Of Mochas and Macchiatos

Part 18

The days pass in a blur, a bright cacophony of colours, spilling from one day to the next like watercolour paints haphazardly brushed across an easel. Because that's what time looks like with Rafe. Bright and beautiful and happy. From an outsider's perspective, at least.

And yet, although my life has become something of daydream of designer clothes and decadent dinner dates since that fateful fire at my apartment, the nightmares still come for me; even in the days after I finally start to feel safe in Astoria, in the days after Rafe and I become official.

Apart from the night when I lapsed into that dream in which my battered body was tossed about to the sharks, the rest of the nightmares had been relatively tame. Usually, my silent screams are quiet enough that Rafe doesn't awake. Like tonight. My tears and muffled sobs don't reach through the walls. They don't carry through the air to Rafe's room. And I'm too proud to ask him to stay with me at night. He'd probably say no, anyway. He doesn't like the vulnerability of staying the night with me. Or anybody for that matter. And I tell him that I'm not ready for sex with him. He doesn't press, exactly, but I can see that he wants it. He wants more from me. But ever since that incident with Elio, I just can't even stomach the idea of it.

It seems that Elio, whom I've taken to calling Three Sugars, has joined the seemingly endless reel of nightmares I have.

The death dreams I am used to. I can almost deal with. They've already been happening for months. And even when they first started, I remember awaking with that lost feeling of déjà vu, night after night, until eventually I realised that I'd been having them intermittently ever since the encounter that Kiki and I had with the gypsy woman, since the inception, the first promise of my curse. Our curse.

But now, there is something else that torments me in my sleep. Something other than the curse and my never ending demises. No, the sanctity of my body has been violated further. Not by sharks with dead eyes, or the wild gulf of the sea or the dehumanising declaration that I am nothing more than a deathbringer. No. Now, in addition to the aforementioned horrors, I am violated by a boy I thought was my friend.

The questions that follow each time I awake are even worse. Did I bring it onto myself? Did I lead him on? I kissed him; does that make it my fault? But I said no. Surely, that's a clear expression of non-consent?

In the few minutes after I awake and sometimes when I've been conscious for hours, I can still feel the ghost of him, on my body. It's like he has branded his handprints on me and that there's a red seal engraved upon my thigh, my breast. Even across my lips and face. And sometimes, even when I am with Rafe and he reaches out to tuck away a strand of my hair or ruffle at it, when he gently brushes by my arm or hip when he passes me, I feel my heart beat faster, feel that now-familiar brand sear into me again and all I can think is No, Elio. Stop. Please.

It always takes a few seconds for me to reorient myself. Recognise that I am not with Three Sugars but that I am safe, with Rafe. Sometimes, when he and I are curled up in front of the fire together, when I've finished my school work for the day and I am reading while he monitors the stock market or whatever, he'll glance up suddenly and catch my eye. And I'll lean over to kiss him. Because I -we both- want more. But every time we get closer, I feel Elio's mark on me and I pull away. Sometimes I actually shout at Rafe to stop. Even though I want to feel his touch, let him kiss away that invisible tattoo that Elio has left on me. Of course, every time I object, Rafe stops, immediately. And I murmur the same excuse that I am just not ready, every time. He must think me insane. Most of the time, we aren't even doing anything remotely risqué. Sometimes, I freak when I just feel his hand on the small of my back. And even though I truly want Rafe, and I know that my little panic attacks are inane, illogical and deprive the both of us of what we want, I can't help it. And it's so wrong.