The Ache Between Us

Chapter Seven - Iris

Tonight was prom. I spoke to Rafael this morning, but briefly, he mentioned that he would go with some of his guy friends who didn't have dates. I teased him about the girl that asked him, and he casually mentioned that he called her off after he kissed me. He brought up how he didn't want to go without me, and I had to pretend like I didn't care, that I wasn't phased, and I think my acting was enough for him to believe me.

Finally, he told me that he'd send me photos of him all dressed up, that he wouldn't be out too late, and that he'd call me once he got home. I don't think I spoke much, choosing to listen to him ramble on and on about how much he wished he could just spend it with me and how guilty he felt that we didn't speak about the whole prom fiasco, and I shut him down, telling him it wasn't a big deal since he was going alone.

It's not like I was looking forward to it, but now that Rafael and I were together, I felt upset that I couldn't go. I mean, I could if I wanted to, but I wanted to honor my grandpa by giving him these forty days. So when I wasn't studying or turning in assignments online, or talking to Rafael, then I would sit down and recollect my favorite memories of my grandpa.

I wanted to mourn him right, wanted to let him have this one thing since everything else was taken away by my father. It was a bittersweet task to sit down and think of my grandpa and every moment, every laugh, and every story we shared while I tried hard not to cry. It was hard to remember my grandpa. It hurt.

Sometimes the memories were happy, ones that had me smiling so much as I recalled every time he made me laugh, but when the memory vanished, I was left alone, feeling even more empty than before. When it hurt too much, I'd call Rafael, and he'd stay with me on the phone, listening to me, cooing me like some baby, and he'd murmur sweet words that'd aid in calming me down. I

t was such a contradiction to how he made me feel before everything changed. The urge to stab him had lessened over the times we spent together, but whenever he pissed me off, it came right back. Rafael is sweet. He cares about me. He hates seeing me so upset. It was nice having someone take care of you, nice having someone nagging you about whether you ate or not, and it was delightful having someone to kiss and touch.

I basked in the whole aspect more because it was Rafael, and he wasn't like any other man in my life. He doesn't kiss because he knows it'll lead to something, and he doesn't give me anything expecting a whole sexual exchange. Rafael doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do. When he kisses me, it's because he wants to kiss me. When he touches me, it's because he wants to touch me. When he spends his nights talking to me instead of studying, it's because he chooses to.

It was a breath of fresh air from all the other crappy and stingy assholes I've been with. Guys who get mad when you don't want to give head or force you down there right after you kiss them. Guys who don't wonder if I've eaten, if I'm upset, or if I'm not in the mood. Rafael was an entirely different breed of man.

He was always calm and collected, and that one characteristic in him made me like him. I knew he'd never hurt me, never make me cry, and that he'd never lash out at me for stuff that wasn't in my control. Of course, it helped to know that Rafael was the hottest eye candy I've ever laid my eyes on. I mean, I was attracted to him before everything, but after being with him, the attraction grew ten times stronger.

This man was an Adonis carved God that oozed sex, power, and control. He kissed like a man set out to devour my soul, touched me like a man starved for a touch, and he ate me like a man who would never get the chance to do it again. It was the simple things. The shape of his fingers that traced my skin or the mole at the bottom of my lip. Slender but manly. Long, but thick. The softness of his scruffy hair that tickled my cheeks whenever he kissed me. The deep groans he made in the back of his throat whenever he was turned on.