Forbitten

Chapter 16

Dior brought me to lunch at the cafe where we had our first date. The same waitress, Rebecca, took our order while flirting with my lover. However, her flirtatious demeanor did change to one of stoicism when she saw his hand placed upon my tarsus. Dior ordered a peppermint tea with sugar on the side and my heartbeat erratically at the reminiscent thought of him feeding me sugar cubes.

"And you?" she referred to me, turning slightly to face me with her small notepad and pen in her manicured hands, awaiting my order.

"Do you have blood pouches, preferably O negative?" Her eyebrows furrowed and her body jolted back from me.

"No... this isn't the Red Cross..." she responded, still eyeing me with disgusted curiosity. I averted my eyes at the same time my cheeks reddened.

"My lover will have a rose tea. Sugar cubes on the side. Thank you," Dior said quite curtly as I continued to dejectedly look out the window, watching the passersby on the sidewalk instead of making eye contact with our waitress again. Sometimes, when I was with Dior, I would forget myself. But, just because he was accepting didn't mean everyone else was as well. Suddenly, I began to sniffle, holding back tears. Dior was one of the only people who accepted me as I was... but so was Terry.

I heard Rebecca's bracelets jangle as she walked away and soon, Dior grabbed tightly on my wrist and began to massage the joint comfortingly.

"Why are you crying, Bright Eyes?" He asked me. I looked towards him, tears beginning to leak from my lenses. Even the sight of him glowing with the sunlight streaming in from the window on the side of us like he was a heavenly angel provided only a small comfort.

- - -

Hours after our lunch, I ran into my lover's warm chest, his arms wrapping around me in a protective embrace as my tears wet his dark green sweater. Dior was leaning against the hood of his car while we stood in front of the Sectum house. When I heard the door slam behind me, the hot droplets that kept falling out of my eyes as I wept with loud sobs multiplied. Meanwhile, Dior ran his fingers through my dark brown hair, pulling at the strands before letting them fall back onto my shoulders.

"Come on," he murmured into the shell of my ear, putting his hand on my lower back to guide me towards the passenger seat. As he drove away from Terry's small house on the thin road crowded with kids giddily screaming, I could only look out the window towards the sky. No clouds resembled any shapes, like the outline of a girthy meatstick, which I assumed was just a Slim Jim, like Terry always pointed out.

While I remained distracted, staring at the outside world's sky, the car ride from Terry's house to Dior's apartment passed by quickly. My lover's hand returned to my lower back, guiding me up the flights of stairs to his door, labeled 646. Before I was aware of even crossing the doorway, Dior was placing me on the soft, plush surface of his couch.

He sat down beside me, sinking the cushion in far enough that I began to roll towards the crack between the cushions; luckily, Dior stopped my small body and, once again, sat me upright. Soon after, his smooth hands with clean, cut nails stroked my cheeks while his hazel orbs looked deeply into my own cerise ones.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Dior inquired. I looked past him, towards the window on the back wall of his alleyway kitchen; the sun was beginning to lower and soon, its light would disappear completely, at least until tomorrow came. But, right now, it felt like the promise of a bright future was a hoax that I had previously gullibly believed.

"I went to talk to him," I began, referring to Terry, "and I thought it was going to go alright, because he brought me into his room. And his Hannah Montana season 3 soundtrack was playing on his iDog and he was wearing his Lisa Frank crop top, and those things usually mean he is in a good mood. But when the door of his room closed, he turned around and just... glared at me!" I began to weep again, burying my face in my small hands. In response, and as an encouragement for me to continue speaking, Dior kissed the crown of my head. "He wouldn't even let me get a word out. He acted like I snapped his ABBA CD in half over my knee, which he once said was considered a hate crime towards the gay community."