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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 greyeyes… smear proof my ass. My blonde hair is in a tangled messframing 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.
