Bliss
I’m ignoring him again, Ryan. Our last two sessions have been mostly one sided. He talks, and I agree or disagree but it’s never a full conversation. I can tell he’s getting tired of my pity party and the change of location every time, last minute. Today, I picked Dixie’s, who knew it was just as packed during the day as it was at night. Ryan picked a table in the back where the coffee bar is, and he even had my coffee waiting for me when I got here. He thinks it cheers me up, and I let him think it, when all I want to do is lie in bed all day and feel sorry for myself. But I can’t, I have to keep moving, even though it’s hard.
I’ve had to change my whole routine to avoid Cuba. I go to class at least twenty minutes early and slip out fifteen minutes before it ends, careful to not see him. I can’t handle it yet. I’ve heard that he’s now with that girl, and I refuse to ask India if it’s true. I don’t want to know.
“Your coffee is going to get cold.”
Blinking, I look toward the voice. Ryan is looking at me, almost annoyed, and I can’t blame him. I have been the worst tutor ever this week.
Lifting the mug to my lips, I smile before taking a sip. “Sorry.”
Ryan sighs and throws his napkin down. “Don’t be sorry. I’m worried about you, Bliss.”
“Why? I’m fine,” I insist, but I’m lying, and we both know it.
“Yeah, okay.” He laughs lightly. “If you want to believe that.”
My phone vibrates on the tabletop and I see it’s a text from my best friend.
Indi: We need to talk when you get home.
Oh no. My phone vibrates again.
Indi: Promise, I didn’t burn the place down. Relax
I ignore her because whatever we need to talk about is probably stupid. Probably another plan to make me ‘better’ that involves Patrick bringing liquor, me with a hangover, and still broken hearted. We tried that Sunday. Monday was rough.
“I know you don’t want to talk about him, but-“ He stops when I glare at him. “Come on, hear me out.”
I have no idea what he could even say, but I don’t want to argue with him. “Fine.”
Ryan looks at me carefully with his dark eyes. “Do you love him?”
What? I’m taken back by the question. Do I love Cuba? Of course, I do. It’s an impulse, loving him, that I can’t control.
“Yes,” I answer.
He grimaces but nods. “Of course, you do.”
That makes me frown. “What do you mean?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Nothing.” Ryan shakes his head. “Look, I’ve heard something-”
“I’ve already heard,” I cut him off. “Thanks for looking out though. We should really get this refresher started.”
I pull up my notes on my laptop from his last class. He doesn’t move, his eyebrows drawn in confused.
“What?” I sigh.
“Nothing, sorry,” he starts. “It’s just, you love him, why not even hear him out, especially after what everyone is saying.” He truly looks confused.
Setting my coffee down, I lean over. “Sorry, I don’t think I’m hearing you right.” I tilt my head. “Word is that he’s with her now.”
He laughs and jerks his head back. “Whoever you get your information from is smoking crack. He called her out at practice apparently, she admitted nothing happened.”
My heart skips a beat. He didn’t do anything with her? “She was still in his room,” I point out. “Gosh! Why is everyone in this? Everyone knows what happened! It’s so annoying.”
Ryan shrugs. “No idea, I have the same thing happen to me once a year at least. Reason why I don’t date, or try not to, at least.”
“Maybe I should be like you and never date again.” I try to smile.
He squints his dark eyes. “You’re too much of a catch to be single.”
Now I smile. “I think you’re hitting on me.” How am I just noticing this?
Choking out another laugh, he rocks back in his chair then leans forward, he face turning serious. “You’re an amazing girl, Bliss. But you’re not mine to hit on, and I actually would like to keep my arm intact.” A smile pulls at his lips. “Go call him, hear him out.”
I bite my lip. “I don’t know.”
Truth is, I know I miss my boyfriend. I miss him like crazy, and I hate that we ended the way we did. I hate the way I left. Even though I am hurt and a little pissed off, I should have heard him out.
Ryan lifts an eyebrow and I groan. He knows that I know I want to hear him out.
I glance at my phone, he’s in practice so there is no point of sending a text. Speaking of that, I should probably unblock him. That might be a start.
Now, how am I going to reach out to him? Will he even be there waiting still?
So, I have an idea. It came to me as I left Dixie’s, after Ryan basically gathered my things and pushed me out. We really have become good friends, and I hope even after our sessions are up we will still talk. We’ll see. Back to my idea, I will cook dinner and invite him over under the guise that he needs to pick up his things. It’s a basic bitch plan, but it’s a start and that’s what really matters.
I decide to make lasagna and throw together a salad. I’ve noticed early on he’s a pasta fan, and I don’t mind cooking it. Also, it’s quick to put together, and in the oven it goes while I overthink how the night will go, if he even comes. I’ll text him when I get home. Right now, I need to make a store run. We have nothing at the house. We have been living off take-out the last week. It’s sad.
As usual, the grocery is packed, and I want to say forget it, but I already committed to this meal. Luckily, I snatch the last cart, it’s one of those mini carts, I guess to ensure you won’t over spend. I love these little things.
By nature, I wander down aisles, picking up ingredients as I go. I have never been able to just walk into a store and do a get in and get out kind of thing. Nope, I just aimlessly walk around until I get fed up with myself. This wandering has led me to an aisle that I kind of forgot all about. Tampons. Now that I think about it, I should be on my evil vacation. I groan out loud, my shoulders slumped as I quickly think. Fudgsicle sticks. It’s a week late. Okay, it could just be stress. No biggie.
Grabbing a value pack, I toss it into my cart. It’s just stress, that is a common reason for someone’s period to be late. Then why did I roll my cart up a few feet where the pregnancy tests are nicely stacked staring back at me. I mean, one test won’t hurt, right? I take my pills faithfully. My stomach twists, what if I am pregnant? See, here I go, overthinking and jumping to a thousand different scenarios. I snatch one of the familiar looking pink boxes, tossing it into my cart. It doesn’t hurt to check, and then I can freak out later that this is even happening. My first pregnancy test since coming to college almost three years ago, awesome. Not really. My parents will kill me.
Shaking the thoughts from my head, I start to take a quick look through my cart to see what I’m missing. I think I got everything except one very unwanted box.
“Arrow?”
My body tenses, and I slowly straighten up. My eyes close after I take a deep breath and when I open them, there he is, standing in grey joggers, black sneakers, a black tee shirt stretches across his chest and tattooed arms. When I first saw him that day in the library I thought he was trouble in the flesh, now I know he is. He’ll always been trouble, but he’ll be my trouble, hopefully.
I almost miss the bouquet of lilies he’s holding with a card in one hand and the other turns his grey baseball cap backwards. His hazel eyes meet mine and I breathe again. Last time I saw those eyes they were glassing over, now they looked more concerned and I realize I’m still staring at him.
“Cuba,” I say back stupidly. “What are you doing here?”
A smile tugs at his perfect slips. “It’s a grocery store, baby.”
Now my stupid heart is fluttering but I try not to let it show.
Tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, I nod. “Yeah.”
His eyes travel down my body and I wish I wore something sexier than plain leggings and a hoodie, I never step out without looking well put together, but this last week has been rough and I just didn’t care.
“What the fuck.” The words come out so quickly I blink back.
He narrows his eyes on me and he takes the few steps to close the gap between us. He leans over, his lips brushing my ears.
“You weren’t going to tell me?” He almost sounds hurt.
Tell him? Tell him what? Oh, that.
“I don’t even know yet, Cuba,” I try to reassure him. But would I have told him if there wasn’t a chance that what happened with Priscilla wasn’t true?
I don’t know.
He leans away from me, his eyes taking me in once again. I can smell the flowers next to me.
I swallow hard. “Who are those for?”
Cuba glances to the flowers and back to me. “We need to talk,” he states, taking in the rest of the contents of my cart. “Your place or mine? Unless you’re having company.” His jaw ticks. Is he jealous?
I tilt my head. “You were the intended company.” I press my lips together. “We do need to talk.”
“Your house then.” He nods toward my cart. “Looks like we need to take a test too.”
Ah, yes. That too.