𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝟑

EPILOGUE THREE the finale

❊ ❊ ❊

IN THE DAYS leading up to Camille's burial, Rafe suffered a numerous amount of near-overdoses.

He'd fallen into a cycle ever since he got intel on her autopsy report- the one thing that secured the fact that she was dead. He refused to believe she died just like that for the first few days; his Cami didn't give up so easily.

But, then again, he'd stumble upon her letter to him. He'd reread it with flooded eyes, cursing each droplet that fell on the paper and smudged her imperfectly scribbled words. Her note made him more angry than he wished, though less angry at her and rather at himself.

He hated that he couldn't see that she was desperate for help before it was too late. Instead of persisting to ensure she was alright, he accepted every unclear answer she'd give him in response to his concern, and then he moved on. Ignorance was bliss when it came to his own emotions, but it was the one thing he hated to pass onto her.

All the signs Camille gave him- whether they were silent or screamed- he dismissed them.

So, in order to deal with his overpowering guilt, Rafe started a routine. Every evening following the news of her cause of death, he'd drive to Dave's Liquors and pick up 2 bottles of her Peach Liqueur, chase the sickly sweet taste down his throat, and proceed to drink until he reached a .27 blood alcohol content level.

That was how much Camille drank before she stepped into that car, and inevitably the amount that caused her to crash straight into a fallen tree.

Rafe knew full well that Cami couldn't drive, let alone under such intoxication. There were times where he bargained with his thoughts, persisting that she wasn't in the right state of mind and that the following events were accidental. However, no amount of booze can restrict someone from the ability to swerve, which is exactly what she didn't do.

Camille didn't swerve away from the obstruction. Horrifyingly, it seemed that she'd gone towards it on purpose. A short and sweet ending to her life, a death so painless that she didn't even bleed externally. Much like her suffering, all her injuries were internal, the blood that rushed to her brain once she hit the steering wheel causing an end to it all.

Her death was ruled a suicide, to Rafe's objection as he continued forcing the idea of an accident.

Accidents often take the same form as mistakes, and with growing acceptance he wondered if she really meant to do what she did. If she'd known ahead of time just how badly he'd be affected, would she have still killed herself?

With that question came the counter action; if Rafe knew that he'd lose the one person he loved once he fired that shot in Peterkin's direction, would he have still done it?

He was unclear of what answer he'd choose, meaning he was stuck in the dark of Camille's.

Coming back from one of his consecutive night spirals, Rafe ran straight for the bathroom, holding in the contents of his stomach and seconds later spilling them out into the toilet. His throat was coated with a burning layer of guilt, unable to accustom himself to his new routine despite doing the same each night. He shut his eyes as the feeling of emptiness started its course through him, knowing it was a matter of a few more heaves until his mind and body went numb.

"Rafe?" Wheezie exhaled in concern as she stood in the doorway, fearfully watching her brother knelt on the tiled floor.

In his rushed blur of actions, Rafe had forgotten to lock the door behind him, meaning his little sister had to deal with the wrath of witnessing his grief.

"Where have you been? Jesus Christ." she crouched down beside him, jolting back as he regurgitated again, "What's going on with you?"

He swallowed, looking up at the girl with bloodshot eyes, "I just had a really bad night. I'm fine."

"You've been saying that for like a week now. What did you do to yourself?" she placed her palm on his back, feeling the soaked fabric of his t-shirt.

"Doesn't matter. Shit, can you check my pulse?" he said, causing her eyes to widen at the severity of his state.

"Rafe..." she sighed, "What did you take?"

"I drank a bit. I'll be fine if you check my pulse." he took ahold of her hand and pressed her fingertips under his jaw.

"Drinking doesn't make your irises disappear. I'm not dumb, I do advanced bio." she scolded, searching for a heartbeat on the damp surface of his skin.

A silent minute passed where only the siblings' shallow breaths could be heard, their stress bouncing off the bathroom walls and deflecting back onto them. Rafe let his eyes close, hanging his head low whilst attempting to cope with the spin of the room around him. Wheezie took her fingers from his neck, wiping her hand on her pyjama shorts and tapping her brother's cheek, signalling to him that she was done counting.

"52." she whispered, "Is that normal?"

"No," Rafe laughed, "I'll live though."

His back slumped against the cold surface of the wall behind him, allowing his head to knock back and trail tears down his cheeks. The boy hadn't realised he was crying until he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, meeting the unexpected wetness of his cheeks. He was understandably far too intoxicated to have awareness of his actions or his grief, which was unfortunately the aim all along.

Rafe's stares blurred as he looked at his sister, her face fading to reflect Camille's. If it was still possible for her to be with him, he imagined she'd care just as much as Wheezie- if not more. She'd comfort him in ways no one else could, therefore leading to him being okay.

Ever since he started drowning his system with substances, all Rafe could do was picture his girlfriend. It was one of, if not the reason as to why he fell into this spiral in the first place; he missed her, uncontrollably at that.

He longed for the softness of her touch, the radiance of her smile, and the taste of her lips.

Ideally, Rafe would be getting drunk on that taste each night. Camille became his drug in her living months, keeping him sedated from the hell that was his life before her. She made things better, and he had to learn to preserve that feeling somehow. So, frying his mind to a point where he'd start envisioning her presence was how he chose to do that.

The drinks and drugs helped keep her around, even if they were the cause of her reckless driving. They caused her to stay a clear image in Rafe's vision, and he liked that.

He liked believing that she was still there somehow.

"Rafe, don't close your eyes." Wheezie held onto his ankle, shaking his leg ever so slightly, "Hey, stay awake. You're good."

"I'm awake." he mumbled in response.

"Are you gonna tell me what you took now?" she asked in a delicate tone, treading hesitantly with her question around the time bomb that was her brother.

"Alcohol and coke," he slurred, the weight of his eyelids becoming unbearable with the passing moments, "not the drink. Coke, the powder."

Wheezie kept her hand pressed around his leg, small shakes revealing themselves in sync with her stifled sobs. The sound of her sniffling made Rafe pry his eyes open, whatever was left of his heart sinking at the sight. Despite their fairly close relationship, he'd never once seen his sister cry, and felt a sudden guilt considering he was now the cause.

"Why are you crying?" Rafe muttered weakly.

"I'm not... it's nothing." she wiped her eyes, plastering on a meek smile to go along with her words.

"I'm sorry." he whispered, causing her influx of tears to increase.

Wheezie took in a deep breath, "It's really scaring me to see you destroy yourself like this." she sniffled again, "I know you miss Camille. She was your girlfriend and, it doesn't compare at all, but she was someone to me too. We both lost her, and I can't bear to risk the chance of losing you too."

The girl threw her brother into a tight embrace, both of them breaking out into a fit of tears as they held onto each other. Rafe buried his head into her hoodie, smothering the pained sounds that became expressed with loud volume. Having it said aloud, he finally realised how much loss took its toll on him, and later how his reaction hurt Wheezie. He was hurting everyone around him, and he couldn't stand the thought that he could push someone else away again.

"I fucking hate her!" he screamed against her shoulder, "I hate her. Why did she have to kill herself?"

"Rafe, shh. You don't wanna wake Dad up."

"I hate her so much. I hate her. I hate her, Wheezie." he resumed, his chest rising rapidly with his continued failure to breathe regularly.

"Rafe, please." she cried, "You don't mean that. It's okay to still love her, I do."

"No, I hate her. I wish I never fucking met her!" his throat strained, the acidic feeling that rose forcing him to retreat from the young girl's arms and hurl into the toilet bowl again.

His body was exhausted with his attempts at dealing with how much he missed Camille. The array of emotions he had to deal with started their physical effects like they did each night, and the thought of having to endure this for days to come made a cold sweat shudder down his spine. This wasn't the type of pain that drugs could numb; no sedative of any strength could pose as an anaesthetic for his suffering.

As much as he dreaded the thought, he knew he'd have to force himself to get used to his new nightly routine. A life without Camille wasn't one he ever wished to live, and now had to familiarise himself with what those days would be like. After being happy because of her for so long, being without her meant he had to be miserable. Misery for him wasn't ideal- it shouldn't have been ideal for anyone- but he wondered how she lived through her misery for the years that she did.

Though, her sadness caught up to her all those days ago, and Rafe wished his would catch up to him soon. He wished that he'd have the chance to see her face as more than just a figment of his imagination, and that they'd finally experience a lifetime together as they planned.

It didn't matter if it had to be in heaven or hell, he wanted it.

He wanted her.

"You know it's her burial tomorrow, right?" Wheezie brushed his hair back, seeing as he was still hunched over the toilet bowl, "You've gone through all the effort of planning it, you have to be okay to go."

"Can you go there with me? I dunno how I can face her mom by myself." he asked.

"She's back from Charleston?" the girl realised, furrowing her eyebrows with shock.

"Yeah." Rafe confirmed, "She's still recovering from her operation, but they moved her back here since y'know..."

"I know." she whispered as she got back onto her feet. "C'mon, it's late. Sleep this off and you'll be better in the morning. I'll have an Advil ready for your comedown."

Taking hold of the hand she had outreached for him, Rafe got onto his feet and embraced his sister once more, "Love you, Wheeze."

"Since when are we the type of siblings to say that?" she laughed faintly against his chest.

"Since I realised it's better to say it before it's too late."

❊ ❊ ❊

The morning that Rafe dreaded for the past week had finally loomed. Bitter sunlight fell onto his eyes through the cracks in his paper-thin curtains, projecting a blanket of red over his vision. He rolled over to his left, immediately noticing the lack of a warm body beside him. The need to see Cami's face first thing as he woke up was somewhat met once he stared back at the pictures of her he'd hung up; a tragic mural of all the times he'd managed to capture her beauty in a standstill moment.

Much like his thoughts, his walls were covered and coated with her face. He admired each photograph with grave detail: each smile, each scowl, each and every part of her. His lips let out a sigh as he pulled himself out of bed, wanting to waste no further time in getting through this day until he could drink to forget again.

An all-black suit was hung on his dresser, guessing it was placed there ahead of time by Wheezie. His tasks of getting himself ready blurred into one, similarly to the rest of the days he experienced after she left. He had nothing to look forward to, nothing to enjoy, and nothing to live for.

Rafe didn't have the effort nor the energy to do anything to prepare himself beyond the necessities, and found that he was driving to the graveyard with his younger sister before he'd truly registered that he was even awake. His days became ghostly, floating through them as nothing but a body that was cursed to stay alive.

How was it right or just for him- in any way- to have to be burying his girlfriend?

If it was up to him, Rafe and Camille would've died at the same time. He hadn't thought of their cause of death in detail, but he just knew he wanted to drop dead the same minute she did. That way, one wouldn't be forced to live without the other, and neither would have to experience what he was.

The only way he could replicate that closeness he longed for was by buying out 2 funeral plots at once. He was well aware that he was always destined to be buried beside his family, but he was repulsed by the thought alone ever since his father pushed the one person he loved to suicide. Rafe wanted nothing to do with the Cameron name and, instead, everything to do with Camille.

The pair were to be together according to his plan, and maybe one day they'd be able to reunite.

He stayed in the parked car for a few prolonged moments, gathering the last remainders of his willing strength as he zoned out glancing at the small gathering of people dressed in black and white. His eyes darted from person to person, recognising May and Dave in each other's arms. The other attendee whom he noticed was someone he never imagined to be in mourning at a time like this.

JJ Maybank stood alone, looking solemnly over the hole in the ground that was awaiting Camille's casket.

Completely ignorant as to whether he was leaving Wheezie behind or not, Rafe slammed the car door behind him, heading towards the blonde boy who quickly became aware of Rafe's presence. JJ threw his hands up in surrender the closer he got, offering any sign of peace that he possibly could.

"How've you got the fucking nerve to show up here? You piece of shit, are you here to say 'I told you so'?" Rafe's palms pushed JJ's shoulders back, causing a stumble on the other boy's part.

"Calm down, man." he retorted. "I'm just here to pay my respects."

"Oh, really? Where was your respect when she needed it, huh?" he yelled, recalling the time Cami was in tears because of JJ and his friends. "Get the fuck out!"

"Look, Rafe, don't cause a scene. Her mother's right behind you—"

"The same mother you compared her to when she was at her worst? You're telling me you care now? Cut the bullshit, Maybank. Go home." he pushed him again, fury growing as his sobriety caused a failure to cope.

"I have every right to miss her as you do. One of the last things she told me was that she wanted me dead, you don't think I'm gonna be upset about that?" JJ persisted, aiming to justify his actions.

"You kicked her out 'cause she was with me, and you still think you're in the right? Acting like some fucking saviour, but who was the one to save her from you? Me, I was!" Rafe's throat strained, careless to the dramatisation of his words in such a setting.

"And look where that got her. Congrats on saving her, I bet you're real proud."

Dave broke away from comforting May and rushed to grip Rafe's hands behind his back, containing the situation before it escalated into anything greater. His determined hold meant Rafe couldn't break out no matter how hard he tried, leaving the Maybank boy unharmed to his dismay. He was utterly disgusted that he even dared to show his face after everything he and the Pogues put Cami through, and wanted to inflict the same amount of suffering she felt onto him.

"Rafe, son, calm down." the man scolded, "Now's not the time."

"Thank you!" JJ exaggerated, causing Rafe to try and jolt forward again.

"And you..." Dave resumed, "From what I'm hearing, I don't think Camille would've wanted you here. Consider your respects to be paid, now leave."

"But—" he objected.

"But, but, you heard me." said Dave, sternly. "We're her family. If we don't want you here, you need to leave. Do it yourself or I'll make you."

And, with those few words, JJ Maybank was gone.

Dave let go of Rafe as soon as the Pogue boy was out of sight, giving himself a moment to breathe before rushing to hug May. The 2 had never formed a close relationship, but the woman's gratitude was expressed several times over the phone calls Rafe insinuated to inform her of the event. He'd aimed for this to be a gathering of only the people who cared for her in life and not just for sympathy points after death, explaining his outburst when he saw JJ.

After handling so much damage in her waking years, he was determined not to let Camille's memory be tainted any more. He knew she deserved a final moment of peace before being sentenced to an eternity underground, and contrasted that with how he went about retrieving that for her. Knowing the person she was and her love for chaos, Camille could be pictured in his mind to be laughing at his reaction, always smiling in situations she knew weren't cheerful matters.

He found himself wondering how many other Camille Fox's hid under their smiles, masking their pain with beams of teeth and lips. She was forever smiling about something, and often found the willpower to joke amidst her tears. It was proof that you can never tell what's going on beyond a person's surface, and the cruelest cautionary tale he'd had to endure.

There were bound to be dozens of others who'd been dealt the same fate as the 4 who gathered around her grave. With hung faces, they watched their loved one be lowered into the dirt, final words and cries shed over their goodbye to her. It was a fact that nothing could now erase her doom; Camille was dead, and there were no 2 ways about it.

Death is so permanent that even the person wielding it in their own palms fails to realise the extent. The moment a person you care for leaves the Earth, you're left with an overwhelming silence within you. A need to hear their voice again, a longing for any part of them that's still alive and well. That very silence is deafening, and will persist with each breath you take.

That was a lesson that Rafe had certainly learned. He was aware that he'd lose the ability to function normally the second he fell in love with her, and then inevitably had to let her go. He was forced to live knowing that he'd remember Cami for longer than he had the blessing to know her, and that he was a fool to even think of loving someone afterwards.

Rafe was going to miss Camille, and it was going to hurt like hell.

He could see it vividly: how he'd pick apart every last photo of her, how he'd call her phone just to hear her voicemail, how he'd find her clothes and break down sobbing, how he'd never sleep on her side of the bed, and how he'd never move on.

It was better for him to reminisce and hold onto whatever part of her remained, as he knew the one thing he couldn't do was do what she did.

Rafe tucked his hand into the pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out the page he'd torn from her journal. His chest rose with a deep inhale, blinking away the tears that brimmed his waterline as he read over her final words.

Be happy for me, Rafe. Live like I couldn't.

In some way, they did end up like Romeo and Juliet. His Juliet died by her own hand, and a part of him died with her. Regardless of how much he desired to have been in that car with her, he had to fulfill the closing wish she left in her note.

He had to do what she couldn't. It was certain that he wouldn't be happy, but he could live.

And that's what he ultimately did.

Rafe Cameron lived all because Camille Fox asked him to.

THE END.