Blame it on the Rain

"Please,... what are you doing?" She suddenly started. "stop it, please.."

They'd known each other for a year now. He was, in her eyes, the perfect gentleman. Well built, tall, finely chiseled features, he was like the Armani man. She literally bumped into him when they first met; they were at a street party. In the sea of bodies, she had been pushed forwards by the crowd, where she had lost her balance and crashed into him. Contents of her coke drenched his chest, and in the recoil, she had hit the drink in his hand also onto his chest.
In shock, she had stood there, hand over gaping mouth in horror over what had happened. But he had stood there, shaking his shirt, flashing a smile, and saying,".. I've always wondered what a mixed cocktail is like, well, I know, now!". In the flurry of "Oh My God! I'm sorry!' and the "its ok!" they got to exchanging names, and phone numbers and pretty soon it was e-mails, text messages and the like. And soon enough, he'd meet her after work, and they'd go out and spend time together. She found him to be decent, and liked him enough as a decent guy.
She'd call him for company, and he'd always make time for her. She felt good being with him, for he'd always made her laugh; she would find herself dreamily looking at him, watching the way his lips would form a smile between every single word that he would be saying. But of late, she had found him somewhat overwhelming. She tired of the way he would decide what to do, and she found that their conversations tended to be about him. She found her comparing him to her boss at work, whom she realised treated her differently and made her feel important. Where her friend brushed her suggestions aside, her boss listened to her every word, encouraging her and making her views count. In the beginning her friendship was an adventure, but she wasn't quite sure of it now. And she found herself drawn to staying late at work rather than look forward to spending time with him.

She had taken the day off and had called to meet him. He had turned up slightly later, and had been rather moody. He had suggested a movie, and despite her telling him she wasn't up to it, he bought tickets anyway. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable with all the accidental touching. At first it was the hand on the shoulder as he held the car door to let her in. Then his hand would accidentally touch her arm. And he had placed his his hand on the small of her back as he purchased the tickets. And through out the movie, more than once she had felt his hand on her thigh, and as she shifted uncomfortably, he would remove his hand, only to place it there again. Finally, not able to stand it anymore, she stood up and walked out of the theater.

"I want to go home. Now." she said. He tried to ask her to stay, but finally agreed to send her home. They drove silently. Traffic was heavy as a thunder storm had begun to rage. The traffic soon reduced to a crawl and then to a complete stop. He turned to look at her and began to apologize. And as she spoke, he reached forward grabbed her and tried to kiss her. She resisted and screamed, but he wouldn't let go. Finally, she managed to work herself free and ran out of the car. She ran past the stationary cars until she could not run no more, and then sat on the sidewalk, crying. She felt his hands all over her body as her mind played the scene over and over again.
Sobbing, and trying very hard to pull herself together, she saw a familiar car in the long train of cars. Her boss! she caught up with the car and knocked on the window.