The Ache Between Us

Chapter One - Iris

Some people say that there's a thin line between hate and love, and for a time, I believed them. But I'm here to tell you that line on the side of love doesn't exist when it comes to him. It never did. Its entire existence became benign, non-existent because I believe if you hate someone with every atom of your being, then it leaves no room for anything else. I hate Rafael Garcia. I hate him. Simple as that. Rafael is a snotty, know-it-all soccer player that had one class with me, which happened to be my first period. Honestly, it was the Devil's work. It had to be. Not only did he absolutely wreak havoc in my Honors English class, but he ruined my mornings as well. It didn't help that everyone adored him because of some record because he played forward in soccer.

We were the home of the Vikings– the great warriors, and Rafael Garcia made the school's soccer team proud and blah, blah, blah. Our poor Honors teacher, Mrs. Shaw, was the bear witness to our fights, debates, and the way we brought each of her lessons to a screeching halt as we attacked each other's points or opinions. However, Mrs. Shaw and our other classmates were more than amused by our daily entertainment. A student even brought a bucket of popcorn with him once, while others claimed we made them eager to come to school. Rafael wasn't just the school's star athlete, but he was also incredibly intelligent. A book-savvy athlete who didn't give a shit if anyone saw him studying or working hard in the library.

Just another notch on his academic post and resume that everyone fawned over. The teachers patted his back, his friends high-fived him in the halls, and the girls oohed and awed while tossing their panties at him during his games. Rafael didn't date. He didn't do girlfriends, but that didn't stop the girls from throwing themselves on him like he was the last male to walk this planet. Rafael was put on a high pedestal because he won a few awards and medals for his acrobatic performances.

I wasn't jealous; of course, I was just as good as he was in every aspect–except the athletic part. I didn't have a single athletic bone in my entire body. I was the student that people would describe with too much school spirit. I was Valedictorian, the classmate that organized bake sales, charity events, fundraisers, helped newcomers with orientation, and planned and detailed every school event.

I did that, and everyone knew me just as much as they knew him. The school had an ongoing joke that we fought because we chose to argue rather than have sex. As if that was what I needed–to have sex with Rafael Garcia. The thought always made me gag, but other than the bile rising in my throat, it made me absolutely furious that people assumed we had some sort of tension when all we had was a competitive streak with one another.

I mean, albeit it was far from natural, it was still just a competitive streak.

We both loved to win. We both loved to be right. And we both hated–fucking hated losing. So we jumped at each other's throats every opportunity we had. Even though we only shared Mrs. Shaws' class, I still saw him around campus and at events that the soccer team would have to show up in, which was every single event. The school advertised him so much that they were automatically invited to every event I planned and organized. So he wasn't just ruining my mornings like at the beginning of the year, but my entire day too–especially now that we were nearing the end of the year and I was planning the end of the year trips and dances.

Rafael Garcia was every girl's fantasy. Smart, soccer player, adored by all, and handsome. As much as I hated to admit the last one, Rafael Garcia was a very, very attractive man. Yes, I said man, because of how he was built, spoke, and carried himself. Man was the only word I could use, and even then, I felt like it did nothing.

Rafael had tawny-colored brown wavy hair that he always wore messy without any gel to pull it back or hold it down. His hair wasn't a full brown because how it looked in the sun was almost like warm honey. His eyes were pools of jade and toffee; all swirled together in an almost magnetic way with dark brows. His face on usual days that he didn't have a game was usually kept stubbly, his shadow sharpening that cut jawline, his dimpled chin, and his downward turned primrose-colored lips.