If My Heart Was a House

She saw a flash and groaned, glaring at Rafe. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she heard him lie.

She sighed looking down at her clasped hands in her lap.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Rafe, it's fine, I just don't get you why would take a picture of me now." Her hand moved up in the direction of her face.

"It's what I do, take pictures. And you know I can't help it, especially when the lighting is so good." Not that you need it, he thought, but didn't say.

"Yeah, I know," she heavily sighed lightly rubbing her hands on her bare legs, fixing the bottom of her knee-length dress in the process.

"Okay, look," he held the camera out for her to see. "No more pictures, promise," he said as he put the camera on the coffee table.

Juliette leaned forward resting her elbows on her knees, her feet toeing the rug. She wasn't crying so hard anymore, but her lip was still trembling a little sometimes, when she would think about what happen. And as if on cue, "So what happened?" She heard Rafe ask. His voice nice, soft, gentle.

"Rafe," she hated how her voice sounded, broken and weak.

"Jules, I just want to help you," he told her and placed a gentle hand on her knee where her elbow just was.

She looked down at that hand, marveling at the gentleness of it. It never ceased to surprise her how tenderly Rafe would touch her compared to her boyfriend. She shook her head, she didn't like comparing them. Because there was no comparison.

"Do you not like it when I touch you?"

Just then Juliette realized how little Rafe did touch her. "What?" she asked moving her gaze from his hand to his face, his eyes.

"Whenever I touch you," he paused glancing down at his hand. "It seems like you don't want me to or something," he mumbled.

"Why?" she asked. "Why does it seem that way?" She was completely confused, could he not see the way that she stared at his touch in amazement?

"Well, you... Just now you looked at my hand and you shook your head, and it makes it seem like you don't want my hand to be there." He told her glancing back down at the hand that was still on her knee and then back at her tear-stained face.

She couldn't believe they were having this conversation. "Rafe," she waited for him to look back up at her. "I looked at your hand because every time you touch me I think of the way my boyfriend touches me. Wait," she said at the almost hurt look that flashed across his face and took a hold of the hand that he was about to remove. "I'm not finished," she looked at him telling him with her eyes to be patient.

"I then I shook my head because I couldn't believe I was comparing your touch against his. There is no comparison, is what I told myself as I was shaking my head. Rafe," she said when she saw that he was about to say something and anger flashed in her eyes. "Listen to me, he doesn't touch me the way you do, with so... So much tenderness that it fills my soul with so much joy.

"So, no, I don't not like it when you touch me."



He stared at her with confusion and astonishment, and then there was a flash at the side of his face. He couldn't believe it, half of him want to yell at her because she was able to get a picture of him, something that as never happened for as long as they've known each other. And the other half wanted to scream, scream at himself, he couldn't believe he fell for that. She couldn't have just told him all those things just to distract him so she get a picture, could she?

"Hey," he heard her whisper, but he wasn't paying attention to her, he was trying to figure out if she had just tricked him.

"Rafe," her soft, sweet voice melted into him and then he felt her hands on his face. "Rafe, I'm sorry, but I couldn't help myself, I saw the opportunity to take an amazing picture, the lighting, was so good. I can understand how you feel now, when you just have to take one. I'm sorry if your mad, but I couldn't help it."

He brought his hands up to hers and slowly moved them away. "Rafe?" He could hear her, but couldn't answer, his mouth was too dry with thought of her tricking him. It wasn't possible was it? He got up from the couch and took her half-empty glass, (kind of how he felt at the moment), to the kitchen. He didn't know what to say to her, he didn't know what to think.



What happened? Juliette asked herself. "Rafe?" she heard herself say again. She slowly got up and made her way to the kitchen. "Are you okay?" she asked his white T-shirt covered back.

He was leaning away from her against the counter, his palms flat on the tile surface. "... Yeah," he finally mumbled still not facing her.

"Are you sure? I'm mean, if you mad at me I understand."

"I'm not mad at you Juliette," he finally turned around to face her, but he didn't look her in the eye. He stared at the floor, gazing at her bare-feet. "I'm mad at myself."

She stared at him. She really looked, and she still couldn't understand. "Why?" her innocent voice traveled across the room like a soft wave licking at his skin.

"Because," he paused raising his gaze to look at her neck, seeing the necklace that he didn't give her resting there. "Because I... I can't handle it."

He paused again, and right when she was about to ask Handle what?, he spoke. "I can't handle watching you go back to him, every time. Every time you come to me, crying over him, coming to me," he pointed at himself. "For comfort. That I give, and give, and will keep giving." He stared at her now, watching her face. "I can't handle you telling me things like that. So much tenderness that it fills mysoul with so much joy? Not when your face is covered in dry tears and your eyes swollen with pain. Not when I know that you'll go back to him."

She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but he didn't wait, he knew that there was nothing that she could say, not right now. "Did you even mean the things you just told me Juliette? Did you even mean any of it?"

She gasped, starring back at him in shock. "Of course I did!" She told him, her voice filled with rage.

"Then why did you tell me?" he asked her. "Why couldn't you have just so no? That my touch didn't bother you and just left it at that? Why!" He didn't raise his voice, but there was so much pain in it that he might as well have.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she declared.

"Stop." He closed his eyes, his hand rubbing the side of his face.

"Rafe, I'm-"

"Stop," his eyes shot open and stared at her, swimming with so many different emotions. "Stop," he whispered. "Stop telling me you're sorry Juliette. I can't take it." He looked away slowing shaking his head.

Juliette had no idea what happened. How did they get to this point? She didn't know what to do. All she felt that was right was to apologize to him, to make him understand how sorry she really was. But she couldn't and not just because he told her not to. The way his eyes shimmered with something she'd never see before. That's what made her leave. She smiled a small sad smile, which told him that she was thankful for the comfort he always provided. And turned around, grabbed her shoes, and walked out the door.

But to him, it felt like she was walking out of Rafe's life. And right into his, Jerk-face, her boyfriend's arms. And it ate at him. Ate a deep hole in his chest. Where his heart no longer was. 'Cause she had it.