she should do this. Her fingers fidget with the frayed edges of her denim shorts as she contemplates knocking, the ocean breeze tugging strands of blonde hair across her face. The fabric of her oversized Kildare Island t-shirt that actually belongs to JJ ripples against her skin, a constant reminder of the world she's betraying by being here.

She closes her eyes, feeling the weight of what she's about to do press down on her shoulders like an anchor threatening to drag her into the depths.

Why is she doing this? Why does she need this horrible drug? She hates herself for this. She hates herself because the night she took the cocaine, everything was okay. For the first time in her life, she didn't fear her father. She didn't worry about if she would be forced back into his custody, right back into the hand of the monster who haunted her nightmares with his cruel hands and crueler words.

She didn't worry if she would be taken back to the Fernsby Estate, with its cold marble floors and emptiness that echoed with her mother's absence. She wasn't worried about Big John's disappointment, his gruff voice asking what the hell she was thinking, going to another party and trying coke. She didn't worry about the look JJ would give her, that mix of concern and hurt that always made her heart twist painfully in her chest.

She felt nothing except euphoria. Like she was floating above all her problems, untouchable. Like the waves couldn't drag her under, like her father's hands couldn't reach her, like the whispers about her beinh a Kook hanging with Pogues couldn't touch her. For those brief, glorious hours, she was free.

When she reopens her ocean blue eyes, she raises her fist and knocks on the door, the sound echoing through the massive house beyond like a death knell. The brass is warm beneath her knuckles from the late day sun.

She takes a step back, waiting. Her eyes fall onto her pink high top Converse, scuffed from adventures on the marsh, a small tear starting to form where the rubber meets the canvas near her pinky toe. Those pink Converse, her prized possession. It's the one gift she's ever been given that's meant the entire world to her.

JJ spent an entire month saving up for those shoes. Taking extra shifts at the marina, skipping lunch, selling a gold chain he'd found half-buried on the beach. He thought it was ridiculous. . . ninety dollars for a pair of shoes. But that didn't stop him from saving up for them and buying them for Rory for Christmas. He knows she could've gotten them herself but he wanted to do something special for her. Rory is his girl, his best friend he's always harbored different feelings for.

The thought of JJ makes her stomach twist with guilt, acid rising in her throat. What would he think if he saw her here? If he knew what she was about to do? One of his best friends about to ruin her life. Coming to Rafe Cameron, her new boyfriend, her first boyfriend.

Rafe, who'd called JJ trash just last week at the Wreck. Rafe, who'd kissed her against her in his pool a week ago after they jumped off Tannyhill's roof.

Rory is ripped from her thoughts when the front door opens with a soft creak of perfectly-oiled hinges. Her eyes dart up, heart hammering in her chest. In front of her stands Rafe Cameron, his hair slightly tousled as if he'd just run his hands through it, wearing a light blue button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing tanned forearms and an expensive watch that probably cost more than the entire Routledge property.

His collarbones peek out from the top of his shirt where he's left the first few buttons undone. His eyes widen briefly before his lips curl into a slow, deliberate smile that makes her pulse quicken, the kind of smile that suggests he knows exactly what effect he has on her.

"Rory," he says, her name rolling off his tongue like honey, leaning against the doorframe with casual grace that screams old money. "What're you doing here, baby?" His voice drops lower on the last word, making her pulse quicken despite herself. The endearment sounds both foreign and thrilling coming from him.

"Um. . ." she doesn't know how to start this conversation. She doesn't even know what to say. Her fingers twist nervously at her side, curling into the hem of her t-shirt. A bead of sweat trickles down her spine, equal parts nerves and the oppressive humidity. "I— I was at the beach with Lyn the other day—"

"You tried it?" He raises his eyebrows, straightening up with interest, his body shifting imperceptibly closer to hers.

She nods, a flush creeping up her neck, painting her cheeks with embarrassment and something else she doesn't want to name.

"Wow, Rory. I'm surprised and impressed. I didn't think you had it in you." His eyes trace over her face, lingering a beat too long on her lips before returning to her eyes, the intensity of his gaze making her feel exposed, like he can see straight through to the darkness inside her that brought her here.

"She told me you're her supplier. Why didn't you tell me that when you kissed me? Before you asked me to be your girlfriend?" Rory challenges, finding her voice, lifting her chin slightly in defiance.

Rafe rolls his blue eyes. He runs a hand through his hair, the movement deliberately casual but she catches the tension in his shoulders. "I told her not to say anything about that. Some things are better kept. . . private."

He steps closer, close enough that she can smell his expensive cologne. "I have a reputation to maintain, you know. Can't have everyone knowing I'm the guy to go to." His eyes darken slightly. "Just the special ones."

"So, you're a dealer?" Rory asks, standing her ground even as he invades her space, refusing to step back even though every nerve ending in her body is screaming at their proximity. She can feel the heat radiating off him, see the flecks of darker blue in his irises.

"I only sell to Lyn because she's a close friend," he says, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that forces her to lean in slightly to hear him. "I get my shit from someone on the Cut. That's where everyone goes to get the good stuff."

He reaches out, twirling a strand of her blonde hair around his finger, the back of his hand brushing against her collarbone. Her skin prickles at the contact, tiny goosebumps rising despite the heat. He lets the strand go slowly, deliberately, his fingers grazing her shoulder.

"The Cut? Seriously?" She asks, trying to ignore the way her skin tingles where he touched her, the way her breath catches slightly. "Y'all all talk shit about Pogues until they're selling you Coke. Best of fucking friends."

Rafe shrugs, flashing that arrogant smile she both hates and can't look away from. "It's a win-win for everyone involved. We get what we want, drugs, and so do they, money." He leans in even closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Besides, I like crossing lines. Breaking rules. Don't you?"

"That's so stupid," Rory shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to ignore the shiver that runs down her spine at his words. But even as she says it, she knows she's here, isn't she? "And Seriosuly fucked up."

"You're here for a reason that's obviously not to see your boyfriend, Rory," he says, his tone suddenly serious as he steps even closer, eliminating what little space remained between them. His eyes seem darker somehow, searching hers, his pupils dilated slightly. One hand comes up to rest against the doorframe beside her head, not quite caging her in but definitely claiming the space around her. "What is it?"

She heaves a deep breath, the scent of his cologne filling her lungs, hating herself even as the words leave her mouth. "I want more."

Rafe smirks, a flash of triumph in his eyes that makes her stomach tighten. He reaches out, tucking her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek, trailing down to the sensitive spot just below her jawline. "I can do that for you," he says, his voice husky. "And maybe more, if you want." The implication hangs in the air between them, charged and dangerous.

Rory swallows hard, not trusting herself to respond to that. "Can we just. . . go?" She asks instead, her voice smaller than she intends.

"Come inside while I grab my keys," he says, stepping back just enough to let her pass. His hand finds the small of her back as she enters, possessive and warm through the thin fabric of her shirt.

"Wait here," Rafe says, his hand lingering on her waist before he disappears up a sweeping staircase.

Rory stands awkwardly in the foyer, fingers fidgeting with the friendship bracelets on her wrist, one from JJ, blue and green like the sea; one from Kie, sunset orange and pink. Reminders of a world that feels a million miles away from this marble palace.

Rafe returns moments later, a set of keys dangling from his fingers. "Ready, princess?" He asks.

She bristles slightly. "Don't call me that."

His eyebrow raises in amusement. "No? I'm your boyfriend. What should I call you then? Baby? Sweetheart?" He steps closer, voice dropping. "Mine?"

Rory rolls her eyes, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. "I'm your girlfriend, not a possession. Just Rory is fine."

"Just Rory," he repeats. "Nothing about you is 'just' anything." He reaches out, taking her hand in his. "Come on. My ride's out back."

─────────

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" Rory asks hesitantly. She stares at the dirtbike, its black and chrome body gleaming in the sunlight, the engine looking powerful and dangerous.

She knows JJ has one but she's never ridden on it. They scare her. She's heard too many stories about people dying in motorcycle and dirtbike accidents, bodies broken on asphalt, lives ending in an instant of metal and screaming brakes.

"It's only, like, a fifteen minute drive," Rafe says, running his hand along the seat as though caressing it, his movements practiced and confident. He grabs his helmet, holding it out to Rory, the glossy black surface reflecting her uncertain face back at her. "Besides, no one would expect to see Rory Fernsby on the back of a dirtbike. Perfect disguise." His eyes dance with mischief, the afternoon sun turning them the color of the deepest part of the Atlantic.

"What about you? You need one too, Rafe." She pushes the helmet back toward him, their fingers brushing, sending a jolt of electricity up her arm that she pretends not to feel.

"Nah," he shakes his head, pushing it back firmly, his hands lingering over hers. "I'm fine. I've been driving this bad boy since I was your age. Now, put the helmet on, Rory. Unless you want people on the Cut to see you with me." His tone is teasing, but there's an edge to it, a flash of vulnerability quickly masked.

"Would that be so terrible?" She asks, holding his gaze, surprised by her own boldness. "All of Figure Eight knows already. It'll be, like, a day, before everyone on the Cut knows."

He steps closer, close enough that she can count each of his eyelashes, see the tiny scar at the corner of his right eyebrow. His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Depends on who sees us. Your Pogue friends wouldn't be too happy, would they?" His fingers trace the outline of the helmet she's holding, brushing against her hands. "Especially JJ."

The name hangs between them like a ghost neither wants to acknowledge.

"We're not— look, he's not—" Rory starts, then stops, unsure how to define what JJ is to her. Friend? Brother-figure? Something more complicated that she's never put a name to?

"Not what?" Rafe presses, a hint of jealousy coloring his tone. His fingers find a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. "Not together? Not in love with you?" His thumb brushes her cheek. "Because the way he looks at you says otherwise."

She scoffs but puts the helmet on, trying to ignore the pang of guilt at JJ's name, at the truth in Rafe's words that she's been avoiding for years. The helmet smells like Rafe's cologne, surrounding her in his scent. She watches from beneath the tinted visor as Rafe swings his leg over the dirtbike with practiced ease, his board shorts pulling tight across his thighs.

"Get on," he instructs, patting the seat behind him. "And hold tight." There's a promise in those words that makes her stomach flip.

She listens, climbing on with considerably less grace, her legs suddenly feeling too long and awkward. The bike dips slightly under their combined weight.

She wraps her arms around his waist, interlocking her fingers. She rests her hands against his abdomen. Underneath her palms, she feels his abs flex, his shoulders tense at her touch. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, she can feel the steady beat of his heart, slightly faster than normal.

Rory's brows crease with worry and confusion.

"You okay?" She asks him, voice muffled by the helmet, not wanting to make him uncomfortable within the first week of dating, if that's even what this is.

All he does is nod, but she feels him take a deeper breath, his chest expanding against her arms. One of his hands comes down to cover both of hers where they're linked across his stomach.

"I can move—" she starts to loosen her grip, suddenly self-conscious.

"Don't," Rafe demands, his hand tightening over hers, keeping them firmly in place. His voice has that edge again, commanding yet vulnerable. "I want you close."

Rory's eyes widen at his tone, at the unexpected tone. For a moment, it thrills and frightens her all at once, then she nods against him.

Neither of them exchange another word as Rafe starts the dirt bike. He kicks up the kickstand, the movement fluid and practiced. He revs the engine, the machine vibrating beneath them, the sound cutting through the quiet afternoon like a growl.

"Ready?" He calls over his shoulder, one hand reaching back to squeeze her knee reassuringly.

"As I'll ever be," she replies, tightening her hold on him, pressing herself against his back, suddenly aware of every point where their bodies connect. The solid warmth of him is both comforting and terrifying.

Rafe doesn't hesitate to speed away from Tannyhill, gravel spraying from beneath the tires. Rory's heart rate soars, a small shriek leaves her lips at the sudden speed. She tightens her grip on Rafe, pressing herself closer against his back, her thighs squeezing his hips.

"You good?" He calls over his shoulder, the wind whipping his words back to her. She can feel the rumble of his voice through his back.

"No!" Rory shouts back, genuine fear and exhilaration mingling in her chest. She can tell Rafe is laughing by the way his back shakes against her front. Heat rushes to her cheeks, and she's grateful for the helmet hiding her face. His right hand leaves the handlebar briefly to cover hers again, squeezing gently.

"You get used to it!" Rafe informs her loudly, taking a sharp turn that makes her cling tighter to him, her heart in her throat. The world blurs around them, Figure Eight's perfect lawns and sprawling mansions giving way to dense pine forest.

"Doubt it!" She yells.

The older boy laughs again, a rich sound that carries on the wind. One hand leaves the handlebar again, covering both of hers where they're linked across his abdomen. "Trust me," he calls back. "I've got you. I won't let anything happen to you." The words are nearly lost in the wind, but she feels them more than hears them, a promise that'll be broken vibrating between them.

Rory smiles to herself at his words, at the solid feel of him between her arms. For a moment, she forgets where they're going and why. Forgets the ache inside her that needs filling, the emptiness that cocaine temporarily soothed. Forgets everything except the wind in her hair and Rafe's heart beating against her hands.

The dirtbike races across the bridge separating the Cut and Figure Eight, the divide between their worlds made concrete and steel. Rory is thankful for the helmet and the tinted face shield as they pass by a man she recognizes fishing on the bridge, Heyward, Pope's dad. If that got back to Big John, John B, Pope, or JJ. . . the thought makes her stomach twist with guilt.

Rafe revs the engine as they race through the Cut, but she notices how he slows slightly, taking the turns with more care than before. He doesn't dare shout anything rude at the Pogues they pass. Not with Rory on the back. Instead, he drives with focused intensity, one hand occasionally coming to rest protectively over hers, his thumb stroking small circles on her skin as if to remind her he's there.

They pass ramshackle houses and trailers, clothes hanging on lines stretched between trees, old cars up on blocks. This is a part of the Cut she doesn't know well, the area where the real trouble happens, where even JJ doesn't go unless he has to. The further they travel down the dirt road, the more her apprehension grows, a knot forming in her stomach that has nothing to do with the dirtbike's speed.

They finally reach their destination, a run-down trailer set back from the main road, hidden by overgrown trees and tall grass. An old pickup truck with a missing door sits in the yard like a guard, rust eating away at its frame.

Rafe gets off first, his movements fluid and practiced. Then he helps Rory off of his dirtbike, his hands lingering on her waist longer than necessary. She stumbles slightly, her legs unsteady from the ride, and he catches her, pulling her close against him, one arm wrapping protectively around her.

"Easy there," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble she feels as much as hears. He steadies her as she reaches up to take off the helmet. Their faces are inches apart when the helmet comes off, his breath warm against her cheek. His eyes drop briefly to her lips before meeting her gaze again.

"Oh, Sweet Jesus," Rory mumbles, not just from the ride. Her heart hammers in her chest, and it has nothing to do with the dirtbike now.

"You okay?" Rafe asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers trailing down the side of her neck. His gaze is intense, searching, genuine concern mingling with something darker, hungrier. "We can go back if you changed your mind."

"Yep," Rory squeaks, forcing herself to step back before she does something stupid like lean into him, like close the distance between their lips where anyone can see. "I've never been more grateful for solid ground in my life."

Rafe laughs in response, a low chuckle that makes her insides flutter, but his eyes remain fixed on her face. "Alright, baby. Let's go get some coke," he says, his hand finding the small of her back as they turn toward the trailer. He leans in closer, his lips almost brushing her ear. "Stay right beside me, understand? Don't wander off, don't talk to anyone unless I introduce you."

The protective edge in his voice sends a shiver down her spine, equal parts comforting and thrilling. This is a side of Rafe she's never seen before, the charming, carefree Kook replaced by someone more dangerous, more intense.

She sets the helmet on one of the handle bars, nodding her understanding. She pushes her hair away from her face, trying to calm her racing heart. When she turns, she looks to the place, really takes it in for the first time.

It's obvious a Pogue lives here, but not the kind she knows. This isn't the quaint, weathered charm of the Château or the Heywards' place. This is desperate poverty, the kind that festers and turns toxic. The trailer is rundown, its once-white exterior now a dingy gray, patches of siding missing like teeth from a neglected mouth.

Different car parts and God knows what else scattered around the overgrown yard, half-hidden in grass tall enough to hide snakes and worse. Empty beer cans glint in the tall grass like aluminum stars, and a rusted chain dangles from a half-dead oak tree, remnants of what might have once been a swing. The air smells of motor oil and something rotting in the summer heat, mixed with the acrid scent of chemicals she doesn't want to identify.

"Stay close to me," Rafe says quietly, his voice taking on a harder edge as he surveys the property. His hand moves from her back to her arm, fingers curling around her bicep, gentle but firm. "Some of these guys can be unpredictable. I don't want you out of my sight, not even for a second." His blue eyes scan the property with newfound vigilance, his body tensing as if preparing for danger.

She starts to make her way forward, the gravel crunching beneath her feet, acutely aware of Rafe's presence beside her, his fingers gentle but firm on her elbow. A dog barks somewhere in the distance, the sound echoing through the trees.

Rory's feet stop moving at the sight of the man leaving the rundown trailer. The screen door slams behind him, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet yard, making her flinch. Rafe's arm immediately comes around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side.

The man looks up from the drugs in his hands, small plastic baggies he's counting with dirt-stained fingers. At the sight of the blonde girl he knows, Luke Maybank freezes, his weathered face hardening into something dangerous, eyes narrowing to pinpricks of cold fury. The cigarette dangling from his lips drops to the ground, forgotten.

"Rory—" Rafe cuts himself off as he feels her tense beneath his arm, sees the color drain from her face. "Shit," he mutters under his breath when he realizes what's happening, stepping quickly in front of her, his body a shield between her and JJ's father. "Get back to the bike," he says quietly, but firmly.

"Aurora?" Luke's blonde brows furrow, his eyes narrowing to slits, a vein pulsing in his temple. His gaze flicks between her and Rafe, something ugly twisting his features. "What the hell are you doin' here?" His voice is like gravel, rough with surprise and something darker, more menacing. He takes a step forward, shoving the baggies into his pocket.

"Um. . ." Rory doesn't know what to say, her mind suddenly blank. JJ's father. Of all the people to run into. She had known, abstractly, that Luke Maybank was involved in the drugs, but seeing him here, now, makes her stomach turn. No wonder JJ comes to school with bruises, with that haunted look in his eyes.

Before either Rory or Rafe can react, Luke is storming towards her, moving with the dangerous grace of a predator, each step deliberate and threatening. Rafe tries to keep himself between them, but Luke sidesteps him with surprising agility for a man clearly riding a chemical high. He reaches out, grabbing her oversized Kildare Island shirt in his hands, twisting the fabric in his grip. Rory can smell the stale cigarettes and whiskey on his breath, see his bloodshot eyes, the week's worth of stubble on his jaw.

Her eyes widen, a small gasp leaves her lips. Her heart hammers against her ribs like it's trying to escape, fear making her mouth go dry.

"Hey, man!" Rafe hisses, all trace of the carefree Kook gone, replaced by something harder, more dangerous. He turns around, approaching them swiftly, his movements controlled but coiled with tension. "Let her go. Now." His voice holds a warning, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Don't take another step closer, boy," Luke snaps, not taking his eyes off of Rory. A fleck of spittle lands on her cheek, and she flinches away. "The hell you doin' with that punk ass Kook? Huh, Aurora? You want JJ to know you're here? Sneakin' around with Cameron's boy?" His fingers tighten in her shirt, knuckles white with strain, nails digging into her collarbone. "Think he'd still look at you the same if he knew who you were spreadin' your legs for now?"

"N— no!" Rory says, trying to pull away from him, anger flaring at his crude implication. "It's not like that! We're not—" she struggles against his grip, the fabric of her shirt cutting into the back of her neck.

"Not like what? Not like you're betrayin' my son?" Luke's breath is hot against her face, the stench of cheap whiskey and stale cigarettes making her gag. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide from whatever he's been taking. "After everythin' he's done for you? After all the shit he's taken from me because of you?" His voice drops to a dangerous whisper, just for her ears. "He thinks I don't know he's been stealin' from me to buy you things. Those pretty shoes. A necklace he's been saving up for. My boy's a thief because of you."

Rory feels the blood drain from her face. Had JJ been stealing from his father to buy her gifts? The thought makes her sick.

"You better not hurt my boy, girl," Luke continues, his grip tightening until she winces. "He's all I got left."

"Oh, you mean so you're the only one that does?" Rory finds her courage, fury replacing fear as she thinks of JJ's bruises, his split lips, the excuses he makes. "I know what you do to him, you monster. You hit him. You're abusive." Rory snarls, her blue eyes blazing with a fire that would make Big John proud. "You're just another deadbeat drug addict who takes out his failures on his son. Who breaks his bones and then blames him for it."

Something dangerous flashes in Luke's bloodshot eyes, a promise of violence. His face twists in rage, cheeks mottling red, spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth. He raises his fist in the air, and Rory flinches back, bracing for impact.

But the blow never lands. Rafe moves like lightning, grabbing Luke's wrist mid-swing, twisting it at an angle that makes the older man grunt in pain. Rafe's other hand grabs the front of Luke's stained shirt, shoving him back a step, inserting himself between Rory and danger.

"Don't even think about it," Rafe growls, his voice unrecognizable, a feral sound that raises the hair on the back of Rory's neck. His grip visibly tightens on Luke's wrist, making the older man wince. "You touch her, you're dead. Not tomorrow, not next week. Right here, right now." The words are spoken with such cold certainty that even Luke hesitates, something like fear flickering in his bloodshot eyes.

"The fuck you think you are, rich boy?" Luke snarls, trying to pull his arm free. "You think your daddy's money's gonna save you out here? This ain't Figure Eight. Different rules apply."

"You think I care?" Rafe says, his voice dropping even lower, a dangerous whisper that somehow carries more threat than a shout. "You think I won't fuck you up right here if you lay a hand on her?" His grip tightens further, and Luke winces. "Try me. See what happens."

For the first time, Rory sees something other than the cocky, privileged Kook Rafe pretends to be. This is something darker, more primal. Something that both terrifies and fascinates her.

"Problem?" A voice comes from the doorway of the trailer. All eyes turn to the entryway.

A man, about twenty years old, stands in the doorway of the rundown trailer. The screen door frames him like a portrait, edges torn and rusted, but he stands with the confidence of a king in his castle. There's a handgun clutched in his hand, held with the casual comfort of someone who's used it before, who knows exactly what damage it can do. His eyes stay locked on Luke, cold and calculating.

A predator assessing another predator.

"Best you leave now, Maybank," the boy says, his tone deceptively light, at odds with the weapon in his hand. His finger rests beside the trigger, not on it, a warning rather than a promise. Not yet.

Luke yanks his arm free from Rafe's grip, turning his fury on the newcomer. "You gon' pick this little slut—" Luke's words cause Rafe to take a dangerous step forward, his hands curling into fists, a muscle twitching in his jaw. The boy inside the trailer narrows his eyes slightly at Luke, thumb moving fractionally closer to the trigger. "Over me? Your best customer?"

"She ain't done nothin' wrong. You went after her, started threatenin' her," the boy states, taking a step onto the porch, the wood creaking beneath his weight. The gun never wavers from its target. "You know I don't play about respectin' boundaries, Maybank. Don't matter if you're buyin' or sellin', rules apply to everyone. Now, get the fuck outta here 'fore I break your goddamn kneecaps."

Luke scoffs, but there's a flicker of something like fear in his eyes, a recognition of the very real threat before him. He shoves past Rory with unnecessary force, his shoulder meeting her own. She stumbles back a step, catching herself on a rusted car bumper, the sharp edge cutting into her palm. Rafe surges forward, grabbing her and pulling her into his side protectively. His heart pounds against her shoulder, his arm like a vise around her waist, solid and secure.

"You okay?" He whispers urgently, angling his body so that Luke can't see his face. His eyes scan her features, intense with concern, thumb gently wiping away a tear she didn't realize had fallen. "Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine," she whispers back, though her voice trembles slightly, her legs feeling unsteady beneath her. She's lying, her collarbone stings where Luke's nails dug in, and her palm is bleeding from the rusty metal, but she won't give Luke the satisfaction of knowing he got to her.

Rafe's eyes narrow, seeing the lie for what it is. His gaze drops to her collarbone, where angry red marks are already forming, then to her palm, where blood is beading along a thin cut. Something dark and dangerous flashes in his eyes. "I'll kill him," he mutters, so low she barely hears it. "If he ever touches you again, I swear to God, I'll kill him."

The intensity in his voice should frighten her, but instead, it sends a different kind of shiver down her spine. Because she believes him.

"Whatcha doin' here, Big Shot?" He asks Rafe, tucking the gun into his waistband with practiced ease.

"Rory here wants some coke." Rafe nods his head towards Rory, still protectively holding her against his side.

"Really, now?" The boy raises his eyebrows, a smirk forming on his lips. "Well, Rory, I'm just the guy. I'm Barry."

"Hi, Barry." She walks toward, holding her hand out for him to shake. Barry smirks again, his eyes flicker to Rafe who watches them carefully. Rory's face falls. "Oh, sorry. Do you not—"

"Don' worry 'bout it." Barry says. He reaches out and shakes her hand. "Just neva had someone wantin' hard drugs shake my hand. Most folks 'round here ain't big on manners."

"Well," Rory shrugs, finding her footing again. "There's a first for everything, isn't there?"

Barry looks at Rory, really looks at her, like he's trying to solve a puzzle. Something shifts in his expression, almost imperceptible.

"Guess there is." He says finally, and for the first time, his smile seems genuine.

___________________________________

word count: 5,538

HOLYYYY SHIT. this is a long ass chapter oh my god.

how do we feel about rory and rafe?? the entire thing breaks my heart, like, no joke. my poor baby is fourteen. FOURTEEN. and rafe is sixteen. which honestly isn't a horrible age gap but all things considered?? the fact he influences her addiction instead of trying to help her and then the future abuse?? my heart aches for her.

but the way he protected her against luke?? yes, it's him genuinely protecting her right now but in less than one month in this timeline, is when their all goes downhill. and it hurts so much more because she tries to convince herself he doesn't mean his abuse by saying he doesn't mean it and he really does love her 💔. my poor sweet girl.

and luke. AHHHH. that's an angry scream by the way. bro is fucking UGH HE MAKES ME SO MAD. i genuinely hate luke maybank so much. canon luke and fanfic luke. and especially after s4?? oh, hell no. the fact he abused jj and wasn't even his BIOLOGICAL FATHER!? crazy, insane work from the writers, they must love pain.

we've also officially met barry in this book. the fact he was about to shoot luke for her?? barry may be a shitty person but at least he was protective of her (we're all going to hate him after this act idk what i'm talking about).

three more chapters of act one!!