FEEL

50. Irrition

Irrition ~ regret at having cracked the code of something, which leaves you wishing you could forget the pattern

~ The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows ~

~°~

Heat engulfs my body and I'm surrounded by a warm rosey scent. My eyelids drift apart. Sapphire orbs regard me with a comforting kind of stare. I can't help but pull my lips up lazily to grant him a smile.

"Did I fall asleep?" I ask.

Cameron nods, the smile in his eyes finally reaching his lips. "For roughly five minutes while I was running your bath. Can I trust you in here by yourself without worrying about you drowning?"

Only when he says this do I register that I'm in the bathtub. The candles lit around give the bathroom a dim, relaxing orange lighting. They might also be the reason for the floral aroma in the air, if the scented foam bath wasn't doing it on its own. Cameron is knelt beside me, now fully dressed in a black T-shirt and matching sweats.

"This is nice," I think out loud, his question long forgotten.

"I'm glad you like it. How do you feel?"

I sigh, "Good. Really good." My eyes drift shut on their own. "I think I might sleep in here."

"That's unwise," he replies wryly.

I open my eyes again and look at him. The memory of him on top of me flashes in my mind and I can't help the light flush on my cheeks. I have to look away for a moment to calm my jittery body. The flashback is too vivid, so much that I can still feel him all over me, his light weight above me, his kisses across my neck, soft groans against my skin...

I fail to hold back a squirm when my core tightens intensely. It's only then that I feel a dull soreness inside me. Cameron puts a hand on my knee when he notices my discomfort, caressing it soothingly.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm okay," I answer quickly. Because saying I still want him despite having had him just short of an hour ago would be beyond greed. Saying that I wanted more despite being sore would be gluttonous. It would be disgraceful and shameful and unladilike.

Before I let go of my pride and do it anyway, I mutter, "You still haven't told me her name."

A short silence follows after my words. I turn to him, finding him pondering intently, eyebrows crossed and gaze slightly vacant. And then, "It's Armani. Why does it mean so much to you?"

My heart grows slightly heavy in my chest. "She has a beautiful name." He doesn't reply. I add before I could stop myself, "Is she better than me?"

"Aquila," he says it almost in a chastising manner.

"I'm sorry. I forgot. I don't have the right to ask you that."

I realize it now. How much I had blurred the lines, too engrossed in my endeavor to attain him. I keep forgetting that I'm not entitled to him, that whatever would happen between us should mean nothing. It's what I wanted, wasn't it? It is, I tell myself. It still is.

Another silence. He seems to be thinking over something. When he reaches some occlusion, he starts, "If this is too much for you-"

"It's not," I cut him off. Cameron must note the tension in my body, must clearly see my tightened features due to his words, so he stops that topic right there. In the space of the silence, I say, "You could say it, you know? If you're already sick of me, you could just say it."