N I N E
rake.

I've never been in a psych ward. But I think that's where I'm headed.

Vibrant halls that hide the true nature of the walls, cold rooms, vacant stares, pills getting given out every twenty minutes. Security guards pulling people into safe rooms, getting jabbed with medicine that makes you sleep. Bland food, lace-free shoes, nurses following you, layers of locked doors.

It seems like that's my next stop in life. Because I swear I am going insane.

Everything is so confusing, the lines are so blurred, it's all so messy. There's no black and white, just all the shades of grey ever created. Things that should be clear-cut, aren't. I can't trust my own mind, let alone other people's. How do I know they aren't leading me astray—not necessarily purposefully, but even accidentally, the actions would have dire consequences.

Who can I trust? No one knows the full story, all the sordid secrets I've tried to keep. They're slipping away.

The lies I've kept are becoming like water in my hands, dripping passed my fingers. I don't have anyone to catch them for me. Because, in all reality, my lies have separated me from everyone else. I've burned bridges behind people's backs, and when I begin to crumble they won't be able to help me.

I was brought up with the mentality that I shouldn't lie, but that's not how life works. I was told to be selfless, and help others before myself. Put other people's masks on in a plane crash, before my own. Exactly what you're not supposed to. You shouldn't save other people if it will kill you. I think all the lies began when I tried to be selfish, it was the beginning of my downfall—wanting a break from Rafe, creating a small window in time where I could be selfish. Foolishly assuming that I could open the door once, then close it forever.

Rafe's not a complete idiot. He has a brain that, when he's not completely coked out, works normally. So, he knows something is wrong.

Between the party where he left me on the beach, my disappearing for a day and ignoring his texts, to my Mum lying about a psychiatrist appointment, only for me to be seen on a boat with the Pogues. It doesn't take a genius to put the pieces together.

Sure, that doesn't mean I'm sleeping with any of them. I've been friends with Kie since the beginning of time. But Rafe is jealous, he'll just assume.

And he'd be right.

"You coming, Mabel?" JJ asks, I look at him, holding the door open for me. I give my head a tint shake, trying to get myself to stop spiralling.

Overthink later, Frankie. Pour yourself a bath, eat chocolate and overthink the meaning of life, later.

"Yeah. Sorry." I apologise stiffly.

The other three are already wandering inside, talking animatedly, recounting the events of the hectic afternoon. Filling each other in on our separate missions. Kie explains that the man was staring at my tits the entire time, and apparently JJ fell over. Not shocking.

"You alright?" He asks, sounding mildly concerned.

I want to confront him, demanding answers as to what Kie's words meant. Surely she was wrong. Because if she wasn't, this entire selfish situation dies. And I don't know how I would go back to how it was before. Without my breaks in reality.

The—admittedly limited—space in my head is so full of the dumpster fire that is my relationship with Rafe, and the subsequent fires that there is no room to make clear-headed decisions.

"Yeah. I'm fine." I tell him stiffly. "I'm going inside." I begin walking inside, hardly talking to him.

Kie greets her father who, whilst giving her a brief hug, shoots me a warm smile. "Good to see you, Frankie," he greets me.

"Good to see you, too." I smile back at him, thinly.

My brain is off a million miles away. Standing around John B and Pope, and most importantly, JJ, in public is plain stupid. It's just going to make things worse. And I can't really afford that. When the realisation dawns in the back of my mind, it slowly raised alarm bells in the rest of my head.

I need to go home. Take a bath, get an early, and a full night's rest—reset.

These past few days have not given me a break to reflect. I need time to reflect.

"I—uh, I can't be here," I whisper, mainly to myself. "I'm gonna call my brother and go home," I mumble, this time to the group. Their attention drifts to me.

"You shouldn't be home alone," JJ warns.

"I can't stay at John B's forever, I am actually going to need to go home and be alone. And my brother lives half a dozen houses down the road. If I so much as yawn he knows about it." I explain.

Robbie, my one and only sibling, is a revered public defender. And does live down the road from me, he didn't want to be far from our Mum and myself. He could not give less of a fuck about our Father. Being twelve years older than me, he's got a wife, Hayley, who is one of the world's nice people. And my baby Niece, Amalie.

He was my first best friend, forever my saviour. The one I can call if things go wrong and I need someone to pick me up at 3 AM without an unwanted lecture. He just makes sure I am okay, and then drops me off. He doesn't pry, or give me the third degree, he just would rather me trust him enough to call him than try and walk home.

Having someone that I know would be on my side without even knowing the full story, makes me feel guilty for keeping the secret of my relationship with Rafe. I know Robbie would do everything within his power to save me, but, with that, he would destroy my father. And the guilt would eat me up.

It feels like the trolley dilemma. Where a trolley is barrelling down a track, destined to kill five people tied down to the tracks, but you are standing next to a lever, and pulling that lever you divert the trolley so it'll only kill one person. Where either option ends in hurt, and there are no easy choices.

Kie walks across the restaurant, a grin on her face, pleased with the day's events. Her face loses some of its glee when she sees my face. "What's wrong?" She asks.

I shake my head, trying to pull in an expression that asks for her to not push, "Nothing, I just don't feel too good. I'm gonna go home, I'll get Robbie to pick me up."

I can tell she wants to push for the true answer, but she recognises I don't want her to, so she stops herself. "Call me when you get home, okay?" She tells me, walking over to me and hugging me close.

Giving her a brief nod I pull away.

"I can drop you off, if you want?" John B offers from where he's sat at the table.

"I'm all good, but thanks. I'll see you all later." I smile at them and head for the door.

I text my brother, and a minute later I get a response that he'll be ten minutes.

After getting out of the warm restaurant I hear the door open again behind me, it doesn't take a genius to realise who followed me. I don't say anything, and instead walk over to a small concrete wall that holds a small garden together, and sit on it. JJ sits down beside me, too close.

"Are you mad at me?" JJ asks.

I look over at him, slightly confused as to why he thinks that. He hasn't done anything shitty since we last saw each other. And I'm not great at holding a grudge, I tend to crumble pretty quickly, so what happened yesterday is pretty ancient history. "No. Unless you've done something I don't know about?"

"Nothing that concerns you." He shakes his head with a grin.

"I shouldn't be sitting with you here, we're not exactly far from peak Kook territory," I comment.

He nods, "Do you want me to go back inside?" He asks.

"You don't really listen to me, so choose your own adventure, I guess," I mumble, picking up a stick from the ground and fiddling with it.

"Are you coming tomorrow?" I can feel JJ looking at me, I don't look back, not wanting to encourage anything anymore. I don't want to give him any indications that this is something that it isn't. That isn't fair, to anyone.

"Maybe. Depends if I'm in the mood for catastrophic decisions." I smile, again, not looking at JJ. I smile at the stick that giving me little splinters.

"You're always in the mood for awful choices, sweetcheeks."

I look at JJ. I regret it.

JJ is not a saint, JJ often has questionable morals, JJ quite possibly makes worse choices than me, but JJ has something about him that makes it hard to stay away from him. He's a little like a weed, where the more time you spend with him, the deeper he gets his roots into you, and the harder he is to get out of your life. You can cut him out of your life as much as you want, but he keeps coming back.

And I don't have the energy, nor desire to get to the root of the problem that is JJ. Because he is a problem.

Rafe doesn't have the magnetism, the only roots he has in my life are monetary. If he wasn't the son of my father's employer, I would probably have gotten the guts to end things. The people around Rafe are either there due to having a familiar obligation, or because he's rich. Not because he has a dazzling personality or an ounce of charisma.

"You know, I've been thinking about what you said the other day, and then what I said. About Rafe and me—"

"I didn't mean any of that, I got pissed at Pope and took it out in you."

"I know, I'm not mad at you. It just got me reflecting. And then Kie said some stuff today, so I just think I need to say something." I ditched the stick and have now begun attacking my nails. JJ doesn't say anything, so I continue. "I just want to reiterate that I don't want to be with Rafe, but I am, and can't end things. It's going to have to be him that ends things, whenever that is."

A blue car drives into the sparsely filled parking lot of The Wreck, that's Robbie's new car. He already scratched it, shitty parking runs in the family.

"I get it." JJ nods.

I hear the crackling of gravel under tyres and look at Robbie's car, with the window rolled down, sitting in front of us. "Maybank, I trust you're staying out of trouble?" My brother looks at JJ from the driver's seat.

JJ glances across at me, "Your brother is Robbie Marcus?" He sounds surprised.

"Well he's not my father," I smile at his slight horror and stand up.

JJ clears his throat awkwardly, the fact they've met before is slightly strange. "Uh, yes, sit." He says just as awkwardly. I shoot JJ a weird look. He called my brother sir, that is deserving of a weird look. He looks back at me tensely.

"Good." My brother nods as I get inside the cat that still has the fresh, new car smell that I wish I could buy in candle form. "Steering clear of your old man?" He asks.

"Trying my best to," JJ nods.

"Well, good night, JJ," I say with an amused grin. The way he's acting in front of my brother is like Robbie's a dictator that can sentence him, and his entire family, to death, when my brother is quite possibly the least intimidating person in existence.

"Goodnight, Mabel." He says tensely.

And with that, Robbie drives off.

"How do you know JJ?" I ask Robbie as he indicates to pull out of the parking lot, driving toward the house we grew up in.

"He stole from some store, and I was his court-appointed lawyer. Got him off, he's a good kid. Much better than Rake, or whatever your boyfriend's name is." Robbie's hatred for Rafe/Rake is palpable, and no secret. Even Rafe knows. No matter how much people correct him, he refuses to call him anything other than Rafe. I don't care anymore, about anything, it amuses me.

Listening to Robbie's questionable taste in music, I continue picking at my nails. "So you think he's a good person?" I ask. Robbie's opinion holds a lot of weight in my life.

"I do." He nods, and says with complete confidence. "He got dealt a shitty hand. His father is one of the worst people I have met. I defended him once, truly an awful person. But I think JJ somehow turned out alright, if he doesn't fuck it all up for himself." Robbie brings up the valid point, one of the biggest issues in JJ's life is JJ.

He pulls up in front of the house, with the information Robbie provided my brain has more to chew on. I turn to look at him, "Thanks," I smile at him. "Say hi to Hayley for me," I tell him before shutting the door and walking inside the empty house.

It seems like clean laundry and my Mum's favourite candle. I move through the halls and up to my bedroom, riffling through my closet I eventually find my vodka. Pulling it out I walk back downstairs, grab out the meal my Mum left for me and heat it up. Whilst waiting I take my first shot, then pour myself a pineapple vodka concoction.

Putting on a documentary about some awful event I eat and drink. And, most importantly, relax.

I don't call Kie, I avoid those at all costs, I do, instead, text her that I am alive.

There's a knock on the door, which makes me jump, I turn the volume on the telly down a little. The buzz I have is impairing my decision-making, so I don't move.

"Franny, I know you're in there. Just answer the door, I need to talk." Rafe's voice travels through the door.

Glancing at my second glass of pineapple vodka mix, I down it. The pineapple juice doesn't quite hide all the bitter alcohol, but enough that it doesn't make me want to vomit. Me, alcohol and vomiting all go hand in hand. It doesn't take much for me to lose my stomach contents.

"Franny, just give me five minutes." He bargains.

I get up from the sofa, put my bowl of spaghetti bolognese I found at the back of the fridge, on the counter, and then open the door. He stands just outside, looking freshly showered. He doesn't smell of booze—like I certainly do—or look like he's on every drug known to mankind. I don't trust him, I haven't for a while, but I can't avoid him forever.

"Take your shoes off." I finally talk to him, and move from the doorframe, letting him inside.

I want back to the kitchen and pour myself another vodka pineapple. Rafe follows, then stands awkwardly near the dining table. I can see the war going on in his head, whatever ideas are fighting each other, that I will never know.

"Your timer started when you walked in," I tell him, downing the drink. The vodka is in a normal drink bottle, I split it with Sarah, and she took the bottle.

His face stiffens a little, his eyes look at me with such intensity it looks like they're trying to dig straight through my soul. But I am so exhausted, and a little drunk, that right now I don't care.

"You don't want to be together anymore." He starts whatever conversation he came for with a bang.

"Is that a question or statement?" I ask.

He doesn't appreciate my question, I can tell that much. There is rage bubbling barely under the surface, ready to explode.

"You're drunk." He scoffs.

"Is that a question or statement?" I smirk.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Rafe shakes his head. "What if I told you there was someone else? That I was cheating on you."

I mull over the question, because this seems like an obvious question. "I would believe you," I tell him honestly. Both the alcohol and my emotionally checked-out state, and the whisperings of Rafe cheating on me, mean the information really would not be a shock. It'd be more shocking if he hasn't cheated on me. The only reason I have doubts is that he isn't good at covering things up.

"Do you love me?" He asks another question.

"Yes. Some part of me will always love you," I admit the ugly truth. No matter how much I hate him, I fear some part of me will always love me. Because he was my world at one point, my first everything.

I don't entirely understand his line of questioning, but his time is ticking. I need a bath.

"You didn't go to the psychiatrist, did you?"

"No, I didn't. The appointment got cancelled. She double booked." I lie, pouring myself another drink. At this rate, before Rafe leaves I'll be losing every drop I've drunk.

"You're fucking insane, though. To think you thought you could sneak around the island with those Pogues and I wouldn't find out?" He laughs cruelly. "Which one are you fucking?"

"Did you come here to break up with me, if so we can cut to the chase," I say coldly.

"You're a fucking whore, Franny. A dirty slut. I don't know what I ever saw in you—"

"Probably someone you could manipulate," I mumble. He catches it. My heartbeat speeds up, not nearly as much as if I wasn't half a dozen drinks deep.

"It's not my fault you're weak! It's not my fault that you're fucking psycho, taking all those pills." He begins shouting. I hate it when people shout at me. "You should've just killed yourself!"

My hand makes a move it shouldn't of. It grabs the pasta and throws it at Rafe's face. A move I didn't expect, and he expected even less. I watch as the mince drops off his face and onto the floor, the tomato sauce clings to his cheeks that are taking in a red tint of their own. A stressed, strained laugh escapes me. This is why I shouldn't drink, I lose self-preservation. I make a dash past him, toward my phone. As I pass him, getting a few steps to the living room where the documentary has turned into something about the rainforest. Baby monkeys fill the screen. I wish I was watching that.

His hand grabs my arm, so hard I feel his fingers dig into my bone. Skipping my —obviously massive—muscles. In one move I'm on the ground, my knees burning, having already had the skin ripped off, the scabs being pulled off hurts worse.

"Which one? Could be any of them," he laughs. He was always jealous of Kie, and Sarah, which is more weird. I think it's because I often said they were hot, which is not a lie. I try and stand up, he quite literally kicks someone while they are down. "Which one?" He asks again, getting louder and more aggressive.

"Don't act like a saint." I cough from being winded.

He reaches down and grabs my arm, pulling me up again. He shoves me against the wall, I feel the TV shake. Thankfully whoever my Dad hired to put it on the wall did a good job. Rafe gets in my face, for a second I think he's going to kiss me, but then he shouts the question in my face.

"Why does it matter?" I ask. "We're done, aren't we? And did you not cheat on me? Or is it okay that you die, because I'm a stupid little girl and you're a big man that has needs—"

I get slapped. Not shockingly. "Shut your fucking mouth!" He yells.

"Just do whatever you came to do, I think you're five minutes is just about up, so cut to the fucking chase." I grit. My nerves are numb from the alcohol.

His hand grabs my hair, pulling it so I look up at him. He looks so angry, "You're mother raised a fucking bitch."

"Don't talk about my mother like that. It's not my fault you don't have one." I finally taste the irony, a metallic taste that invades my mouth, probably staining my teeth. Making me look like a madman as I grin at him.

Still having a fist full of my hair he throws me to the ground, the back of my head clips the old, wooden coffee table. Blinding headlights up the back of my head, my vision blurs. Rafe seemingly magically appears before me, "I will get you locked up in the fucking loony bin because that's the only explanation for what has happened to you." He seethes.

My fingers find my phone, having been knocked off the coffee table when I hit it.

"I'm sorry I grew a backbone." I glance down at my phone, having pulled up the quick dial, having put in the number for the emergency services. With a press of a button, they'll be here. Robbie will make sure to smear the Cameron's name. "You need to leave, Rafe, or I will phone the