When Bluebirds Fly | ✔

Part Three : Chapter Nineteen

Juan's unstoppable wails shot through the entire house and all of us were getting increasingly agitated. Dad had left for our apartment to pack stuff. Marta was rocking her baby in her arms while frowning at something being said in her phone which she expertly balanced in between her ear and shoulder. The baby wailed more at the lack of attention, it's tiny fists flailing and knocking her phone down. She was close to bursting out and I rushed towards them, picking up her phone.

Abuela emerged from the kitchen, wiping her damp hands against the apron and taking the troubled baby from Marta. "Oh, little Juan . . . Come here dear, come . . . We'll play and have lots of fun . . ."

The baby took away all the noise that had filled and claimed the room as his. Marta's voice became subdued, her frown disappeared and she murmured to the speaker on the phone. I could hear him discuss something about a deadline to her and I sighed audibly. I proceeded to take the trash out from the kitchen and dump it outside.

When I stepped out in my tank top, sweatpants and flip-flops, a cool, night breeze sent pleasant shivers down my body. Once I had dumped the bags, I noticed a discernible vehicle in the dark. I took a few steps forward, one eye on the car and the other constantly looking back at the house in case anything sinister happened. Upon closer, strenuous inspection, I discovered that it was a very familiar car.

"Isaac," I breathed, knocking on the glass window.

His lean figure was slumped and his head was resting against the steering wheel. At the sound, he suddenly stirred and his eyes widened at me. His jittery hands impetuously pressed on the button which lowered the window and halfway through the process, he felt foolish. He instead opened the door, letting me in. "I-I'm sorry. I was thinking about how I could ask you to come out since y-you weren't . . . " Since I wasn't picking up his calls. "Anyway, you told me your grandma was conservative and-and---"

I recklessly captured his lips in mine, pressing my body as close to him as possible, needing to feel his warmth and him. Before he could hold me, I pulled apart a little. His face was beautifully flushed and a lost look was twinkling in his eyes. I mumbled, "Drive somewhere, away from here, next street-next town, I don't know. I don't want my family catching us . . ."

He obeyed, immediately driving us, but we couldn't make it more than one street without putting our hands on each other. He parked the car under a dense canopy of trees in the vacant street and I closed the windows. Inside, I felt hot as he shifted to me and I climbed on his lap, thoughtlessly removing my tank top and unclasping my bra.

"God, Ana," he whispered, his arms circling my waist, pulling me towards him in an urgency that was so unlike him, the calm, gentle Isaac.

I tugged at his t-shirt and he let me remove it, our naked, damp flesh warm against each other which in spite of our feverish movements, sent soothing, burning tingles that ignited the aches our bodies and extinguished the aches in our minds. His mouth kissed my collarbones before lowering and with tenderness, kissed the sensitive flesh of my breasts. That sent a maddening feeling in my body and thought which made me not want to feel it because of how good it felt. I gripped his curls and brought his face back up, both of us fervently kissing each other's lips and the favourite parts of each other's faces.

I shifted closer on his lap till our bodies were crashing into each other's, the soft material of my sweatpants rubbing against the coarser material of his jeans.

My hands shakily reached for his belt and as I started undoing it, the lost look in his eyes vanished and he gently held my wrist. "We shouldn't do it here." A shame descended on me and before I could untangle myself from him, his arms held my back, hugging me fiercely. "You know we can't do---"