Page 55 of Vicious Intentions
Then there are sensitive souls like Raffaele, who can never quite find their footing in an organization like that, much less make peace with it.
I’m still trying to think of ways to ease his pain when he opens his eyes, his half-lid gaze flicking briefly to my mouth. Before I can say anything, he leans in and brushes a soft, tentative kiss against my lips. It’s gentle. Almost doting.
When he pulls back and looks at me again, something in his expression feels hopeful, almost pleading. I don’t find the words to stop him when he leans in once more. The second kiss lingers a fraction longer, searching for something I don’t know how to give.
I let it happen, even as a strange detachment settles over me. I’m there, but not really. And it unsettles me that Raffaele doesn’t seem to notice. That he doesn’t seem to mind that I’m not participating in this kiss in the slightest.
Then his hands slide to my waist, steady and sure, guiding me back until my shoulders brush against the rough bark of a tree. The contact is enough to snap something inside me wide open. Not desire. Alarm.
My breath catches as old memories surge forward unbidden, my skin prickling, my pulse racing. The scrape of bark against my coat, the closeness of Raffaele’s body, the way the space around me disappears—it all crashes together too fast.
I know it’s Raffaele. I know he isn’t trying to hurt me. But my body doesn’t.
I don’t want this. I don’t want any of it.
“Rafe, stop,” I gasp, pushing against his chest.
He freezes instantly, but he doesn’t give me back my breathing room. And I need to breathe.
I push again, harder this time, and now he steps back as if he’s been burned. I close my eyes so I don’t have to see the hurt on his face and focus on holding myself together, my body trembling as I pray it’s enough to keep me intact.
“Anna? Anna? Are you okay?” he asks, his voice frantic.
“I’m fine. I just need a minute,” I hear myself say, though I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself.
I stay like that for a while, until my racing heartbeat finally settles into its normal rhythm. When I open my eyes again, Raffaele is a few feet away from me, giving me all the space I need, and then some.
“I’m sorry,” he hurries to apologize. “I didn’t mean to get carried away like that. I just thought…” He trails off, his eyes lowered in devastation and what looks a lot like guilt.
“I’m sorry, too,” I echo on autopilot, even though I have no reason to apologize. I didn’t do anything wrong.
“You don’t have to be,” he says, raising his head and forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s okay. Really.”
It doesn’t feel okay.
We stand there for a moment, neither of us knowing what to do with the wreckage of what just happened, the awkwardness between us making the woods feel colder now, less welcoming.
“Here,” he says, finally breaking the silence, before rushing toward the trees he had been hiding earlier and retrieving a backpack. “I brought supplies this time.”
Raffaele pulls out a picnic blanket and spreads it over the cold, damp ground, followed by my favorite brand of chocolate and a bag of gummy bears. He doesn’t sit down until I do, and even then, he makes sure his body never touches mine.He masks the sudden unease between us with talk of school and finishing his senior year. He doesn’t mention his family or broach any subject he thinks might trigger me.
When his phone alarm goes off, signaling that it’s time to pack up and return to our respective lives, we find ourselves standing in the middle of the woods, neither of us quite ready to leave. We both wish we could turn back the clock to when the air between us didn’t feel so tense.
“Fuck, Anna. This is not how I thought today would go. I’m so sorry for fucking everything up. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I can see it clearly on his face that he means it.
“You’re my best friend, Rafe,” I say finally, stepping forward and wrapping my arms around him, making sure he knows this kind of affection is still safe for me. “Let’s just forget the whole thing, okay?”
Raffaele hesitates before hugging me back, his arms circling me carefully, as if afraid of crossing another line.
“Okay,” he says softly.
He kisses the top of my head, a gentle, familiar gesture that should comfort me. Instead, it feels hollow. Like something essential has slipped through our fingers without either of us realizing it.
We stay like that for a few more minutes, clinging to what’s left of the moment, until the cold seeps too deep and reality presses in again. When we finally part, he’s smiling the way he always does, playful and light, but I can see the effort behind it.
It feels like something between us has shifted, and neither of us knows how to name it yet. Like we’re holding onto a version of us that no longer exists.
