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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?”
