December Eve

Hope in Progress

The bed is too soft. The blankets are warm, but let cold seep into them. I know I'm not in my bed. I remember last night, but I thought I would sleep on the couch. Turns out he moved me. Dizzie, I think his name was. God, he doesn't look like a Dizzie, but hey, his parent's name who they want. I pull the covers off and find myself in an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants. Did he change me? Wait, did we- no we didn't. If we did, I don't think I would be standing. He probably got me out of my uncomfortable clothes and changed me into his. Surprisingly, I didn't smell like him. It smelled like, well, me. I guess I'm leaving my imprint behind. 

I make my way to the door and pushed it open, hearing a deep voice singing a song somewhere in the kitchen. The apartment was well furnished, but nothing to write home about. As I was walking down the hallway, there were pictures of him with a woman and a small girl. More of him with this small girl than the woman. In fact, as I kept walking, the woman slowly stopped showing up. I scrunch my eyebrows; did something happen to her? Whatever happened, it wasn't any of my business.

Looking around, I got more curious about Dizzie's living space. It's clear that he doesn't spend a lot of time at home by the thin layer of dust covering everything. The grey couch against the back wall looked more grey, the bright yellow lamp beside it seemed more dead than the couch. I doubt if that thing even turns on. The coffee table in front of the couch had magazines, newspapers, and old food sitting on it. I am so, so lucky to not have a sense of smell. 

What happened here? I decided to leave my questions in this dead space and finally head into the kitchen.

The kitchen had a ginormous island covering most of the kitchen, with stools wrapped around it, a fridge at the end of it, and the stove sitting next to it. His back was to me, bent over the stove cooking eggs. He was murmuring a song under his breath. I didn't recognize it at first but then realize it's Sober by Pink. He gets a bit louder during the chorus, going from a murmur to a normal singing voice. His voice was like honey, deep and smooth, with a hint of gravel. It was a voice that belonged to a blues singer or maybe even a rock singer. His voice draws me in, like tiny hooks pulling me. I walked closer to him, to try to lose myself in his voice. Before I could get to him however, my clumsy ass tripped on the edge of a random rug underneath the sink on the island. I crashed onto the floor, alerting Dizzie. He whips around and, after a few moments, landed his gaze on me. He quirked an eyebrow and smirked. The audacity of this asshole.

"Morning," I grumbled a short 'thank you' before getting up. I dusted off the flour that somehow landed on the sweatshirt. I went to one end of the island and plopped down on one of the stools. I rested my chin on my hands and allowed my gaze to soften on him. 

His back muscles flexed as he plated the eggs and reached for some salt. Some dreads fell onto the back of his neck from the very loose bun on top of his head. I never thought that a guy like him would really fit dreads, but on him, they look normal. His calloused hands sprinkled some salt before brushing it off on his boxers- WAIT HE'S ONLY IN BOXERS. Boxers that gripped his ass perfectly...like damn, it's an ass awarded after spending months and years at the gym. In fact, everything looked amazing. He didn't have the big muscles that you'd typically see on a guy like him, but just muscles that fit...him. Not big, not small, just normal. I could ogle his muscles and body all fucking day, but he just had to turn around. 

His cheeky smirk never left his face as he made his way towards me and placed my plate of really good fucking eggs and some cut up strawberries. I dig in, like the hungry bitch I am, and watch as he sits down and starts eating. Before he even touched his strawberries, I was already done. He cracks a smile at the sight. "We're you really that hungry?" 

"They were just that good." I leaned over to grab a paper towel. While wiping my hands, I made the mistake of looking down at his huge package. Jesus H. Christ, what type of protein powder did this guy snort in order to get that?