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Here weeeeeeee goooooooooo
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The night stretched endlessly before them, moonlight casting silvery threads across the yacht's polished deck. Rafe's footsteps echoed hollow against the wooden planks as he carried Amelia's limp form through the narrow hallway, her body weightless in his arms. The violent waves crashed against the hull, sending tremors through the vessel that matched the trembling in his heart.
"Just a little walk, melia," he whispered a , his voice barely audible above the wind. "The fresh air will do you good." He could feel her consciousness, trapped within her paralyzed body, aware of every step that brought them closer to the deck. Her skin was warm against his chest, a stark contrast to the bitter cold that awaited below.
The yacht pitched forward, and Rafe tightened his grip. "Beautiful night, isn't it? The moon's so bright." His words tumbled out faster now, desperate to fill the silence. "You can probably feel the breeze already. It's refreshing, right? Like a cleansing breath."
Amelia's fingers twitched against his shirt – the smallest movement, but enough to betray her terror. Rafe's stride faltered, and he pressed her closer, as if the gesture could somehow comfort her. "Don't worry, I've got you. You're safe with me, you know? We're just getting some air, that's all. You've been below deck too long."
The door to the outer deck creaked open, and the full force of the wind hit them. Amelia's hair slid around her face, and Rafe noticed a tear sliding from beneath her closed eyelids. His chest tightened.
He's dumped bodies before, why was this difficult.
"See? Just like I promised – fresh air." His voice cracked slightly. "The stars are incredible tonight. Wish you could see them. Maybe... maybe in a little while, when you're feeling stronger, you'll be able to open your eyes." He knew she wouldn't believe him, but he couldn't stop the words from spilling out.
Though it sounded like he was reassuring her, it was really reassuring himself .
Each step toward the railing felt heavier than the last. "The sea air is good for the soul, that's what they say. Cleanses everything away." His arms began to shake, though not from her weight. "I'm taking good care of you, aren't I? Making sure you get your exercise, even if you can't walk yourself. I bet Kyle never treated you with this much consideration, did he?" He attempted a distraction.
The waves crashed louder now, their roar almost drowning out his increasingly frantic reassurances. "Just a few more steps, then we'll turn around. Back to our cabin. I'll read to you maybe? would you like that? I brought some books. Good ones." He lies.
Amelia's face twitched, another tear escaping. Rafe pretended not to notice, but his voice grew more desperate. "The moon makes everything look silver out here. Like another world. Peaceful, really. Nothing to be scared of. I wouldn't let anything bad happen to you. This is just a walk. Just a simple walk."
They reached the railing, and Rafe stopped. The metal was cold against his stomach as he stood there, Amelia cradled in his arms. The waves below were black, flecked with moonlight, reaching up like hungry fingers toward the deck. His hands trembled.
"Beautiful view from here," he whispered, but his voice shook too much to sound convincing anymore. "You can smell the salt in the air. Clean. Pure." He shifted his weight, adjusting his grip. "Don't be afraid. Please don't be afraid. I promised you a walk, remember? Just a walk under the stars."
The wind howled around them, and Amelia's body shuddered involuntarily. Rafe could feel her racing heart against his chest, betraying the terror her paralyzed body couldn't express. His own heart hammered in response, and he found himself swaying slightly, caught between purpose and doubt.
"The moon's so bright," he repeated, softer now, almost to himself. "Makes everything clear. Simple." But nothing felt simple as he stood there, the rail pressing against him, Amelia's warmth in his arms a stark reminder of her humanity. "You're safe. . This is just... just..."
She was human, a human being.
His words trailed off into the wind as he stood frozen at the edge, the weight of what he intended to do pressing down on him as heavily as the night air. The waves continued their relentless assault below, calling out with their dark promise. But still he stood, holding her, his reassurances dying on his lips as reality crashed over him like the bitter spray from the ocean below.
He could tell she was aware, painfully aware.
"You won't feel a thing," he starts, his voice cracking. "Just... a drifting away. A slow fading." He tried to paint a picture for her. A serene one. Her sinking into the depths, a silent, peaceful descent. He tried to conjure that image for her, for him, to find solace in it, but the vision was shattered by the reality of her fear. He saw her not as a peaceful ghost, but as a terrified woman, struggling against an unseen force, her silent screams echoing in the dark.
He adjusted his grip, her head now dangling precariously over the edge, her hair a silken curtain framing her face, the moonlight catching the delicate curve of her cheekbone. He could almost feel the cold embrace of the ocean, the hungry waves reaching up to claim her.
He wanted her to be calm. He wanted her fear to dissipate, to be replaced by the oblivion he was about to deliver. But her terror was a mirror reflecting his own, amplifying it, twisting it into something monstrous. It was the knowledge, the awareness in her eyes, even though they were closed, that fueled his actions, that drove him to the edge. The powerlessness he held over her, the absolute control.
As her head dangled precariouslyover the railing, the moonlight illuminating her face, he felt a terrifying shift within himself. A single word escaped her lips, a fragmented plea, lost in the wind and the roar of the ocean. It was barely audible, but it ripped through his carefully constructed defenses, tearing apart the justification he had built brick by brick.
It wasn't the image of her peaceful descent that had calmed him. It was the image of her absolute helplessness, her complete inability to stop what was about to happen. It was the knowledge that she knew, that she was aware of her fate, that had given him a twisted sense of control, a perverse satisfaction. But now, that satisfaction had turned to ash in his mouth.
The incoherent plea, the raw fear in that single word, shattered the illusion he had created. He saw her not as a pawn in his game of revenge, but as a woman, terrified and alone, facing her death at his hands. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow, leaving him reeling, breathless. He had wanted to inflict pain, to make Kyle pay for what he had done. But this... this was different. This was not justice; it was murder.
He stumbled back, his grip loosening on Amelia. The weight of her body, suddenly heavier than before, seemed to crush him. The moonlight, once a source of cold beauty, now felt like a harsh spotlight illuminating his failure. He had wanted to take revenge, to inflict the same pain Kyle had inflicted upon him. But he had forgotten something crucial: Amelia was not Kyle. She was a person. She was a human being, an innocent one at that.
The realization was a searing brand, etching itself onto his soul. He had been so consumed by his rage, so blinded by his grief, that he had failed to see the humanity in her, the innocence he was about to destroy. He had sought to punish Kyle by destroying Amelia, but in doing so, he was only destroying so much more.
He had been so focused on the act of revenge, on the satisfaction of inflicting pain, to get Kyle, that he hadn't even considered the alternatives. He had been blinded by his need for retribution, for justice, for the satisfaction of seeing his enemy suffer. He hadn't considered the possibility of taking Amelia away from Kyle without resorting to violence.
There were so many ways, that didn't involve her dying.
And besides she was just as much as a victim as Ellie was, right?
The cold metal of the railing pressed against his stomach, a sad reminder of his intended action. The ocean roared below, a dark promise beckoning him forward. But he couldn't move. He was frozen, caught between the monstrous act he had intended and the terrifying realization of its consequences.
The wind howled around them, carrying Amelia's whispered plea, a haunting echo in the vast emptiness of the night. The moonlight illuminated her face, highlighting the fear etched into her features. He saw not his enemy's face, but the face of a woman who had done nothing to deserve this. He had sought to inflict pain, but instead, he had inflicted a deeper, more profound wound upon himself.
The moonlight covered Amelia's face, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheekbone, the soft sweep of her eyelashes against her skin. He hadn't noticed before, not really, not like this. She was beautiful, undeniably so. A pang of something akin to resentment twisted in his gut. "You're...you're really something, you know that?" he muttered, his voice rough, barely a whisper above the wind. "Kyle doesn't deserve you." The words tasted bitter on his tongue, a mix of anger and something else he couldn't quite name.
His frustration grew, a tight knot in his chest. "What do you even see in him, huh? What makes him so special? Why do you let him treat you like that?" His voice was laced with a raw, confused anger, as if she were somehow responsible for the situation, for her own suffering. He was searching for an explanation, an answer that would justify his actions, but all he found was a deeper sense of unease.
He shook his head, a sudden shift in demeanor. "I'm sorry, alright?" The words were clipped, almost dismissive, as if apologizing was a mere formality, a box to be checked. "It wasn't even planned, you know? Taking you up here, kidnapping you. It wasn't...planned." He gestured vaguely with his free hand, a gesture of helplessness, of frustration. "It's my bad, okay? Sometimes I just... I get caught up in the moment. Don't think straight." He sounded like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his voice laced with a petulant edge.
A wave crashed against the hull, sending a spray of cold water over them. The yacht lurched, and for a heart-stopping moment, Amelia's limp form slipped in his grasp. He lunged, his hand shooting out to grab her, pulling her back from the edge with a force that almost sent them both sprawling. He stumbled back, Amelia's body a dead weight in his arms, and only then did he realize how close, how terrifyingly close, his hand had been to murder.
They were both on the deck now, Rafe stumbled onto the floor, his back pressed against the side of the yacht, Amelia cradled in his arms tightly, her head lolling against his chest. He leaned down, his face close to hers. "Sorry," he said, his voice barely audible. "Lost my grip for a second." He saw the furrow in her brow, the subtle tension in her face, even in this state. He could tell she felt it, the near miss.
He felt a strange wave of unease, as if she were judging him, even in this state. "I said I'm sorry, okay?" he snapped, his voice tinged with irritation. "Won't happen again." He sounded like a child being reprimanded for a mistake, his tone defensive. "I promise," he continued, his voice softening slightly, "I'm taking you back to the room." It was a reassurance, almost as much for himself as for her.
He shifted his weight, carefully picking Amelia up, her body limp and heavy in his arms. He moved quickly, his footsteps echoing on the polished deck as he made his way back to his cabin. The hallway seemed like an endless treadmill, each step a reminder of the precariousness of the situation, of his own wavering control.
"Okay, just going inside now," he muttered, his voice low and soothing. "Almost there. Just a few more steps." He talked to her, a constant stream of words, as if trying to reassure her, to convince himself that everything was under control. "Just putting you to bed now, that's all."
He reached the cabin, his movements quick and deliberate. He carefully placed Amelia on the bed, his hands gentle as he adjusted her head on the pillow. He backed away, his eyes darting around the room, as if searching for an escape. "Don't worry about it," he said, his voice trying to sound casual, his words laced with a nervous edge. "What just happened...it was a joke. A messed up joke, I know that now. But it was still a joke. And if it scared you, I already apologized."
He started pacing back and forth in the small cabin, his steps agitated. He knew it wasn't a joke. In a moment of impulsivity, he had almost killed her. The reality of it, the sheer recklessness of his actions, washed over him in a cold wave.
"Sometimes men gotta make tough decisions to get what they want," his father's words echoed in his mind, a cruel justification for his actions. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration growing, a tight knot forming in his chest. He turned abruptly towards Amelia, his expression a mix of anger and desperation. "Please don't make me regret this," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "I don't want to hav-" he stopped himself.
"Im trying to do the right thing here, alright?" It was a plea, a desperate attempt to regain some control over the situation, over his own unraveling emotions.
//not gonna lie I underestimated just how much planning it would be to write a book , omg
But it's fun soooo