PINK

22

'Is this what it's

like to feel love?'

Dante walks to her, nearly skips, from all the excitement bubbling up from inside of him. Iara notices how elated he is, so she blinks to disperse the tears in her eyes and swallows hard to keep the sick feeling at bay.

He holds out his arm in Iara's direction, the cuts blend with the ruby ambience, just like when hers had disappeared. In his fingers is a photo, monochromatic, the tonality red. Iara takes a closer look and could make out a bright smile plastered on a heart-shaped face. As Iara's eyes travel upwards she locks eyes with the woman in the photo, her eyes are just like Dante's; like ice in colour but warm, the feeling of roasting fluffy marshmallows in front of a soft harmless fire.

The women is clad in a knitted cardigan with floral embroidery; and if Iara looks a little closer, she can see that one flower that is different from the rest, it is knitted too.

Her blond hair reaches her shoulders then swooshes upwards into a little curl. In her arms she holds a boy, his hair reminds her of a movie. 'Titanic' - hair like Jack, blond and falling to the sides and front of his face.

Iara looks up at Dante, he still has the same style.

"She's beautiful." Iara mellifluously says. Tears unexpectedly well in her eyes, but they don't sting nor do they make her feel ill, they generate a tender heat in her heart and cheeks. She laughs heartily as the tears travel down her face, touching her lips and spreading a warmth behind her clammy skin.

"She's my mum, my real mum." Dante speaks sensitively. Iara can feel she is witnessing something special and vulnerable, they way he stared at his mother was nothing like she ever seen; the pure adoration and care that is laced in his pastel irises.

The raw emotion that undulates in the room makes it seem they aren't imprisoned in the depths of a misguided and illogical man's insatiable appetite for revenge.

"Turn around." He cheers, excitement swirling all around him. Iara spins around on the balls of her heels, using her hands to cover her eyes. She hears rustling but has no clue what is in store for her.

"You can turn around now." He says, voice so deep and prominent. In that moment of covering her eyes Iara had no thoughts other than what she was experiencing. She feels a once familiar emotion, peace and tranquility. She isn't in the past with Braden or in the grips of Stephen, her mind is with Dante - in the present.

She turns around and her eyelids fly open, no longer stinging or dry from the excessive tears. Her surroundings seem denser, but in a good way. They vibrate more, making them more known in her mind. The background is not just the background, it's not stilled, it's fluid with the foreground; everything is just there.

Her attention shifts to Dante's waiting stance, hands held out, a little package in them. Iara cannot help but stare at his bare forearms, where if the lightening was different, would be adorned with grave slashes. She stretches her arm towards the gift, feeling the wooly morsels that splay off the main thread of wool. She clutches it in her palm, the frayed ends tickling her skin.

"I love it." She says, smiling.

"Don't open it until you leave this house, okay? Promise me." Dante begs slightly. Iara nods, swinging her backpack, which to her surprise, is still on her back, and safely positions the knitted good against the diary she stopped using.

"Thanks." She grins, before an idea strikes, causing her to search through her bag. She brings out a grainy photo.

"My parents, real ones." She says, chirpily. Dante takes the image into his grasp cautiously, not wanting to damage it. Dante stares at the two middle-aged humans, laughing and leaning towards each other.

"I think our parents would have gotten along well together." He smirks, before handing it back to Iara.

The more they conversed, thicker an aura grows around them. Affection and ardour thrive from their conversation. But, the roar of an engine escalating with passing time, before it splutters and ceases in the driveway, slays the mood.

Hearts palpitate to such a degree that for Iara and Dante alike, their stomachs cramp and cause painful sensations. Iara turns to Dante, wide-worried eyes, glistening with new tears. Dante grabs onto both her shoulders.

"Hide in my room, when I tell you, run out and go to the front door." He exclaims.

Iara's eyes look into his.

"What about you?" She questions, as she bites her lip anxiously.

"I'll be fine, don't worry." He tugs her in and hugs her, his head resting on top of hers. She feels his strands suspend, as they lightly touch her clammy forehead; they feel like golden feathers from an exotic bird caressing her chilly skin.

"I really like you." Iara utters, voice hoarse but soft and light. "Like a lot." She laughs breathlessly.

"I love you too." He replies as her head tilts towards his. Iara feels a warm fire dance around in her chest. Stephen's movements in the house are muffled and distant, all she hears is Dante's breathing. He leans in closer, his plump lips brush upon her cold ones. The heat of him spreads throughout her face causing blush to rise on the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Little sparks, almost like fireworks, tingle around her lips and to her stomach. He steps back, flustered and rosy.

Iara is taken aback with how blue his ashen eyes are, the reddish tones of his face and the room accentuate the azure in the pastel irises.

"Best occultation I've ever had." Iara jokes, as her face reddens and radiates an enormous amount of heat.

"You are too cute." He expresses, biting down on his already flushed and plump lip.

"I find it hard you haven't killed yourself. I want to keep you safe, with me." She gently says latching on to his black shirt and tugging him towards her. She rests her head against his chest; his heart's consecutive beats soothe her.

"I'm surprised I haven't too. I've tried though, it's hard to live here. I mean, the blank cards and the monochromatic rooms? I've had some moments. I haven't gone to school for years. I wanted to go to uni and major in literature or something." He speaks.

"Why didn't they let you?" Iara asks, her tears dampening the surface of his cotton shirt.

Dante shrugs his soldiers. "Guess, they didn't care. I mean, Stephen's attention turned towards revenge after everything. He used my tuition money to pay prostitutes to come home with him. I earned all that money working for Ms. Malley next door." A light smile forms on his lips.

"Disgusting." Is all she could utter.