HEARTLESS─── RAFE CAMERON [1]

chapter ten

I blink. Once, twice, and then I'm awake. I am still lying in the same position on Rafe's couch, covered in various blankets and in someone else's— Sarah's, clothes. I feel sweaty and hot.

Evening is falling, quickly. I feel grim, but more well-rested than ever. I yawn, then toss my head back into the pillow.

"You're awake." A stony voice from behind me says. I snap up.

"How long was I out for?"

"Look around you, Vandenburg. It's almost night time. How long do you think you've been out for?"

"Someone's in a bad mood," I mutter to myself, low enough for only me to hear.

"What did you say?" He says. Clearly, he either has the ears of a fox, or I'm just a lot louder than I originally thought.

"Nothing," but my smile gives me away. I open one eye— peeking at him, and am shocked to see a hint of a smile on his face.

Rafe moves from behind the couch and instead, sits on a lounge chair right in front of me. "On a different note," he begins, "do you finally want to talk about what happened this morning?"

I roll my tongue over my teeth. "What's there to say?" I ask at first. "I was down at the beach, surfing. Clearing my head. He showed up. Started...taunting me, and then finally hit me. My head hit a rock. And it was like something was turned off in him, because he just kept hitting me. Even when I was unconscious— I'm sure."

He bites at the inside of his cheek, eyes sharp.

When I try to turn my body, I realize I can't. My entire body is sore, covered in bruises, some bad, some not. "He's done this before. But never this bad. Never like this."

He inhales, slow at first, then lets out a sharp exhale. Just like smoking a cigarette.

"Okay?" I question. "Are we done? Do you want anything else out of me?"

"Who says I wanted anything?"

"Because you're Rafe Cameron. You always want something."

"Okay, fair point," he replied.

I knitted my eyebrows in confusion as the boy just simply stared at me. "Well? C'mon, spit it out. It's getting dark and I have to go home."

"A truce," he says, his voice small and quiet, which is certainly a first.

"What?" I ask, my brows knitting further together. "You're certainly funny."

He pushes himself closer to me, and I try to dig myself deeper into the couch. Perhaps I should let it envelop me. "I wasn't joking," he says, his eyes staying fixed on mine.

"I don't get it," I say. "A truce?"

"Yes," he says, rolling his eyes like he's tired of me already. "Are you a bit short of hearing?" He waves his hands around his head, an innuendo telling me that he thinks I'm crazy.

"No, but thank you for your concern, Cameron," I say, in a moment of false sweetness.

"Anytime, Vandenburg."

"So," I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "Talk to me about this truce."

"What's there to say?" He asks. "It's a truce. You know what a truce is, right?"

"Yes, I do," I say, annoyed. "But I don't understand. You're asking me to..." I trail off.

"I'm asking you to lay down your weapons; for me to lay down mine."