The Ache Between Us

Chapter Twenty-One - Iris

Going with him was a bad idea. I knew it was, and I knew it was going to end badly.

Very badly.

The cons of tagging along outweighed the pros by a fuckton. Too bad that didn't stop me from saying yes. It should have, though. Rafael and I lived very different lives. He was in the public eye, and I was in the background writing about people like him.

It was ironic, a mere contradiction. Something I forced myself to overlook. I told myself people wouldn't recognize me, and the off chance that they would, I could just tell them that we were friends.

Friends?

I could hear my subconscious scoffing at my terminology. Rafael and I were never friends, and we could never be friends. What Rafael and I had was complicated, and it was even harder to put a label on it. What do you call two gullible teenagers who hooked up twice yet talked on the phone every night? Who spoke their darkest secrets in the middle of the night. Who whispered their fantasies to each other in between gasps and breathy moans.

We had too much unresolved shit between us that we just ignored, that we put on the back burner as we weaved through whatever it was we were.

Fuck buddies? Frenemies? Jesus, Iris, take a fucking breath.

The whole going with Rafael, and spending a night out to experience these events from the inside rather than the outside in the cold, was enticing. I wanted to see how expensive the event was, and I wanted to get drunk off of thousand-dollar champagne, and I wanted to laugh with Rafael loudly while throwing my head back.

It was a fantasy to hang off his arm like I was his, and he was mine and have everyone stare at us as we stepped foot inside—a rather outrageous fantasy, but a fantasy nonetheless. Rafael promised me that I had nothing to worry about–that the event was small and intimate and that we'd be out of there in less than an hour.

A few photos, he promised, just something to get the media off his back. I felt a thrill flutter inside of me at the simple thought of being on his arm tonight. Rafael was still playing the game that wasn't a game, where he wound me up but didn't let me release.

I was more frustrated than when I was married to a man who only knew missionary and came in less than a minute. I didn't want to get myself off like I did when I was married, not when Rafael could do it for me.

Stubborn idiot.

He warned me he wouldn't touch me until I admitted that I was his. The idea of belonging to any man repelled me, but belonging to Rafael felt...exhilarating. It didn't matter that every word he said was honest and genuine, but I couldn't admit it.

Our past mistakes, our past encounters, our past was holding me back. I couldn't give myself to this man again, knowing it would end in heartbreak. I couldn't allow myself to fall victim to his traps, not after last time. My shattered heart was still in a million pieces, and it hurt to breathe sometimes.

It hurt to look at him and see him all charming and caring. I hated that he played it so well. I hated that he did it so well. Making sure I was hungry, tucking me into his bed, the soft kisses on the top of my forehead, and the silent promises his eyes give me once they find mine from across the room. He broke my heart once, ten years ago, and I knew given a chance he'd do it again.

Who would I be if I didn't have my pride? Who would I be if I were to admit who he was to me Who would I be if I were to tell him exactly how I feel about him?

A pathetic and desperate woman who craved male attention. A stupid, naive woman who was just asking for him to stampede all over her and her heart. I couldn't give him the power. I couldn't give him the chance to. I had to stay strong, keep my heart and feelings at bay, and try hard not to fall for the same man again.