Raphael /BoyxBoy/

||Twenty-Eight||

Some days I felt short bursts of rage towards him. Unexplainable anger that built every time I thought of him. Even when a day passed of having not even heard his name, I still thought of him, and felt like moving away just to leave some distance between us. My fingers would scratch at the tattoo he left on my thigh, as if removing it with my finger nails would be like removing him from my life.

And other days, I traced the image and remembered the way he left it there for me. That I would have it on me for the rest of my life, and no matter how far I distanced myself from him, I would still bear a piece of him on my body.

Summer break unfolded a series of decisions to make. Dan was looking for a place to stay ever since he moved into our living room couch since his discharge at the hospital. I had a pocketful of time I needed to unload before I lost all control of my thoughts. And Scarlet was being Scarlet. She tiptoed her way in and out of conversations, and barely lingered in between her hours at work.

Dan was like that too, sometimes. I would step into the living room and his body would tense up from head to toe, as if I walked into a conversation I wasn't supposed to overhear.

Scarlet suggested that he would talk when he felt ready to, and I agreed, but his skittish mood swings were starting to creep up on me. I started thinking for too long about things I never thought about. Things like Tom and Jesse even though they had nothing to do with me. Or Nate telling Ian about what happened, and conjuring up so many scenarios that always ended up with blood on someone.

I pushed them away and dedicated myself to working at the store, as if arranging ancient furniture pieces was going to transport me back in time where I could forget all about now.

Then there was Raphael, who I avoided thinking about at all costs. Somedays, I spent hours with him constantly somewhere in my mind. Other days, I pushed him away so far back that he would stick there and I would manage a few hours without thinking about him at all.

But he was there, and significantly so after the tattoo incident. He could take a hint, and realized I needed space. But sometimes he dropped by the store and hovered around until something I didn't even know was inside me broke, and things between us almost felt normal again.

He walked in, then, around midday, allowing the leftover spring wind to waft in through the door behind him.

"I ran into Dan at the apartment," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Is he still not talking about it?"

"Still," I said.

He nodded. His hair was growing, and it flopped right over his eyebrows. I willed myself not to mention it.

"How are you?" he asked, and I felt the rope between us pull tighter. Our conversations were growing stale, and it was only a matter of time before they ceased to exist altogether.

I shrugged in response.

"I hear you're done with classes."

"I got my degree."

He frowned. "When?"

"Doesn't matter."

"So, what's the next step?"

The dreaded question. Scarlet asked the same one, after the muted celebrations and glasses of champagne. She never bothered asking it again after the first time.

"I'm not sure," I answered.

Which was a lie. There was a job waiting for me back home. A favor from a friend or other, a promise made over a series of phone conversations and Skype meetings. I hadn't made my decision yet, but the deadline was nearing.