Cuba
Bang Bang Bang
My fist pounds against the wood door again until it swings open and a pair brown and green eyes glare at me.
“What the hell, Cuba,” India snaps. “Banging like the damn police.”
“Is she here?” I ignore her tone.
She's raises an eyebrow. “No.”
“I call bullshit, her blinding ass car is here.” I lean against the doorframe. “Unless she's out, then I need to know with what clown and where they are at.”
She smirks, placing a hand on her hip. “You know, for someone who doesn't want her to know anything, you sure expect a lot of information.”
I raise my own eyebrow. “You know, for a southern belle you sure lose your accent a lot.”
The guy standing next to her eyes widen in shock as he turns to India, who is turning red.
“So, is she here or will you be pointing me to the right place?” I smile innocently. She knows if I really wanted to, I could say one word and end her, but since she's Bliss’s best friend, I'll give her a small warning. Her accent is fake, I noticed that a while ago, Jackson is actually the one that pointed it out.
She puffs out but moves to the side, glaring at me. “She's in her room.”
“She's in the bath,” the guy adds. “I'm Patrick by the way, we haven't officially met.” He gives me a small wave.
I give him a small smile because he's cool, if it wasn't for him, Bliss wouldn't have stayed with me that night.
“Make a right, I'm sure you'll figure out what room is hers, and let her know we're leaving,” India says after me.
I ignore her again and make my way down the hall. Their apartment smells like perfume and apple pie, and I wonder if there really is pie somewhere as I pass their very chic living room. There's a light grey sectional along the wall, a plush white fur rug that lies under a silver and glass coffee table covered with magazines and books. A flat screen T.V. sits on a glass stand flanked by lit green candles, so that's where the scent is coming from. That means there is no pie, damn.
Big gold B & I letters hang in the hallway along with gold framed pictures. India and Bliss at parties, on vacation and some taken right in their living room. I drag my eyes away from the photos that show Bliss’s bikini clad body and continue down the hall.
I guess the door with the gold glitter arrow on it is hers, the door across has a silver heart. Turning the knob slowly, I open the door, the scent of vanilla and lavender filling my nose, the smell of her. Stepping into her room, I close the door behind me with a soft click. The door to the right is cracked open, and I can hear her in the bath, singing along to a sad country song that’s playing from her speaker. This girl is the only person I know that knows every song, no matter the genre; she goes from Gucci Mane to Brittany Spears really quick, it’s amazing.
Moving away from the door, I take in her room. She has floating shelves that cover one wall, each filled with books and knick-knacks. A full-sized bed covered in pink, gold, and white is against the wall, neatly made. A T.V. hangs on the wall across from the bed. Her dresser draws my attention; perfume bottles and pictures line the shiny white polished finish. I pick up a picture that catches my eye. Bliss is sitting with an older man in a wheel chair, both focused on a book that’s open in front of them, he’s pointing at something and she’s smiling, they have the same stormy eyes and I know they are related. I almost think this is her dad until I set the picture down next to another that is Bliss’s high school graduation, her parents smiling on each side of her. She looks like both of them, she has her mom’s creamy tan skin and her dad’s smile.
“What are you doing here?”
Her voice startles me, making me bump into the dresser causing her pictures to shake. Spinning round, Bliss is standing right outside her bathroom door, a purple towel wrapped tightly around her, her stormy eyes red like she’s been crying.
Swallowing, I motion to the lit candles. “Expecting someone else?” Truth is, I have no idea why I’m here and I have a feeling I’m the reason she’s crying.
“Why can’t you just admit you wanted to see me instead of trying to brush me off?” She throws back at me. “And the candles are supposed to relieve stress.”
Pushing off her dresser, I sit on the edge of her bed, facing away from her because I can’t take seeing her in a towel and not being able to touch her, and she is giving me the don’t touch me vibe.
“Why are you stressed?” Why do I care?
I hear her changing as quickly as possible, I doubt she even dried off all the way. “Why won’t you just say you wanted to see me?”
Is admitting that I wanted to see her the same as admitting I may have missed her? Because I will never admit missing her, then she will think there is something between us, that’s how girls think, but then again, Bliss isn’t most girls.
I turn my head in her direction, and fuck me, I think I preferred the towel instead of her little ass boy shorts and tiny tank top that leaves nothing to the imagination.
She lifts one of her perfect brows, which she does to me often. “Fine, I kind of wanted to see you, you know, before you cut me loose.”
She jerks her head back. “Excuse me Mr. Two Weeks. You already had plans to cut me loose. I guess it’s different when I do it, right?”
My dick twitches, her mouth is something else, gets me every time.
“Touché, Arrow.” The corner on my lip pulls into a small, sad smile. She is always right, always quietly reading me and it doesn’t bother me, not as much as it should.
The bed dips behind me. “So, what are you really doing here?”
Moving up the bed, I turn to her, she’s just inches away, her back against the pillowed headboard, legs crossed under her. I want to touch her, open her legs and taste every inch, making her say my name, but I can’t, not yet.
“I promised you a fact every session,” I start. “Let’s be honest, you only ever got one.”
Bliss smiles and nods her head.
I stare down at my hands, I didn’t come here to spill my guts, I don’t know why I came here. I just know that she cut me off with some bullshit text and it didn’t set right for me. I don’t want to overthink the feeling, but it can’t stay there.
“I’m sure you heard Jackson’s name thrown around, seen it around my place. He was my best friend.” I pause. “More like a brother. We grew up together, we were two and barely walking.” Smiling, the memories move to the front of my brain. “We did everything together, especially basketball. We had dreams, Arrow. We almost got there, we were NBA bound.” My smile fades, and I manage to meet her stormy eyes. “It happened so fast, you know. One minute we were playing a pick-up game and the next he was on the ground struggling to breath. Six months later, he was gone. I watched my brother die at the hands of some rare fucking cancer.” Tears form in my eyes, and I quickly start blinking and look away.
Her warm hands grab mine, threading her fingers through my own and squeezing. “I’m so sorry.”
I’ve heard a lot of people say I’m sorry, got a lot of cards, texts, and voicemails but none affected me like those three words from her mouth. They feel real, because other than Jackson, I’d let her in a little. She has seen flashes of me, not the basketball star, but just me.
My thumb rubs the back of her hand. “But that’s not it,” I continue. “After he died, I couldn’t handle it. I lost myself in drugs and alcohol, I didn’t even make it to his funeral, I was so fucked up. That’s not even the worst, one night I broke down.” I start to remember. “It was the night of the final four, a big deal, last game before the championship. We we’re supposed to be there, playing, and our team didn’t make it with Jackson and I gone. I abandoned them, my team, when they needed me. So, I popped more Xanax pills then I should have, tossed them back with a bottle Hennessy, and snorted a few lines of coke. I woke up in the hospital with a fucking tube down my throat. If it weren’t for my mom checking in on me, I would have died. I was gone for a while because I was in rehab for a few months, then I did outpatient, and I see a therapist now.” Shit, there it is. Now she’ll see I’m a total fuck up and be glad that it’s over.
Bliss leans over toward me, and her lips inches from me. She shouldn’t want to kiss me, but her lips press against mine anyway. Her hand caresses my face as her tongue slips between my lips, and I slowly suck on it, breathing in her lavender scent. I could pick her out anywhere just on her scent alone.
“I just need one more night with you,” I say against her lips, softly kissing her back.
Bliss pulls back slightly, her grey eyes searching, wanting, and I know what she wants, but I don’t know why. “This is all I can give you.” I answer her silent question.
She slowly nods, biting her lip, and sits back on her legs. “Tell me about him?” she asks.
Sitting up, I lean my back against the headboard. “Jackson?” She nods and moves to sit between my legs, laying her head on my chest. “He was a really cool guy, you would have liked him, and he was the charmer.”
She smiles up at me. “I prefer the asshole.”
Shaking my head, I fight a smile. I really need to get out of here or I'll never quit her. This has to be the last night.
“So, you stopped playing after,” she says, it's not a question. “Would he have wanted that for you?”
I know the answer to that, I’ve always known the answer. “No.” I shake my head. “He wanted me to play, follow our dream and shit.” I can feel the bitterness rising. “I mean, how can I do that when it was our thing? We were like Kobe and Shaq, Curry and Thompson, Dewayne and LeBron, Jordan and Pippen. We were a big deal. I can’t be Jordan alone.”
Bliss narrows her eyes as if she’s thinking, she probably has no idea who I just named off. “I know Curry, Golden State is my dad’s team.” She shrugs.
Of course, it is, they’re a hot team right now.
“I know it seems hard, or maybe impossible, but you can do it, you know?” She sits up to face me, crossing her legs under her, I already hate that I’m not touching her in some way.
She continues, “Have you ever thought that if you start playing again you might feel closer to him?”
I think back to all my sessions with Oliver, and not once has he made me see it that way, and it’s such a simple question. “Actually, I haven’t,” I admit. “I’ve built this wall up where I don’t think about it. I miss basketball, I miss my team, but I miss him too, and he’s connected to those, so I just put it in my ‘it’s not happening’ box.”
She nods, understanding before getting up and walking over to her dresser, my eyes go right to her ass in those little shorts before she turns back, climbing on the bed with a picture frame in her hand. It’s the one of her and the older man.
“This is my grandpa Eddie.” She shows me when she’s settled again. “He passed last year.” Her voice cracks and she has to blink a few times. “He was my best friend, we were always together, until I started college, and I would go back home every weekend to spend time with him. He’s the reason I’m majoring in history. It was our thing, you could say.” She smiles at the picture fondly. “We would read old history books and watch documentaries, we even planned a trip to Greece and the Middle East.” Her smile fades. “Then he started to forget things, important things. He was diagnosed with stage five Alzheimer’s the end of my freshman year. So that summer I doubled up on classes and took a break for a semester to be with him. I would read to him and watch all our favorite documentaries. He had no idea who I was by the end of the summer.” A tear escapes her eye, and I quickly wipe it away, and she gives me a sad smile. “He died a year later.” Bliss takes a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is that he was my connection to my passion, studying makes me feel closer to him. I know everyone grieves differently, but your other methods haven’t seemed to work. Maybe this will, stop running from him and run to him.”
I pull Bliss into my arms because I can’t form the words to say to her, she always catches me off guard with the way she thinks and acts. She has the kindest heart, but she also doesn’t let me slide. Bliss deserves better than my broken soul and me, but I kiss her anyway, I caress her bare legs anyway, and I breathe in her goodness, anyway. She moves to straddle me as our kiss deepens, my fingers tangling in her hair, her soft hands cradling my face.
“I’m sorry about your grandpa, he would be proud of you.” I pull my mouth away. “You amaze me, Arrow.”
Her eyes shine, and she smiles. “Thank you, baby,” she says leaning back in, reclaiming my mouth, and I waste no time biting at her lip.
I harden underneath her, gripping her hips, I flip us over so she’s on her back. Bliss starts to tug on my shirt, pulling it over my head and dropping it to the floor. Next, I feel her little feet pushing my basketball shorts down.
“In a hurry, baby?” I smirk, lifting to get my shorts off after kicking my shoes off. My fingers hook on to her shorts, sliding them off slowly. Fuck me, no panties, just her pretty pink pussy. “Damn.”
Bliss blinks innocently and bites her lip. Her legs drop open showing me how wet she is already.
“How am I ever going to let you go?” I mummer to myself.
“Then don’t.” She catches me off guard, I didn’t think she heard me. “Let me be the Lola to your Bugs.” Bliss reaches up to touch my face, but I duck and lean in to kiss her. Bringing up the movie we watched one night twisted my gut, I could never be her Bugs and she could never be my Lola. Not matter how much I wish we could be.
I know she wants more but I can’t give her that, so instead of telling her that again, I quiet her with a kiss and my fingers, dipping in and out of her warmth. She moans against my lips and I know I win. I don’t want to talk anymore, I just want to feel her and savor her one last time.
Bliss is fast asleep; her pink covers barely covering her naked body. I can’t take my eyes away from her, taking in her freshly fucked blonde hair, her kiss swollen lips. She looks beautiful and I want to remember this. Taking out my phone, I snap a picture. I never keep pictures of any girl in my phone but she’s not any girl. She’s the girl I let get away. She wants me, rough edges and all, but I made the decision for her.
Walking over to her dresser, I find our schedule and turn it over to the blank back. Grabbing a pen from a holder, I scribble a few words, seems that’s all I can come up with. I’m not shit, and I accept that.
Laying the note next to her on the bed, I blow her candles out, inhaling the smell of her one last time before walking out of her room and closing the door behind me softly.
I have to force my feet to move because all I want to do is turn back around, tear up that note, get back in the bed, and hold her. It’s not an option for me though, so I leave. Thankfully, the apartment is quiet and there is no sign of India or Patrick when I reach the front door. Unfortunately, when I go to open the door it’s already opening. India jumps back startled.
“You scared the shit out of me.” She passes me. “Sneaking out at midnight?” Her green eyes narrow.
I ignore her question. “My bad. See you around.” I walk out the door past her. I already feel like an asshole but knowing tomorrow Bliss will wake up with me gone makes my stomach hurt.
She deserves better.