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shithole.”
     
    I kept rubbing the powder on his chest, his shoulders, his arms and his back.  I didn’t bother to reply to his complaints.  My mind was thinking about something else.
     
    The condoms.
     
    He’d been in Oakland for just three days... three freaking days!  How come he had like a dozen used rubbers in the drawer?  Who was he fucking?
     
    Rage engulfed me when I realized that there could only be one possible suspect...
     
    Chelsea Summers.
     
    After minutes of rubbing, Darwin’s upper body looked like it was draped in white paint.  At least he wasn’t scratching anymore.  The rashes have seemed to have subsided as well.
     
    “That feels so much better,” he said as he sat on the side of his bed.  I positioned myself behind him as I continued to apply baby powder on his back.
     
    “Good,” I aridly answered.
     
    “Uncivil all of a sudden, huh?” he commented with a grin.
     
    “Uncivil?  If I was uncivil, I wouldn’t be helping you out with your skin problem.”
     
    “In denial, too,” he persisted.  “That time of the month, eh?”  He started to chuckle.
     
    I stopped massaging his back and pushed him strong enough to make him fall off his bed.
     
    “Hey!” he cried out.  “What’s that all about?”
     
    I threw the can of baby powder towards his chest.  He caught it before it could hit him.
     
    “There!” I screamed.  “I’m sure you can carry on by yourself!”
     
    I stood up and started to walk out of his room.  He grabbed my arm and tugged it... just strong enough to gently yank my body and turn it towards him.
     
    “Is this about those condoms?” he asked, smiling.  I was close enough to smell him, to feel the warmth from his body, to see his day-old stubbles sinking on his dimple. 
     
    His dimple.
     
    Damn that cute little thing!
     
    I jerked my arm off his grasp and darted out of his room.  I slammed his door just to let him know how upset I was.  I hurried towards my own bedroom and locked myself in.  I rested my body against the wall adjacent to the door.
     
    I was breathing heavily.
     
    I took a few seconds to calm down, to process what just happened.  Why was I mad at him?  Why was I perturbed over a handful - okay, more than a handful - of used condoms?  Why do I hate Chelsea Summers all of a sudden?  Why is my heart racing so fast?
     
    My questions faded when I remembered the robustness of his body as my hand traversed every inch of his torso... the rigidity of his muscles, the sturdiness of his chest, the rugged toughness of his shoulders...
     
    The bristles of hair on his head that tickled me as my fingers caressed his crown...
     
    The tattoos on his left arm that made his persona even more mystifying...
     
    His deep blue eyes sheltered by his thick and angular eyebrows that gave him a look of grit and resilience...
     
    His lips that seemed so lavishly tender for anyone who’d be fortunate enough to kiss them...
     
    The manliness of his presence...
     
    His dimple that belied them all...
     
    I was rattled off my musings when I realized that my fingers have drifted down my body and into my jeans, reaching for my womanhood.  I pulled out my hand and quickly scurried towards the bed, covering myself completely with my blanket.
     
    I spent the rest of the night wallowing in guilt and confusion.
     

    I woke up late the following morning.  It wasn’t the first time that it happened.  But it was the first time when I didn’t panic about it.  I was simply too sleepy to care.  I hardly had any sleep the night before, for reasons I forgot that morning.  All that stuck in my head was that I was bewildered about something and I felt bad about how I reacted to it.
     
    I grabbed my towel and went straight to the bathroom.  I turned on the shower and took off my pajamas.  As the warm water struck my body, most of the sleepiness wore off.  I began to remember...
     
    About Darwin...
     
    About his condoms...
     
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