「 ✦ HE'S DEAD ✦ 」

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THE DAYS AFTER the video felt like a blur. Rafe's behaviour had spiralled out of control. He was lost in a haze of alcohol and cocaine, the reckless self-destruction that had always followed him now consuming him at full force. MJ tried to reach out, tried to comfort him, but nothing seemed to break through. The once familiar, comforting bond between them was slipping through her fingers like sand.

It all came to a head one evening. MJ had tried, once again, to talk to him. To get him to stop. But Rafe was past the point of listening. He was pacing around the room, his eyes wild with that familiar, unhinged look. She could see it—he was running from something. Maybe from himself, maybe from the truth, but whatever it was, he wasn't willing to face it.

"I don't need your pity, MJ!" Rafe yelled, his voice sharp, cutting through the thick tension in the room. He threw his glass across the room, the liquid splashing against the wall. "You think you're better than me because you got yourself clean? You're just a stupid Pogue who thinks she can save everyone."

MJ recoiled, his words hitting her harder than she expected. She didn't know how to respond, but she was angry, hurt—everything all at once. "What the hell is your problem, Rafe?" she snapped, her hands trembling. "You think you can push everyone away and then still expect someone to care when it all falls apart? I'm trying to help you, but you're too busy drowning in your own damn pity party!"

Rafe's eyes darkened, his fists clenched at his sides. "You don't understand anything!" He took a step toward her, his voice venomous. "You think you're some kind of hero, MJ, but you're just a fucking Pogue too. No one's ever gonna save you, not me, not anyone."

MJ's chest tightened, his words feeling like a punch to the gut. It was like everything she had tried to do, all the care and effort she had put in, was nothing. She wasn't enough for him. She wasn't enough for anyone.

Without another word, she grabbed her jacket, and stormed out of the house. The door slammed behind her, the sound echoing in her ears. She didn't know where she was going, only that she needed space. She hopped on her bike, pushing herself down the familiar roads toward the swamp. The air was thick with humidity, and the oppressive weight of the day seemed to follow her.

Her mind raced with everything Rafe had said, the sting of his words replaying over and over again in her head. She couldn't shake the feeling of failure. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was stupid for caring so much about someone who wasn't willing to help himself. Maybe she was just as lost as he was.

The path toward the swamp felt endless, and by the time she got there, she felt like she was suffocating. Her chest ached, and her body trembled as she parked her bike near the water's edge. The dark, murky waters of the swamp stretched out before her, reflecting the twilight sky. Everything felt heavy—like it was all too much to carry. The words Rafe had thrown at her echoed in her mind, and for the first time in days, she let herself break.

She collapsed to her knees by the edge of the water, her stomach turning. She couldn't hold it back anymore. The wave of nausea hit her suddenly, and before she knew it, she was throwing up, her body shaking with each violent heave. Her hands gripped the damp earth beneath her as the tears started to fall, mixing with the sweat on her face.

This was it. This was what it felt like to break.

She gasped for air once she was done, her chest heaving as the weight of everything pressed down on her. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and sat back on her heels, staring at the dark water. What was she even doing here? Why was she always the one trying to fix everything when nothing ever stayed fixed?

The guilt, the exhaustion, the frustration—it all collided. For the first time in a long time, MJ realized she was running out of places to hide from it. Maybe she couldn't save Rafe. Maybe she couldn't save anyone. She was just a girl, too broken herself to piece together anyone else's mess.

A shaky breath left her lips as she slowly stood, wiping her hands on her pants. She was alone, and she felt it more than ever. But she didn't have a choice. Rafe was too far gone, and she was too tired to keep carrying it all for him.

MJ struggled to stand, her body still reeling from the sudden onslaught of nausea. Her stomach cramped painfully, the sensation almost too much to bear. She wiped her mouth again with the back of her hand, feeling weak and unsteady. The swamp's still air felt oppressive, and she needed something—anything—to make the pain stop.

She stood there for a moment, letting the dizziness pass before she decided to ride her bike to the local pharmacy. Maybe they had something for her stomach. It felt like the logical choice, even if she wasn't entirely sure what she needed.

The ride back to town was slow and unsteady, her stomach turning with every bump in the road. She almost felt like she wasn't going to make it, but eventually, she arrived at the pharmacy. She barely had the energy to park her bike before staggering through the door, her hand clutching her stomach.

The bell over the door jingled, and she stepped inside, greeted by the cool air conditioning that did little to ease her nausea. She made her way down the aisles, her vision swimming, looking for something that might help. She didn't know what she was looking for—just something to settle her stomach, something to make the cramping stop.

Her hand was reaching for the antacids when a voice called out behind her.

"MJ, you okay?" Kenyon's voice sounded unusually calm, but she could tell by the way his eyes scanned her that he knew something was wrong.

She didn't have the energy to fake it. "Not really," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She swayed on her feet, clutching the shelf to steady herself. "I think I'm gonna be sick again."

Kenyon immediately moved toward her, his expression softening as he grabbed a small bottle of something off the shelf. "Here," he said, handing it to her. "This should help. It's not much, but it might settle your stomach."

But before MJ could take the bottle, a sharp, dismissive voice interrupted them.

"You need an appointment for anything like that," the pharmacist snapped, her arms crossed over her chest. "We don't just give out medication without a consultation."

MJ sighed, the frustration building in her chest. "I don't have the energy for an appointment right now. I just need something to make this stop," she muttered, her stomach twisting painfully again.

Kenyon didn't miss a beat. He moved to stand in front of the counter, his posture a mix of authority and familiarity with the pharmacy staff. "You'll help her. Now." His tone was firm, and there was no room for argument.

The doctor behind the counter looked like she was about to argue, but Kenyon pressed on, "She's had a rough few days. She doesn't need to go through the hassle right now. Just get her something for the stomach cramps. You're not helping anyone by making her wait."

MJ felt a wave of relief wash over her as Kenyon's words hit their mark. The pharmacist hesitated before sighing and finally nodding, grabbing a small bottle of medicine from under the counter. "Fine. Take this. It should help with the nausea. If it gets worse, you need to see a doctor."

Kenyon turned back to MJ, a slight frown on his face as he handed her the bottle. "You sure you're okay?" he asked, his eyes narrowing with concern.

"I don't know," MJ muttered, popping the lid off the bottle. She was already regretting everything. Her stomach was a mess, and she felt like she couldn't keep anything down. "It's just... it's been a rough few days. I don't know if I'm coming or going."

Kenyon's gaze softened as he watched her. "What else is going on, MJ?" he asked, his tone more gentle now. "I know you're going through a lot right now... but this isn't normal. Did you relapse?"

"No, I didn't." The questions were coming too fast, too heavy for her to process. She didn't have the energy to explain it all. Instead, she just shook her head and muttered, "I don't know... Maybe I'm just... sick."

Kenyon raised an eyebrow at her response, but before he could push further, the doctor spoke again. "I recommend you take the medicine with food. You shouldn't go too long without eating."

MJ didn't answer. She just nodded, her head throbbing. Kenyon paused for a moment, then stepped a little closer.

"You've been... stressed lately, huh?" he asked carefully, his eyes searching hers. "Any chance... there's more going on? Could be more than just stress or food poisoning."

MJ froze, her stomach lurching again, the fear creeping into her chest. She wasn't ready for this conversation—not now, not here. She hadn't even allowed herself to consider the possibility.

Kenyon seemed to pick up on her hesitation. "I'm just asking, MJ. It's okay if you don't know. But if you're not careful, it could get worse."

MJ swallowed hard, a knot forming in her throat. She stared at the bottle in her hand. Could it be...?

Kenyon's voice broke through her thoughts again. "If you're pregnant, MJ—"

She cut him off, her voice sharp. "No, I'm not pregnant, okay? I just..." She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. It was too much. Too many questions. Too many unknowns.

Kenyon didn't push further, but he didn't look convinced either. "If you need someone to talk to... you know where to find me," he said softly, giving her a concerned look before turning to leave.

MJ stood in the aisle for a long moment, her stomach cramping again, the weight of his words sinking in. What if he was right? What if it wasn't just stress?

She wasn't ready to face that yet—not today, not while everything else was crashing down around her. But she couldn't shake the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that things were about to get a lot more complicated.

────

The morning sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the yard, but it did little to calm the storm brewing inside MJ. She barely made it outside before the nausea hit her again, her stomach heaving violently. She sank to her knees in the yard, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she retched, the emptiness inside her only making the sickness worse.

Her head spun, and she leaned forward, clutching the grass beneath her as another wave of bile rose in her throat. Her whole body felt weak like it had been drained of all energy. The pain in her stomach had become a constant companion, the cramping relentless.

"Hey, hey," a familiar voice broke through the haze. MJ didn't have the energy to look up, but she knew it was Luke. His voice had always been a little rough around the edges, but there was a tenderness now that made her want to hide away. She hadn't been expecting company—not today, not in this state.

"You good?" Luke's voice was closer now, and MJ finally lifted her head, blinking through the dizziness as she tried to focus. She managed a half-hearted nod, though it was clear she wasn't. Her stomach twisted again, and she winced, willing herself to stay composed.

Luke crouched beside her, his presence warm, and comforting, but she could see the tension in his eyes. He wasn't going to push her to talk if she didn't want to, but he wasn't going to leave her alone either. His hand rested gently on her back, a quiet gesture of reassurance.

"You're not okay, MJ," Luke said softly. "I know you're trying to brush it off, but I can see it. You look like you've been through hell."

MJ opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. She didn't want to talk about it. Not now, not with him, not with anyone. Her whole body was on edge, and her mind was a blur of guilt, pain, and frustration.

"I'm fine," she finally managed, her voice weak. "Just... stomach stuff. Probably from everything, you know?"

Luke gave her a skeptical look but didn't press. Instead, he gave her a long, lingering look, his eyes softening with something unspoken. "Listen," he started, his voice a little unsteady. "I'm not gonna pretend I'm the best guy for you. I've made mistakes, and one thing I'm not proud of. But I care about you, MJ. I care more than I think you realize."

The words hit her harder than she expected, and she felt her chest tighten, a lump rising in her throat. She didn't know what to say—didn't know how to process it.

Luke sighed, standing up and running a hand through his hair, his posture shifting as if he was preparing to leave. "But I don't know how much longer I've got here," he continued, his voice quieter now, filled with an edge of finality. "I'm a fugitive, MJ. I've got people looking for me, and it's only a matter of time before they catch up. JJ's helping me get out of here. We've got the boat ready. I have to go."

Luke's eyes softened, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "I don't know if I'll be back," he said, his voice thick with something unspoken. "But if I am... maybe we can talk more. Maybe I can make it right, even if it's just a little."

MJ stood slowly, clutching her stomach as she pushed herself to her feet. She didn't know what to say to him. What could she say? She wasn't sure what she wanted, or if anything could make sense of the chaos in her life.

"You've got to go then," she said quietly, her words feeling heavier than she meant. She swallowed, trying to push down the sudden wave of emotion that threatened to crash over her. "Just... be careful. And don't let JJ get you into more trouble."

Luke didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his hand brushing against her arm in a comforting gesture before he pulled away. "I'll be careful. You take care of yourself, MJ. Don't let yourself get lost in everything. You're better than this... better than you think."

With that, he turned and walked toward the street, where JJ was waiting, the boat nearby. MJ watched him go, feeling the weight of the conversation settle in her chest.

She stood there for a long moment, her mind racing with thoughts of Luke, of JJ, of everything she had yet to face. The nausea still clung to her, her stomach turning and cramping, but it felt different now—distant, almost like a passing storm. The weight of the day, the stress, the guilt—she had no idea how much longer she could carry it all.

────

MJ's thoughts were a whirlwind as she pedalled toward the Cameron house, her bike's wheels humming against the pavement, the sound almost lost in the rush of her emotions. The nausea that had been simmering in her stomach was now intensifying, but she ignored it. Worry gnawed at her insides, an unshakable feeling she couldn't push away.

She needed to talk to Rafe. After everything—Ward, the chaos, the mess of emotions swirling around her—

MJ couldn't just leave things unresolved. She needed answers, and she needed him to know she was there. Maybe it wouldn't change anything, but she had to try.

When she reached the Cameron property, she slowed her bike, pulling it behind a cluster of bushes at the edge of the yard. She wasn't sure if she'd even be able to get inside, but she couldn't leave without talking to him. He needed to hear her out.

She moved quietly around the back of the house, where she knew there was a small side door leading to the pool area. But then she froze, the sounds of raised voices cutting through the still afternoon air.

"I got nothing against you, even though you fucked me the other night," Rafe's voice was sharp, laced with frustration.

Topper's reply was immediate, filled with anger. "Really? Were you too coked out to remember you were drowning your sister?"

"Drowning?" Rafe's voice cracked, but he stood up, taking a step toward Topper. "No. I wasn't drowning her. I was provoked, alright?"

Topper paused, incredulous. "All right, man. You think I'm supposed to buy that?"

"You think I want her with John B?" Rafe's shout cut through the tension. "Is that what you really think?"

Topper stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowing. "Is she with John B?"

"Where else would she be, huh?" Rafe scoffed, his voice bitter. "Unless she found some other sucker. Yeah?"

"I can just track her, I completely forgot. I can track her phone," Topper said, as though the solution had just come to him.

"Are you spying on her?" Rafe's tone was dangerously low, a simmering rage bubbling under the surface.

"No, I'm not spying on her," Topper shot back, his voice strained. "Rafe, I just care about her. I want to make sure she's safe."

Rafe's jaw tightened. He moved toward Topper, his hand outstretched. "Let me see it."

"Give me my phone back," Topper snapped, his voice rising, but Rafe grabbed it anyway, his eyes scanning the screen. "What the hell is she doing on Goat Island? Shit. Of course."

"Go home," Rafe growled, his voice sharp. "Trust me. You do not want to be near her right now."

Topper shot one last glare at Rafe before storming off, his footsteps loud on the gravel. Rafe stood there for a moment, his hands trembling at his sides, his eyes distant, lost in his frustration.

MJ stood silently, watching him from the shadows. Her heart ached as she realized just how far things had spiralled.

────

It had been a couple of days since MJ had spoken to anyone, and she'd been holed up at home, dealing with a stomach bug that seemed to drag on longer than it should. Her phone lay on the counter, mostly silent except for a few texts from JJ checking in, but she hadn't replied. She wasn't sure why—maybe it was the constant swirl of thoughts in her head, or maybe she just didn't want to talk. Either way, the world outside her small space felt far away, and she didn't have the energy to deal with anything.

The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the fan in the corner. MJ had spent most of her time lying on the couch, feeling sorry for herself. Her stomach still churned, though it was a little less intense today. She just needed a break from everything, from Rafe, from the mess that had become her life.

She heard a knock at the door, followed by the familiar sound of JJ's voice, muffled but unmistakable.

"MJ? You in there?" His voice was laced with concern, and it made her feel guilty for avoiding him. She pulled herself off the couch, groaning as she stretched out the stiff muscles in her back before stumbling to the door.

She opened it, greeted by JJ standing on the other side, his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked a little too worried for her liking, his brows furrowed in that way he always had when something was bothering him.

"Hey, you feeling any better?" He asked, his eyes scanning her face, taking in the tired look in her eyes.

MJ shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant as she stepped aside to let him in. "Yeah, I'm feeling way better. Just needed some rest, you know?"

JJ didn't buy it. "Uh-huh. Sure you are. You've been holed up in here for days. You're not fooling anyone, MJ."

She shot him a small grin, leaning against the doorframe. "I just wanted some peace, JJ. You know how it is."

He leaned against the wall, watching her closely. "Right. So, are you coming to the bonfire tonight or what?"

MJ felt a twinge of guilt. She hadn't even thought about it. It would probably be good to get out, to see her friends and just breathe for a bit. But even the thought of it made her stomach twist again.

"I don't know. I'm not really in the mood for a big crowd," she replied, trying to avoid his gaze. She didn't want to explain everything that was weighing on her.

JJ was quiet for a moment, his eyes studying her. Then he sighed. "I get it. But we miss you, MJ. I miss you. Don't let the shit going on get to you too much. We've got your back, okay?"

MJ nodded, her throat tight. She appreciated him more than he knew. "I know. Thanks, JJ."

"Alright," he said, his voice softening. "Just... don't stay holed up here forever, okay? We'll be at the bonfire if you change your mind."

With that, he gave her a small smile and turned to leave, but not without glancing back one more time. "Take care of yourself, alright? And don't let whatever's going on mess with your head too much."

MJ watched him go, the weight of his words hanging in the air. She wasn't sure if she was ready for the bonfire—or if she was ready for anything—but the idea of being around her friends, even for a little while, felt like it might be just what she needed.

A couple of hours passed, and MJ found herself pacing around her room, the boredom settling in like a heavy weight on her shoulders. The quiet of the house felt suffocating, and even though she'd convinced herself she wasn't in the mood for the bonfire, her mind kept drifting back to the idea of it.

She wasn't sure why, but the thought of seeing everyone, of feeling like she was part of something for a change, pulled her out of her haze. It didn't matter that she was still conflicted about everything—Rafe, the mess with her family, the weird energy between her and Sarah—it didn't matter. She needed to be around people who understood, even if she didn't always understand herself.

Grabbing her jacket and shaking off the lingering unease in her stomach, MJ hopped on her bike and made her way to the beach. The sound of the waves crashing in the distance did little to calm her nerves, but she needed to do something, to get out of her head.

As she arrived at the bonfire, she scanned the crowd, her eyes flicking over the familiar faces. JJ, Kie, Pope, and even some others she barely knew, were scattered around the fire, laughing and talking, but her attention was immediately drawn to one person—Sarah. And, of course, she wasn't alone.

Topper stood beside her, his arm casually draped over Sarah's shoulder, laughing at something she said. MJ's blood boiled in an instant. She tried to tell herself to take a breath, that she was overreacting, but the anger that had been simmering for days now bubbled to the surface.

Her fists clenched at her sides, and before she knew it, she was marching toward them. Sarah didn't notice her at first, but Topper did. He shot her a smug look as MJ approached, but it was Sarah's face that made her heart race. Sarah's smile faltered the moment she saw MJ, and in that instant, everything snapped.

MJ stopped right in front of them, glaring at Sarah with fire in her eyes. The crowd around them hushed as they sensed the tension.

"You fucking cheating whore," MJ spat, her voice thick with rage.

Sarah's eyes widened, and Topper stepped forward, a defensive look on his face. "MJ, chill. What the hell is your problem?"

"No, you chill, Topper," MJ shot back, her voice growing louder. "You think I don't see what's going on here? What? Are you and Sarah together again after everything that's happened? You're a fucking joke."

Sarah's cheeks flushed, and she opened her mouth to say something, but MJ didn't give her the chance.

"You're so goddamn fake, Sarah. Pretending like everything's fine while you're running around with Topper. Just like you always have, huh?" MJ's voice shook with anger and hurt. "Don't act like you didn't cheat on John B. You're the real reason everything's falling apart, and you don't even care."

The words felt like a punch in the gut, but she didn't care. She was too far gone now, the anger clouding her judgment.

Sarah finally stood up straighter, eyes blazing with her frustration. "You don't know anything about me, MJ. You don't know what's going on behind the scenes. Stop acting like you're the only one who's had a rough time, okay?"

"No, fuck that," MJ shot back, her hands trembling from the adrenaline. "You've had it easy. You just keep screwing up everyone's lives and expecting no one to call you out for it."

Topper stepped in between them, holding up his hands. "Alright, that's enough. We don't need this shit here."

But MJ wasn't done. Her heart raced, her thoughts scattered, and the rage didn't stop.

"No, I'm not backing down. Do you want to throw around insults and play the victim? Go ahead. But you're not fooling anyone. You'll always be the one who ruins everything, Sarah."

For a moment, Sarah and MJ stood there, locked in a heated stare, and then Sarah's face softened. She looked away, clearly upset, but MJ didn't care. She had said her piece, and in some twisted way, it felt good to get it off her chest.

The tension in the air thickened as people exchanged uncomfortable glances. MJ stood there, chest heaving, waiting for some kind of response, but when none came, she spun on her heel and marched away, leaving the bonfire and the mess behind her.

She wasn't sure what she'd accomplished, but in that moment, it felt like something.

The heat of the moment only escalated as MJ's blood boiled, her fists clenched at her sides. She had been holding back, but now it felt like everything—her frustration with Sarah, her hurt over everything with Rafe, and the growing tension between them all—had reached its breaking point.

Sarah stepped forward, her jaw set and her eyes full of challenge. "You really think you can just walk in here and call me a whore? Get over yourself, MJ. You don't know shit."

That was the last straw. MJ's vision blurred with rage, and without thinking, she shoved Sarah back. The crowd gasped, but no one moved. Sarah's eyes went wide in shock, her hand shooting out to grab MJ's arm, but MJ was faster.

Before Sarah could even react, MJ was on her, throwing a wild punch at her shoulder. The moment her fist made contact, Sarah stumbled back, but only for a second. Then she lunged at MJ, and the two of them were tangled in each other's arms, a blur of hair and fists.

"Stop! What the hell is wrong with you two?" JJ's voice rang out from behind them, but it was too late. In the heat of the chaos, he and Topper both stepped in, pulling them apart with surprising force.

"Get off me, Topper!" MJ shouted, struggling in his grip.

"Calm down, MJ," Topper barked, his grip tightening as he held her back. But she wasn't listening. She twisted in his arms and elbowed him in the face with a quick, sharp jab, catching him off guard. He staggered back a step, but before MJ could make another move, JJ was right there.

He grabbed her arms, trying to hold her still. "MJ, what the hell? Stop!" He struggled to pull her away from Sarah, his hands tight on her shoulders as she tried to free herself.

In that instant, MJ lost all sense of control. She saw Sarah's face, her smug expression, and before JJ could get a hold of her, she lunged at Sarah, her hands aiming for her throat in a blind, desperate attempt to finish what she'd started.

But before MJ could reach her target, a firm hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her off with unrelenting force. She was jerked backward, the world spinning as she struggled in the grip of whoever was holding her.

"Enough," a voice snapped in her ear.

MJ's heart skipped a beat as she looked up and saw Rafe, his face twisted with concern and frustration. His grip on her tightened as she thrashed against him, but he didn't let go.

"Let me go!" MJ screamed, her breath coming in short gasps, her body still trembling with adrenaline.

Rafe's voice was low, but there was no mistaking the authority behind it. "No. You need to calm the hell down." He pulled her away from the chaos, moving her out of the group of people still staring with a mix of confusion and disbelief.

"Rafe, let me go!" she shouted, but he ignored her, his hands firm as he held her in place.

"Just breathe, MJ. You're not thinking clearly," he said, his voice softer now, the anger in it replaced by something else. Maybe worry. 

But she didn't care. The weight of everything—the lies, the betrayal, her own emotions—felt like it was suffocating her.

"Let go of me!" MJ snapped, but Rafe didn't let go.

MJ's breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, her body shaking with a violent tremor that she couldn't control. The air around her felt thick and heavy, and she couldn't seem to catch her breath. She tried to push away from Rafe, but his grip tightened, holding her steady.

"MJ, are you okay?" Rafe's voice was low and concerned, but the tension in it was palpable. He didn't let go, but his fingers flexed on her shoulders as though he was afraid she might collapse if he did.

She could feel the cold sweat beading on her forehead, and sliding down her neck, and for a moment, she thought she might pass out. Her stomach churned violently, twisting into knots.

"Rafe... I'm fine, just—let go of me," MJ rasped, her voice cracking with the effort to stay calm. She tried to take a deep breath, but it didn't work. The nausea in her gut surged again, making her stomach tighten painfully.

Rafe's face was right in front of hers, and he leaned in closer, his eyes scanning her face for any sign of what was happening. "MJ... are you high?" he asked, his words a sharp, anxious question.

At the sound of that word, something inside her snapped. She yanked herself free from his grip, her breath coming even more rapidly now. "I'm not high," she spat, her voice trembling with rage and frustration. "You're the one snorting drugs again, not me!" The words came out with such venom that it took everything in her not to crumble beneath the weight of her anger and hurt.

But before Rafe could respond, her stomach lurched violently, and she barely had time to turn before she was throwing up. The bile burned in her throat as she heaved, the nausea crashing over her in waves. She couldn't stop it, couldn't catch her breath as the world spun around her, and all she could focus on was the burning in her chest and the bitter taste in her mouth.

When she finally stopped retching, she felt dizzy, her legs weak as she swayed slightly. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her vision swimming as she leaned against the tree nearby to steady herself.

Rafe was silent behind her for a moment, but when she turned to face him again, he looked—guilty. His eyes flickered with something she couldn't quite place, his jaw tight as he watched her carefully.

"MJ..." he started, his voice quieter now, softer. "I didn't mean—"

"Don't," she cut him off, her voice hoarse and bitter. "Just don't. You don't get to act like you care about me right now." Her words felt like daggers, but the truth was she didn't know how else to say what she was feeling. The hurt and anger inside her felt too big to contain.

She didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see the pity or the guilt in his eyes. She just wanted to escape, to disappear for a little while.

But she couldn't. She was stuck in this mess of her own making, and the more she tried to run from it, the harder it became to breathe.

Rafe's eyes narrowed with concern as he watched her stumble, the exhaustion and pain clear on her face. His hand hovered uncertainly as if he wanted to reach out but wasn't sure if she'd let him.

"MJ..." His voice was strained, almost desperate. "How long has this been going on?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, biting back the bitter taste in her mouth, and took a shaky breath. The world was still spinning, the ache in her stomach relentless, but she knew she had to answer him. "A week," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's been going on for a week now."

Rafe's expression softened, but there was a flicker of panic behind his eyes. He cursed under his breath, as if angry at himself for not noticing sooner, for not being there when she needed him. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his tone a mix of frustration and concern. "I—I should've known."

She shook her head weakly, not trusting herself to speak for fear of losing control. She didn't want to make this his problem, didn't want to burden him with it, but she couldn't escape the truth. Not anymore.

Without another word, Rafe stepped closer, his arm going around her waist to support her. She felt the heat of his body next to hers, his presence solid and grounding. "I'm taking you to Rose," he said, his voice firm but still laced with worry. "She can help you. She'll know what to do."

MJ tried to protest, but her body felt too heavy, too fragile. She couldn't fight him, and deep down, she didn't want to. She was tired—tired of pretending, tired of fighting the pain, tired of being alone in all of it.

Rafe guided her gently toward the car, his hand on her back, steady and sure. He opened the passenger side door for her, his eyes searching hers as she hesitated. "You need this, MJ," he said softly. "You don't have to go through this by yourself."

She nodded slowly, her head pounding, and slid into the seat with his help. As soon as she was settled, Rafe closed the door and jogged around to the driver's side. He started the car quickly, the engine humming to life as he pulled out of the lot.

The drive to Rose's place was quiet, the air between them thick with unspoken words. MJ stared out the window, watching the passing scenery blur together as her mind raced. She could feel the weight of Rafe's gaze on her, but she didn't have the strength to look back at him.

It wasn't until they pulled up outside Rose's house that she allowed herself to finally close her eyes, the exhaustion overtaking her. Rafe parked the car and turned to her, his hand gently resting on her arm. "You're going to be okay," he said quietly. "Rose will fix this. We'll get you through it."

MJ didn't respond, too tired to argue, too tired to say anything. She just nodded weakly, her hand clutching the seatbelt as she felt herself slip further into the fog of exhaustion.

Rafe helped her out of the car, his hand steady at her back, guiding her toward the door. As they walked up to the entrance, MJ found herself feeling strangely comforted by his presence—though the worry still gnawed at her insides.

She didn't know what the next steps were, or how to fix this, but for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel completely alone. Rafe was here, and he was going to help her through it.

As they entered Rose's house, MJ couldn't shake the strange tension that seemed to hang in the air. Rafe was acting different—more distant, his usual sharp edges softened by something MJ couldn't quite place. Rose, too, seemed on edge, her movements smooth but deliberate, as if she were trying to hide something from both of them.

Rose led them into the cozy living room, the soft glow of the fireplace flickering in the background. She smiled at MJ, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You look like you've been through a lot, dear," Rose said, her voice warm but laced with something that felt... off. "I think some tea might help settle your stomach. It's just a blend I use when people are feeling a little... under the weather."

MJ tried to force a smile, but the exhaustion was making it hard to focus. She sat down on the couch as Rose moved to prepare the tea, her hands steady as she worked. The smell of herbs filled the room—calming, soothing. Rose handed her a steaming mug, the faint scent of something sweet and earthy wafting up. It almost felt like a comfort, despite the unease gnawing at MJ's insides.

"Go ahead," Rose urged gently. "It'll help you feel better."

MJ hesitated, her instincts whispering that something wasn't right, but her stomach clenched with hunger and sickness, and the thought of relief was too tempting. She wrapped her hands around the mug and took a slow sip.

At first, the warmth was soothing, almost too soothing, and she felt the tension in her body begin to loosen. But then it hit her—something was wrong. The dizziness came on slow, like a fog creeping in at the edges of her vision. Her thoughts became sluggish, and she found it harder to focus on anything at all. The room seemed to tilt, the firelight dancing in strange patterns that made her feel as though she were trapped in a dream.

"Rafe..." she murmured, trying to call out to him, but her voice felt distant, muffled. She tried to push the mug away, but her hand felt too heavy, the weight of it almost impossible to bear. Her breath became shallow as she struggled to stay conscious.

"Rafe..." she repeated, but this time it was barely more than a whisper.

Rafe was standing by the door, his back turned to her. When he heard her voice, he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as if he hadn't expected her to speak at all. "You're going to be fine, MJ," he said, his tone too calm. Too detached.

It was then that MJ realized something she should have noticed earlier—the strange look in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw, the way he had been avoiding her gaze ever since they got to Rose's place.

"Rafe, what's going on?" she tried again, but the words came out slurred, her tongue too heavy in her mouth. She felt herself sinking into the couch, her body no longer responding to her commands.

Rafe turned fully now, his expression unreadable, and MJ's heart skipped a beat. There was something cold behind his eyes. Something that felt... wrong.

"Everything's going to be okay, MJ," Rafe said, his voice distant and almost robotic. "Just rest. Let Rose take care of you."

But MJ could barely focus on his words. The room was spinning, the world shifting in and out of focus. The last thing she saw before her eyes closed was Rose's face, leaning over her with a smile that was just a little too wide, a little too knowing.

Then, everything went black.

────

authors note:

ahhhh, we're officially ONE chapter away from Season 3, 

and I'm losing it because it's been such a slow burn to get here! 

season 3 is heavy on Rafe & MJ (and, yes, it's steamy).

 I'm so hyped to share it with you all! As a special treat, 

I'm uploading the rest of the chapters tonight, and my holiday gift to 

you—no matter what you celebrate—is the entire Season 3 completed 

by Christmas. Thank you for sticking with me, and happy reading!