Chapter 9 Confession
? Arden ?
I stood outside Rafe’s door for at least ten minutes.
I brought my hand up to turn the knob several times only to drop it in defeat.
I was at war with myself. I couldn’t decide if it was better for me to walk in, kiss him, and just be done with the pain of the past, or if doing so wasn’t going to allow us to actually work through what happened.
Then, there was the third thing—I wasn’t ready to talk about it.
Any of it. I seriously doubted I’d be able to have an actual conversation about the compound with anyone ever, especially Rafe.
But I hated more that Rafe was blaming himself for something he had no control over.
I opened the door.
Rafe was asleep. That part wasn’t surprising.
It was more so the way he’d fallen asleep.
Beer bottles littered the floor—the culprit of his raid being a mini fridge in the far corner, its door left open and the shelves seemingly empty.
Rafe had drunken every ounce of liquor the bedroom provided.
It also appeared he’d smoked half a pack of cigarettes, one still half lit and dangling between his fingers where he laid half-on, half-off the bed.
He was stripped down to his boxers, his head lolled to the side and his forehead shining with a sheen of sweat.
I swayed slightly. I knew I was one of the few to see Rafe vulnerable, but seeing him like that did something to me.
He didn't just look vulnerable. He looked..normal and young. A college kid that went on a bender and ended the night without a care in the world. A small smile touched my lips, and I tightened the tie on my robe, slipping inside. I gently plucked the cigarette from his hand before he could set the place on fire. Then I took a long drag from it, my shoulders relaxing, and put it out in the ashtray on the bedside table. Once I did, I began picking up the empty bottles, gathering them in my arms and leaving for the kitchen. I didn’t bother being quiet, knowing he couldn’t hear me.
The glass clattered as I dropped the bottles into the recycle bin in the kitchen, drawing Kane’s attention.
He popped his head out of his room with a concerned look.
“Drank himself to sleep,” I told him with a shrug.
He muttered something about Rafe being a dick for not sharing and slammed his door shut.
“G’night to you too, Kane,” I called, shaking my head and treading back to Rafe’s room.
I stared at him, slowly getting myself accustomed to looking at him again.
Somehow, even with vomit on his shoulder, Rafe Creed remained one of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen. It was actually kind of infuriating. I sighed and went into his attached bathroom, turning on the shower, before kneeling to his eye level. Gently, I pressed my hand to his cheek, running my thumb just under his eye. He didn’t budge, so I carefully slipped his arm over my shoulders.
With a grunt, I dragged him toward the bathroom.
He woke up, but being as drunk as he was, he stumbled, nearly causing me to fall.
Realizing it was me, he tried to step away, but I shook my head and pointed to the running shower.
I helped him out of his boxers, my breath catching in my throat when I found him hard.
Seeing each other naked under light wasn’t new.
One, if not all of us, was forced naked at the compound at least once a day.
It was new to see him hard like that. Any time we’d been close, it was pitch black in the cell.
Even the nights we shared together, I couldn't really see how I affected him.
Heat filled my cheeks, and I cleared my throat, helping him step into the shower before turning my head to give him privacy.
He kept hold of my shoulder, trying not to fall over, but he managed to rinse the vomit off.
For awhile, his hand clutching me, I think he just stood there.
I glanced over, finding his head bowed, the water cascading around his face like a veil.
I tugged on him gently, and he lifted his gaze to mine.
He looked infinitely tired.
I offered him a thin grin and his eyes slowly fell to my mouth.
I grabbed a towel, shutting off the water, and handed it to him.
He wrapped it around his waist, holding it loosely as he accepted my help getting back to the bed.
He zigzagged, stumbling right and left, and I groaned when he half-collapsed on me before he finally fell to the bed.
A ragged exhale left him, one arm hooking beneath the pillow and his other still clutching his towel closed.
He watched me with hooded eyes and a crooked smile, my heart fluttering at the sight.
Then he lifted the hand from his towel and signed, Hey.
I snorted. Hey. I nodded toward the cigarette I put out. You almost set this place on fire. That’s my job.
His eyes watched my hands, and a faint flush tinted his cheeks. His throat worked, emotion shining in his eyes.
What? What’s wrong? I signed, stepping closer to the bed, worry pinching my brow.
He shook his head. Nothing. His hands trembled. It’s just—this is the first time we’ve ever actually been able to talk to one another.
Oh. We used ASL daily for mission intel. Thorne and Kane often chatted with Rafe, but with me ignoring him since my…surgery…and then the incident…I’m sorry, I said, rubbing my closed fist against my chest. I’m so sorry. I was just trying to heal. I didn’t mean to hurt you in the process.
He sat up and caught my hands between his, stopping me, his eyes hard. You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. Then he tucked my hair behind my ear and pulled back, giving me space. Thank you for cleaning me up, but it’s late. You should get some rest.
Okay. I stood with a nod, taking small steps to the door. Then I stopped, my stomach tightening, and gestured to the bed. Maybe I could sleep here?
The walls he had up melted, his lips curving with a relieved grin. You’re always welcome in my bed, beautiful. You don’t need to ask.
Beautiful. He'd called me beautiful.
My mouth dried, my arms tucking around my stomach protectively.
Summoning my courage, I moved back to the bed, slipping under the covers next to him.
I kept my distance, not wanting to push myself too far, and Rafe acknowledged that, keeping to his side.
We laid facing each other, just like we used to on his cot.
He brought his hands up, keeping the lamp on so we could talk.
I had to admit it was nice to have that with him.
I realized that, for the first time, all the questions I always wanted answers to, I could finally get.
Goodnight, he started to sign, but I lifted my hands.
Wait, I said. Can we talk for a second?
He settled into his pillow. Of course.
I wet my lips. There was so much I wanted to ask, but suddenly all the questions vanished. Frustration flared through me, my lips pressing. “Um,” I said aloud. Then I signed, What’s your favorite color?
Rafe cocked a brow, my cheeks flushing, but he answered with little hesitation. Grey.
Huh. I hadn’t been expecting that. I don’t think anyone’s ever told me grey was their favorite color before, I said.
His eyes flicked up from my hands and over my face for a brief second. I don’t mind white either.
White? I frowned. Those are weird colors, Rafe.
No, he said, looking a little offended. They’re perfect.
Most people just say blue or red, I pointed out. Maybe green.
Most people being Kane and Thorne? he asked.
I rolled my eyes. And Leah.
At the mention of her, my heart sank, my playful smile slipping away.
Rafe lifted a hand to comfort me but thought better of it, signing quickly, I’m sorry you saw her like that. She didn’t deserve that death, and you didn’t deserve to witness it.
I looked away, tears brimming. I didn’t know how it was possible I had any left.
I thought I’d get her out. I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut.
I thought one year with Halden would make me valuable enough that I could negotiate for Leah to join us.
It was naive of me to think that, and as angry as I am that she died tonight, I’m glad she never saw the inside of that compound.
I glanced over, finding Rafe watching me intently. I huffed.
You should sleep, I told him. You drank a lot.
Rafe gave me a sheepish look. I threw up most of it about an hour before I passed out. Not my best idea to drink so much after a year without it, but I actually feel fine now. Kind of hungover, but fine.
Rafe, I signed with a pointed look, you could barely walk to the bed.
His nose crinkled. It's wearing off then.
You're wasted.
Rafe drummed his fingers against his chest in thought, squinting up at the ceiling.
What? I asked.
He grinned. Nothing. Just like the mural.
I turned onto my back, noticing the artwork for the first time.
It was a dark motif of what looked to be fallen angels, snakes, and burning pyres—all done in a matte black.
It was why I hadn't noticed it. You could really only see the full depiction from that angle, lying on the bed with the city lights filtering through the gauzy curtains. It's kind of morbid, I told him.
Rafe shrugged. We're kind of morbid, Arden, but I don't see Creed any less perfect. There's beauty in the dark. At least, I fucking hope there is. Otherwise, what's the point of all the pain and suffering?
The point? I heaved a sigh. To make rich men richer.
He blew out a hard exhale through his nose, his lips curving downward. Sure. There's no capacity to greed in our world. But can you really say you've found any light among all the shit?