The roof made me feel safe. Even as my toes curled in my shoes, and my body titled towards the edge until my breath caught itself half-way to my throat, and my head swam with images of my body falling splat against the gravel. Part of me enjoyed the danger and possibility of everything ending that way. The short few seconds in which my body would feel inclosed in the rushing wind that blew past my outstretched arms.
I thought of that, as Scarlet sat me down on the kitchen table just minutes before I crawled out of the apartment door, and insisted that the only reason I wasn't with Raphael was because I was afraid. I laughed, because how could someone stand at the edge of a tall building, only feel multiple surges of adrenaline, and be afraid of kissing someone?
She watched me carefully, narrowing her eyes an inch. The classic facial expression that said she knew me far more than I would ever know myself. I instinctively looked away.
The sun was almost setting when I finally stood outside the antique store, peering in through the large glass windows and in between the abundance of ragged furniture pieces.
If Ben held any thoughts regarding my reappearance, I would never find out. He only raised his eyebrows and handed me the keys before asking me to lock up in a few hours. I took the keys with a feeling close to cracking open a new book, and sat behind the register as a few leftover customers loitered around.
My fingers brushed against the chipped wood that decorated the side of the desk, waiting for something to happen. It was like standing at the edge of a building, up on the roof, and expecting someone or something to push me off so badly that the expectation turned into a strong held belief. So that the skin on my spine up, to the back of my neck tingled, and I half-expected to turn around and find someone's hands on me.
Looking up a few minutes later aligned with the action of looking over my shoulder and actually finding someone there, staring at me. Eyes that were sunken in and bloodshot, with lines etched so finely underneath that I would no have noticed them if I hadn't previously spent ages staring at them while he fell asleep by my side.
I didn't have the guts to turn him away. Not when his feet faltered and his face seemed to turn a sickening shade of gray.
"I can leave," he began.
I knew what I had said before. I didn't want him around.
"Don't," and my body was pushing me out of my chair for no other reason but to stand there awkwardly. "Ben left."
"When?" he asked.
"A few minutes ago. I can carry on a message if you'd like."
"No," he said, "that's okay. I have his number."
I nodded, once, just to indicate that I heard what he said, and waited for him to make his exit.
He didn't.
So I willed my knees to bend, and sat down on the chair again just so he would get the hint.
He shuffled around on his feet and took a look at his surroundings. I looked around too, to find the customers there. They were watching our interaction from the rare occasion the furniture didn't press so tightly together.
"Why are you here?" he asked, boldly for someone who, only seconds ago, suggested their own retreat.
"Don't I have the right to ask you the same question?"
"Yes, but I asked it first."
"I work here," I said, "unless you forgot you're the reason I have this job."
"Do you hate it?"
"It pays all right."
"That I'm the reason you have this job," he continued.
"Maybe," I said. "Do you mind?"
They were staring again. I had half the urge to close the store, make them quit their curious glances, just to see how they would react.
But Ben would most likely find out and leave me jobless.
And I'd be alone with Raphael with nothing holding me back. Just like the other times, when he would drag me from my chair and curl his fingers around the hem of my shirt and tug me to the very end of the store, where it was dark and too far away and too covered up for anyone to see or hear.
He looked around, too, his fingers buried in the pockets of his ripped jeans.
I wondered if he was remembering it too.
"When do you close?"
"In a few hours."
"What time?"
I checked the clock. "Ben didn't say specifically."
"So, hypothetically speaking, if you left right now you wouldn't get in trouble."
I pretended not to notice the way he licked his lips at the end of the sentence. "Hypothetically. Why would I leave right now?"
He shrugged, and ran his fingers through his hair. "I would ask you to."
"And I would comply?"
He inched towards the desk, pretending to examine the sunglasses stand with outdated frames and scratched lenses. "Don't you want to?"
"I remember distinctively asking you to stay away."
He snuck a glance to his left, where all the customers suddenly found interest in something else. "I remember you pushing me against the wall."
"That was before I asked you leave me alone."
His fingers reached out to play with the sunglasses. "Were you drunk?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"You were," he stated. "Did you mean it?"
"Yeah," my eyes fell to his fingers again.
They slid away from the sunglasses and disappeared into his pockets again. I looked up and found him looking at me, like he was trying to solve a riddle. I didn't think I was that difficult to figure out.
A man with graying hair edged towards the desk and gave me a smile as he placed a locket on the desk. I glanced at Raphael, who stepped to the right and turned so he was staring outside the window.
After the man left the store, the other customers slowly trickled out as well. Raphael wandered towards the gramophone, leafed through the records, then moved to the rear end of the store and worked his way between the shelves until he was back at the front of the store.
I was constantly aware of his movements, as he twisted around the furniture, traced his fingers along the dusty shelves.
When the the store was empty, and the clock ticked a late hour, Raphael was skimming through a catalogue as he hovered near the counter.
"You should call it a night," he said, not looking up.
"I will," I said, "once you leave."
"I'm not a customer."
"You look pretty interested."
He looked up then, at me, so quickly I wasn't sure how his neck remained intact. "In the furniture."
"Of course."
He set the catalogue aside. "I'll walk out with you."
I flipped the sign and locked the door behind us, stuffing the keys into my pockets and clenching my fingers around them to keep them from wandering.
We stood outside the store, neither of us indicating the will to walk any farther.
Raphael lit a cigarette and pressed it between his lips.
"How's the business?" I asked.
He exhaled a string of gray smoke. "All right. I'm thinking of taking a break."
"Why?"
He shrugged, then eyed me carefully. "Scarlet says your friend's in the hospital."
"Yeah," I looked up at one of the streetlights, then back at Raphael, his hair a glowing mess of fluorescent curls. "He's okay."
"And you?"
I shrugged. "Don't have a reason not to be."
Raphael stared at me for a second before blurting out, "I didn't think you'd be okay with seeing me."
I didn't think I would be okay with seeing you.
But instead my lips formed the words, "Who says I'm okay with seeing you?"
"Right." He glanced over his shoulder at the opposite street, then back at me. "You're still mad?"
"You're still jealous?"
"I don't know," he tilted his head to the side. "Did you really not fuck anyone?"
The sharp edge of a key dug into my palm. "Would it make a difference?"
"Did it make a difference when I said I did?"
I bit my tongue. "I don't care who you fuck. You don't belong to me."
He gave a frustrated, clipped laugh. "So that's it?"
"I don't know why you're acting this way. You fucked up. It wasn't my fault."
"Why didn't you turn me away? When I first came in?"
"Turn away a customer?"
He rolled his eyes, flicking his cigarette aside. "I should get going."
I gnawed at the side of my mouth. "What do you want?"
"I thought that was obvious."
I stared him down.
"This," he said. "Whatever. I don't fucking know."
"Stop by the hospital tomorrow. I'll text you."
--
Raphael was there before me, leaning against the wall outside Dan's room and fingering an unused cigarette.
"You can't smoke in here," I said, as I approached.
"I know."
He tucked the cigarette away, straightening up and looking at me expectedly.
I glanced towards the door.
Whatever happened to Dan was unclear. The doctors had no clue of how he received most of his wounds, even after an extensive amount of questioning. They suspected it was a conflict between gangs, a matter concerning drugs or money. They were hoping Dan would open up to me, but so far I only seemed to be getting in the way.
I briefly explained this to Raphael, without keeping up any amount of eye contact.
When a nurse stepped out of the room, I glanced at Raphael and allowed him to pass through first.
"Hey, Dan."
But Dan was more interested in Raphael's sudden appearance, and they lapsed into a comfortable conversation as I tried to question him on the latest updates.
"Jake, the doctors think I'm almost ready for discharge. Will you relax?"
I slumped against a chair. "Fine."
"Nice flowers," I heard Raphael say.
Dan brushed him off. "A nurse sent them."
I raised my eyebrows.
"It's not like that," he said. "I barely spoke a word to her, I swear."
"I don't believe you."
Dan glanced at Raphael. "Why are you friends with him?"
"I don't know." Raphael grinned at me. "Are we friends?"
I pretended to examine Dan's oxygen levels.
"He's in a bad mood," Raphael explained for me.
"I should get to class," I interjected before I could hear Dan's response. "I'll drop by later."
Raphael followed me out.
"The only reason I told you about Dan was so you could keep him company when I'm busy," I said.
"That's the only reason?" he asked.
I sighed. "Don't tell him."
"What?" he challenged.
"You know what."
He held my gaze for a while longer before he nodded. "I'll try to get him to talk."
I wished I could have believed him. In that fierce determination that insisted upon gripping his every word, but doubt still lingered where there should have been hope. I knew leaving Dan alone with Raphael for an hour or two surely couldn't make a difference. Not when I had tried since the day I rushed to his hospital room. But the doctors insisted that understanding what happened to Dan could help in the long run. Especially if it was unsafe for him anywhere else but in a monitored environment.
idkkkkk
but I'm craving Italian food
thanks for reading <33