rafe cameron
never sober
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The sound of the front door slamming shut barely registered in my fogged-up brain. I was lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, feeling like I was floating and sinking all at once. I knew I had done too much this time.
Jesus Christ,Rafe’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and annoyed. I turned my head slowly, watching him stalk into the living room, his jaw clenched. he muttered something under his breath, shoving his hands through his hair.
What the hell, baby?I tried to sit up, but my body felt heavy. The room spun, and I let out a breathy laugh that probably sounded more like a whimper.
Rafe, I’m—
Yeah, no shit you’re high,he cut me off, kneeling beside the couch. His fingers gripped my chin, tilting my face up so he could look at me properly. His pupils were blown too—he’d been using, of course—but he was more in control than I was.
You look like a mess,he said, shaking his head. His voice was sharp, but his thumb brushed over my cheek almost absentmindedly, like he couldn’t help himself.
How much did you take?I swallowed, but my throat was dry.
I don’t know. More than usual.Rafe let out a frustrated sigh.
Great,he muttered.
You can barely sit up, and I have to babysit your ass now.I frowned, trying to push myself up again, but my hands were trembling. The second I swayed, Rafe was back beside me, steadying me with rough hands.
Stop moving you’re gonna fall.he snapped, but there was something else under his frustration—something like worry.
I’m fine,I mumbled.
Yeah, sure. Totally fine,he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. A long silence stretched between us before he finally sat down on the couch next to me, shaking his head.
You scare me when you do this shit,he admitted, voice lower now.
Like, I get it. But this?He gestured at me.
This is too much.