Bliss
The sound of a door closing wakes me, my eyelids are heavy, and it takes more energy than I seem to have to open them. My head is pounding, and my hands press against my temples to stop the pressure, but it doesn’t work. Pushing myself up, I swing my feet over the bed. Why is it so bright? The sun is streaming through the crack of dark shades, shades that are far from my baby doll pink shades. These are dark grey and black. My eyes travel down to the sheets that cover me, black, not white. Lifting my head, I take in my surroundings.
I must be dreaming, there is no way I’m in Cuba’s room, my mind is playing a horrible trick on me. Closing my eyes tight, I re-open them, I’m still in his room. I must be dreaming. I had too many drinks last night, that’s it.
My stomach clenches with pain making me jump to my feet and hurry across the room to the bathroom. Dropping to my knees, I grip the sides of the toilet, my mouth open but nothing comes out, and I’m dry heaving into the porcelain bowl, my body jerking with each empty hurl. My chest heaves with pain and I can’t move from the floor. This is not a dream, this is very real. Trying to remember last night is a fail, I don’t remember anything, I don’t remember anything after getting out of the Uber with India. Did I get drunk and go home with Cuba? Am I that weak? God, I’m such an idiot.
Gathering enough strength, I pull myself up by gripping the ledge of the sink and, once I look in the mirror, I want to fall back to the floor. I look like a deranged raccoon, a wild dangerous raccoon. Eyeliner and mascara is smeared around my dull grey eyes… smear proof my ass. My blonde hair is in a tangled mess framing my pale face. I look sick, no, I look like death. There is no way I’m facing him like this.
Turning the facet on I wait for the hot water to run before splashing my face, scrubbing away my make-up and raking my fingers through my hair. I still look pale but there’s not much I can do about that. I notice a brand-new toothbrush on the sink and feel thankful he put one out, because I taste like vomit. I don’t want to think about what I might have done.
After brushing my teeth, I go back into his bedroom to look for my clothes, but I don’t find them. His shirt hits my knees, so I gather the hem and tie a knot at my side, trying to look as presentable as possible.
Once I get to the top of the steps, the smell of bacon hits my nose and my stomach dips and nausea rises in my throat. I must have drunk a lot to make me hate the smell of bacon.
When I reach the living room there is no sign of him. ESPN plays on the T.V., showing highlights from some game last night. The clinking of dishes draws me to the kitchen and I stop in my tracks.
Cuba stands at the counter, shirtless, wearing only a pair of sweats. He’s humming to himself as he cuts something in front of him. He hasn’t noticed me, and I take this time, I to get my fill of this tattooed god before he can push me away again.
“Morning babe,” he says turning to face me. “How are you feeling?” His eyes search my body as if he’s looking for something.
I’m still stuck on him calling me babe. “I could be a lot better,” I admit.
He saunters up to me. “I’m sure.” His fingers caress my cheek and my body betrays me, leaning into his touch. “Go lay on the couch, I’ll bring you some juice and toast.”
Something feels off about this. “Cuba, what’s going on?”
He blinks, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“I’m here, in your clothes, and you’re making breakfast,” I say slowly. We haven’t spoken in weeks and now here we are.
He rocks back on his heels. “What do you remember about last night?”
Shaking my head, I feel dizzy. “Nothing,” I say breathlessly.
Cuba’s arm comes around my waist, steading me. “Come on, baby, let’s get you to the couch.”
I don’t argue with him as he leads me out of the kitchen and sitting me on the couch. “Thank you,” I mummer, bringing my knees to my chest.
The couch dips next to me. “Babe, you really don’t remember last night?”
Here he goes calling me babe again. “I’m guessing we had sex.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Does it feel like we fucked?”
Blush rises in my cheek. “No,” I admit. If we did I wouldn’t be walking straight, and I’d be sore between my legs. “Want to fill in the blanks?”
Cuba rubs the back of his neck, he does that when he nervous. I doubt he thinks I can tell, but I noticed everything during our few weeks together.
“You should really pay more attention to who makes your drinks,” he grits out. “It could have been really bad.”
I frown, confused. “What are you telling me right now?” I have a feeling I know what he’s trying to tell me, but I want him to say the words to confirm my suspicions.
He takes my hand and pulls me into his arms, and I don’t protest, I lean into his warmth and let him hold me because I missed this.
“You were drugged, baby,” he tells me softly. “But I was there, I’m glad I was there.” I hear what he doesn’t want to say, what I don’t want to think about. What if he wasn’t there? Where would I have woken up… if I even woke up?
I choke back a sob. “Oh my God.” Cuba’s arms tighten around me, soothing me.
“I got you baby, I took care of it.” He kisses my forehead. “I got you.”
He cradles me in his arms and holds me tight, even as I soak his bare chest with my tears, my nails dig into him as I break down in his arms. How could I have let this happen? Who would have done this to me? I don’t ask as I drift off to sleep.
When I wake again, I’m back in his bed and Cuba’s next to me, flicking through channels on the TV. He’s dressed in black joggers and matching black tee shirt. His tatted arm behind his head. I still can’t believe I’m here, with him. That he saved me even though he walked away from me. Which now that I had that thought run through it brings to mind, what now? Is he calling me these endearing names because he feels sorry for me? I don’t want his pity, I want him to care about me like I do for him. Will he be done with me once again? Telling me I deserve better? Because after last night, I think we can agree he is better.
“Are you just going to stare at me?” His voice is low, but it snaps me back to reality.
“I’m not staring, I’m thinking.”
Cuba turns toward me on his side. “About what?”
“Everything.” I lick my lips.
He frowns and turns back around, grabbing something from the floor. “Here, drink this.” He turns back to me with a bottle of water.
I waste no time cracking the top off and downing half of the bottle. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. Screwing the top back on I lie back.
“I should get home,” I tell him, and he frowns again.
“You didn’t tell me what you were thinking about.”
“Why does it even matter?” I ask. “You made it clear that we weren’t anything. That we would never be more.”
Cuba takes a deep breath. “How about you take a shower, and I’ll order us something to eat. We can talk then, okay?”
Why is he trying to keep me here? I just nod, because even though I know it’s a waste of time, I still want to hear what he has to say even if it’s not what I want to hear.
Cuba rolls off the bed and grabs a familiar glitter bag from the floor. “India dropped off some clothes for you, and your phone is charged on the nightstand.”
Pushing off the bed, I walk over to my bag, my fingers trailing over it. Why didn’t he just wake me to leave with her?
“What do you think your stomach can handle right now, babe?”
I look up to him, he’s by the door waiting. “Um, Panera’s broccoli and cheddar soup with a green tea would be amazing.”
He gives me a small smile. “I’ll be back, try not run off before then.”
“Seems like your trying to keep me here.” I look away from him. “You don’t need to feel sorry for me.”
I don’t hear him coming toward me when I feel his hands grip my shoulders, turning me to face him, his finger lifting my chin. “This isn’t me feeling sorry for you, Arrow. This is me caring about you. Now, take a shower and get dressed.” His lips brush softly against mine. “We need to talk.”
Before I can respond, he’s walking out the door and shutting it behind him.
What is happening?
I try not to overthink as I stand under the hot water, aimlessly washing myself with his body wash, but I can’t help it, he’s acting so weird. I can’t help but think it’s because of what happened at the party. What if that never happened, would I have still have ended up in his bed?
Even while I pull on my favorite soft purple cotton pajama bottoms the same questions run through my mind. It’s going to drive me crazy. He probably knows this is going to drive me nuts until he gets back.
Pulling my tank top over my sports bra, I grab my phone. As expected, I have ten text messages and three missed calls, one being my mom. It’s Saturday and I’m not there.
I quickly send her a text letting know I don’t feel well and I’ll call her later. Next, I answer India letting her know I’m okay. The next text throws me off.
Patrick: Bitch, you’re dating Cuba and you didn’t tell me? Wow. We need to do dinner or something ASAP!
I read it again. Why would he think that? Shaking my head, I decide not to answer that and go to the next one. Dex. Here he goes again.
Dex: Wow, you’re with Cuba now? I bet you were fucking him instead of tutoring him. Don’t bother to try and come back when he drops your ass for the next girl.
What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On?
Gripping my phone tightly in my hand, I march down the stairs and into the living room but he’s not back yet. I flop onto the couch and stare at the ceiling.
Fuck it.
I tap away on my phone and bring it to my ear.
It rings once.
“Hello darling, how are you feeling?” India sings through the phone.
“Besides getting drugged?” I bite. “I’m fine. Now, you have some explaining to do Lucy.”
I hear her move around. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I should have noticed.”
Biting my lips, I nod, though she can’t see me. “It’s fine, thankfully you got me out of there.”
“No, girl. Cuba got you out of there,” she says. “He broke Dylan’s nose.”
My breath hitches, Dylan did that to me? I should have known better.
God, all the signs were in my freaking face. “I’m such an idiot.”
“Did you miss the part where you’re boy-“ she starts as Cuba walks in the door.
“I’ll call you back.” I end the call, watching him as he carries a to-go bag to the coffee table.
His hazel eyes lock in mine. “You okay, babe?”
Sitting up, I tilt my head to the side, studying him. Cuba shifts nervously.
“I had some interesting texts today,” I start. “Want to explain why some people think we are dating?”
Setting the bag down, he claps and smiles nervously. “That’s a great question, Arrow.”