A F F E C T I O N

f i v e

"So," you say, shuffling through your textbook. We're seated in the library with your long legs awkwardly avoiding mine beneath the shallow table. "What chapter do you want to do it on?"

"Not radicals. Anything but radicals." I reply, even though you know. You taught me, though I never quite grasped it. You held my hand and rubbed my back after I failed the test. That was before we were "official." Before you would have kissed me better.

You chuckle, a deep soft sound at the back of your throat. "Yeah, I remember."

Our eyes catch accidentally, and your squint a bit. In memory? In sympathy?

"What about completing the square? Or the Cosine Law?"

"Whatever."

"Okay... lets do triangle proofs. Sine and Cosine." You say it with finality, and close your book. Soon your pen scratches languidly across the paper and your bottom lip is sucked between your teeth. When you study, sometimes, you hum. Just softly, barely a sound, but it's there and I can hear it.

It makes me think of long rainy afternoons in my bed, lying across the quilt with you beside me going over and over and over mathematical proofs and "completing the squares" and laughing. You made it fun. You kissed me when I got the right answer, you helped me when I got it wrong.

Your hand is dark against the paper beneath it, all long fingers and the pale spaces where my fingers fit perfectly. It's like our hands were made to be holding.

"Caro," you murmur, your voice loud in the quiet, cavernous space.

"Hmm?"

You smile, just the twitch of your lips. "You can do the Sine Law for now; I know you've got that one down.

//

The day you taught me trigonometric proofs, we had the house to ourselves. We'd just begun dating, maybe the week prior, and it was new and fresh and exciting and terrifying. We were in my room, you were sitting on my desk chair because you were polite, and I was lying across the bed thinking about what you'd look like in my bed.

I'd never "been with" anyone, except for Kyle Tyson and that was in the back of his mother's orange Ford and it had been painful and embarrassing and stupid. I'd been fourteen. It wasn't rape, I'd wanted it, but now I wish I didn't. I kind of wanted it with you though.

Just the way you looked, all tall and strong and gentle and mysterious. Your voice was nice, the timber felt like it reverberated through my chest, even though that's kind of ridiculous. And I trusted you, for some reason I've never been able to put my finger on. And for the longest time you never gave me reason to think otherwise.

"Okay, so how can you divide a by Sine A?" You asked, turning around in the seat I'd never actually used for studying, and looking at me. I had trouble meeting you gaze back then, those hazel eyes seemed so deep. So intense. I wish I'd looked at them more.

"Ugh, I don't know, let's take a break." I said, so you put down your blue spiral-bound notebook and stood up. You were wearing track pants with a white stripe down the side and they sat teasingly low at your hips. Your t-shirt was a plain white one, and it stretched across your shoulders beautifully and glowed in the muted light of my room. The rain splattered against my window, blotting out the limited sunlight.

I patted the quilt beside me, and you lowered yourself there gracefully. You were wearing a different cologne then, something from Polo, not Calvin Klein, I think. It was spicy and woodsy and I'll always remember it; it was the first time a boy stopped... without me telling him to, pushing him, turning cold. The first time one actually cared about me. About mistakes.

We wound up kissing, the slow forever kisses that made me feel all warm and melty inside. You stroked my hair and my face and my shoulders, gentle and hesitant with every touch. You stretched your long frame over my smaller one, propping yourself up with only an elbow since your other hand was busy exploring my curves above the sweater I wore.

You kissed better than anyone I'd ever experienced; I think it's purely and simply your confidence. You knew you were good. You knew how to make me feel good, and so I did.

I'd taken your shirt off and mine was up around my bra, and you stopped. You pulled away, leaving me cold and confused and breathless. Your cheeks were flushed and your eyes were hooded.

"Caro," you murmured, your voice rough and desirous. Desiring me. "We should stop."

It took me a moment to process what you were saying. I couldn't figure it out. "What?"

"I don't want you to make a mistake. I don't want... this to be a mistake." You sounded to genuine and serious that I hugged you. Your skin felt like fire against mine, and I hugged you and you hugged me back and you laughed and that's when it happened.

I fell in love with you.