Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
RAFE
I stand there, my breath steady, the faint metallic tang of blood filling my nostrils. My hands are slick with it, slicker than I expected. I wipe them on my jeans absently, not really caring because it’s already done. The rush—the beautiful, terrifying rush—still surges through me. I’ve done it again, and it feels almost… perfect.
The body on the floor isn’t even cold yet, but I don’t think it ever will be for me. Not when I can still feel the weight of the knife in my hand, can still hear the gurgled gasps. It was quick, though. And he shouldn’t have felt too much.
But now that it’s over, I feel this… emptiness. A vacuum where the hunger used to be. It’s nothing new. It happens every time. The first few moments after, the adrenaline wears off, and I feel the silence creep in, settling into my bones.
I hate the silence.
But then, I hear the knock. It’s sharp and unexpected, making me jump. My heart skips in my chest before I even realize it’s just a knock—nothing more. But it still sends a chill up my spine, like my body knows something’s wrong even before my brain catches up. I’m not sure how, but my body knows when he’s near and I know it’s him.
Rafe .
I feel the familiar surge of panic claw at my insides. I shouldn’t be feeling this. I shouldn’t care that it’s him. He’s just my childhood love. But I can’t let him see this. Not him. He’s not supposed to know.
My eyes flick to the body on the floor again, and the panic spikes, tightening my throat. I move quickly, as if doing something will make it go away. I wipe my hands again, even though it won’t do any good. I can’t hide this. There’s no hiding it.
Another knock. This one more insistent. A fist against the wood.
I stand frozen, paralyzed by indecision. Should I answer? Should I pretend nothing’s wrong? But I can already hear him—Rafe, always so direct, always so sure—call my name from the other side of the door.
“Charli?”
He’s close now. So close, the sound of his voice slicing through the tension in the room. My stomach clenches. I can’t let him see me like this. Not with what’s on the floor. Not with that look in my eyes.
My pulse starts to race. I know it’s stupid, but I find myself walking to the door, reaching for the handle. My fingers tremble. What do I even say to him?
I swing it open before I can think twice, and there he is. Rafe. Tall, broad-shouldered, his curly hair tousled from the wind. His eyes are bright, full of that warm, reassuring affection I’ve always loved. His eyebrows furrow when he sees me, but it falters the second he looks past me into the room.
I follow his gaze.
His eyes fall on the body—Jake’s body—lying on the floor in a pool of crimson. And for a split second, I see everything flicker in his face. The recognition. The confusion. The horror.
“Charli…” His voice cracks, just barely, but I catch it. His smile is gone now, replaced by that familiar intensity, the one that’s always been there when he gets worried. But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s fear. And I can’t blame him.
I can’t speak.
I stand there, trying to make sense of it, trying to make it all go away. But the weight of his stare on me is suffocating. I can see it in his eyes—the disbelief, the questioning, the need for answers.
I want to run, but my feet are rooted to the floor. I don’t know what to do, what to say.
His voice is softer now, almost a whisper. “What the hell is this?”
His words cut through me, sharp and raw, and suddenly, the silence in the room is deafening. I swallow hard, trying to find my voice, but it’s stuck in my throat. The world feels like it’s closing in on me, and I’m drowning in the weight of it.
He can’t know. He can’t know what I’ve done.
I glance back at the body, my mind spinning. But when I look at Rafe again, his face is a mask of confusion and fear. The kind of fear that makes my chest tighten, makes my hands shake. He’s going to hate me, and I can't handle that.
“You… you killed him? Did he do something to you? Did he hurt you?” he asks, his voice almost disbelieving, his eyes wide, still glued to the lifeless body on the floor.
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. There’s nothing I can say. Nothing that would explain this. Not to him. Not to anyone.
“I—I didn’t—he didn’t…” I stammer, but it’s a lie. I know it’s a lie. I know what I’ve done.
Rafe takes a step forward, eyes darting from the body to me, then back again. He’s still processing it. His mind is trying to make sense of the horror in front of him. But it’s hard to think straight when everything’s already fallen apart.
“You killed him,” he repeats, his voice shaking with something between anger and disbelief. And I can see it now. The hurt in his eyes. The betrayal.
He trusted me. He loved me. And now, I’ve ruined it.
I feel something shift in my chest, something sharp and jagged, like a crack running through my ribcage. He doesn’t understand. He can’t understand.
“I did it,” I say, and it sounds wrong. It sounds empty, like an excuse. “I—I had to.” But the words are hollow. They don’t mean anything anymore.
Rafe shakes his head, his hands raised as if trying to put some distance between us. “Had to? Had to?” He laughs bitterly, his voice cracking. “What the hell do you mean, Charli?”
The words hit harder than I expected. His words pierce through me, cutting deeper than anything the knife ever did. The anger in his eyes, the disbelief—it’s all too much. Too much for me to bear.
I can feel my heart pounding in my ears, my palms sweating. The world around me spins, and for a moment, I think I might fall apart right here in front of him.
“I needed to hurt him,” I say, trying again, but I can’t get the words out fast enough. He needs to know the truth. The hunger was always there. Always. Just waiting. Waiting for the right moment.
Rafe steps back, his eyes locked on me, like he’s looking at a stranger. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. And that’s when I know. He’s done. He’s not going to be able to stay with me. Not after this.
His voice is low, almost a whisper, but it feels like a slap. “Why didn’t you just call me, Charli?”
I wish I could respond. I wish I could tell him I’m fine, that this is just the way I am. But I can’t. I can’t lie to him anymore. Not now.
His face twists, and for the first time, I see something darker there—something that wasn’t there before. Pride. Pride for me and what I’ve done.
And I don’t know what to do or how to feel.
“I’m confused,” I whisper, but it doesn’t matter at all. His lips crash on mine, and he devours my mouth, pushing the door shut behind him.
Rafe Thornson, my love, my person, my Depraved Valentine.