Author: Aya DeAniege

Goooooodddddddd.

This morning I got up, went to the bathroom, and proceeded to lose my shit. I thought I had blown a kidney or something. These past couple of days I’ve been drinking so much, it wouldn’t surprise me.

Dorian asked me what was wrong, then asked me casually why I had packed my personal hygiene items. When I tried to protest, he asked me which was more likely.

Being early, or losing kidney function in the middle of the night and not being in a pain that I noticed?

Once a month, Dorian turns into a giant teddy bear who sometimes leaves me the fuck alone with a bottle of good wine and the cats.

Some friends we had made wanted me to go swimming. Today was the  first nice day. So it was a double “Fuck you.”

Actually triple.

There are three ways to deal with my pain. Take more than the recommended dose of pills, basically making me high all day. Taking one of those and sleeping all day. Not some of it, all day.

Or drink. Drink so much that I dun remember.

You know what I’m not supposed to do? 

Mix alcohol and my pain pills. Oh, I can.  And they aren’t prescription or anything, so it’s not as bad. Until you know that I over reacted to drugs of any kind. 

My body gets some meds and just goes, “fuck it, I quit.”

So, uh. Dorian got me a drink at 10am. Then 11am, then noon, ish.

Somehow he got his hands on my least favourite product. Tampons. Fuck that, if I  want something shoved up there…

I’ve never been comfortable with them. Ever. 

But with the hot day, Dorian dragged me back to the room and handed one to me. When I attempted to say no, he pulled the Sir card. 

Which is this thing he can pull a couple of times a month. It does not roll over, does not collect, and he rarely uses, but when he does it’s for things like today.

He saw me staring at the ocean. I was hot, I had skimmed through the last four chapters of At Death’s Door because I just didn’t want to anymore. Except I couldn’t go in the ocean with my preferred product.

So he used the Sir card and ten minutes later the ocean almost drowned me. I had so much fun out there as our friends just watched and, apparently, thought I had lost my mind. Which was fine by me.

Two pills, three drinks later. 

Next thing I know, I’m waking up and it’s 6pm. I’m in bed in nothing more than underwear and Dorian is nowhere to be found.

I got up, went to the bathroom and as I did, my phone wrang. I didn’t even know it worked. Dorian.

“Darling, I’m in the lobby.”

“Just give me a couple of minutes.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

We went to dinner, then up to the lobby again. When I went to the bathroom, Dorian ordered me a Spanish coffee. Which is coffee with alcohol in it. Exactly what I was craving, actually.

After drinking it, he looked at me and then sighed.

“Bed.”

Sir card two for the day, though I don’t think it should count as such. On the way back to the room I wondered some things. 

I told him I showered before napping, but had no recollection of that. I didn’t know where my cup was. Or when I had water last.

Walking into the room I noticed a few things. The water bottle, which was supposed to be for both of us, was almost empty. My swimsuit was on the side of the bathtub. The face cloth was along with the swimsuit, wet, along with the towel hanging along the shower.

Apparently, I got water, showered, then passed out.

On three drinks! Because I took two pills at 8am. That’s the kind of princess that my body is. I’ve taken no other pills since. Because the moment I started drinking, I knew drugs were no longer an option.

Now, laying in bed, I’m exhausted. The pain had downgraded just a notch, but it’s that notch that makes the difference.

You know what sucks? A period overlapping a vacation. 

You know what sucks worse? Being early for the first time in three years while on vacation.

This day can just up and fuck itself. Apparently I slept about half of it away, but still.

Oh, and I lost my proof copy if At Death’s Door no clue where it went. So… yay. I get to do that again.

I lost  $35. I don’t know where. I know what I packed, I recall that money did not go into my safe. So I know that my safe is… safe. It’s just… I took out 300 and had thirty five at home. 

I used 20 at the airport and changed 50 here, which is still going strong. 

Given the clear indication of numbers, it’s possible I left my money at home. It’s bothering me because I can’t recall. A vacation for me is like it’s own little world. I should know. 

Could be the alcohol.

As I mentioned before, Dorian is an alcoholic, except he has a good grasp on his drinking and delights in controlling my alcohol intake. I don’t mind this because at some point I start receiving glasses of water and start drinking them alongside my alcoholic drinks. 

He watches me carefully and slows down my drinks to give me enough time to metabolise it just enough that I don’t get hung over. 

Last night we went to the first restaurant, we’re allowed three per week. The first was at a “gourmet” restaurant. 

I like food, by I always find those type of restaurants to be snot bags. They served us salmon with beets and Dorian didn’t get it.  I recalled what Beth had told me.

Start from the outside in, and if it looks like a snooty dick bag plated your food, it’s not meant to be eaten separately.

The salmon by itself was far too salty. Mixing it with the sweet beet cut the salt. But Beth is more about separate flavour. 

Here is the salmon, wonderful and delicious. Here is the rice, nicely flavored and paired with the salmon with a little bokchoy. None of them have to be eaten together, but as one they make a wonderful meal.

I’m more of a salmon should taste like salmon, not like warm salt, person. To me that says it’s been made by a bad chef, over salted the salmon. But I put it together then told Dorian what I was doing.

The beef tenderloin with blue cheese sauce though… the dessert was not worth it. Wonderful red wine.

Dorian told the waiter that he didn’t want wine. He doesn’t share that he’s an alcoholic, and for most people he just tells them no. The waiter served him wine. After the waiter left, he glanced at me. We decided that him not drinking the wine was best.

When the waiter returned and refilled my wine, then added to Dorian’s, we may have begun a discussion as to whether or not our waiter was drunk. 

Halfway through the soup course, a man came in from the resort. He was angry. Said nothing to us, but it seems those in the resort don’t have to keep the emotion back. This man was pissed.

I thought he was pissed at me, around me, near me. Even the waiter got mad.

The only reason  I can come up with, especially given their flurry of activity and then them looking at a very specific reservation card, is that the man walked in and thought I was sixteen.

The resort has an adult only section. The restaurant is in that section.  When we made our reservation, the lady who booked it repeated four times that adults were the only ones allowed in. We didn’t understand why.

It was him and me.

But despite being thirty, no one fucking believes I’m over twenty. 

Dorian looked at me, looked at them, then back to me. His look was clear.

I wanted to leave. Male animosity does that to me. Dorian’s look said to stay. It was almost bored on fashion, but there was an annoyed edge. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed with my reaction, because I should know what’s expected of me, or if he was annoyed with them for bringing that reaction out in me. 

Either way, he didn’t elaborate with me.

I simply sat there and ate the last of the meal, noticing the annoyance in every line of our waiter. How the man from resort staff seemed to glare at me before he finally left. 

I probably drank an entire bottle of wine at dinner.

And eight to twelve drinks through the day. Dorian would let me get just drunk enough, then taper it off. It’s freaking amazing. 

Leaving the restaurant we got just outside of the view of the door when I stopped. Dorian went several steps ahead of me, then stopped and turned to me.

“What,” He said.

Not asked, said.

I lifted a foot and shook it. Then swore and reached down, yanking off first one, then the other shoe.

“These fucking things are going in the pool,” I snapped.

“You need them two more meals,” He responded, then held out his hand.

Grumbling, I took the hand as he led me away. He smiled as I tried to glare at him, then looked up pointedly.

He knows me and the night sky. I ended up gawking upward, staring at the stars oh so bright. I had stupidly hoped that I would see the milky way. I recognized none of the constellations, which I expected this far south. But Fuck. 

Not even a celestial body. Just fucking stars. Gimme a damned nebula at least. 

We slept, went to breakfast and then to the pool. It began to  rain so we went to the beach to hide. I got a mojito in my cup from home and drank a bit. Then Dorian took me back to the room to nap.

Sure. That’s what happened.

We did nap. Then someone’s screaming fucking child went running down the hallway, waking me up. Dorian was so very kind to get up with me. We went to the lobby where I drank a bunch.

No sun. All day.

None.

Fuck this.

This is not tropical. This is where I live but two degrees warmer. I wandered around at home in my underwear, so here in shorts is okay.

Stupid wind.

Oh, Dorian is all for me wandering around in my underwear. I’ve even seen him looking around, I know that look. I don’t think he’s going to find what he’s looking for at this resort. Among the women, maybe. But if he was looking for a woman, he’d leave me, tip the waitress really well, then wander off for an hour or two. 

Actually, he did that yesterday. I’m not mad. We’re on vacation and that is practically our arrangement. 

No, what Dorian has been looking for is an attractive enough male to catch my attention. It’s just not going to happen. 

At least he’s enjoying the vacation and sun… ish.

The little time in the room we’ve had outside of sleep, we’ve watched TV. There are four or five different languages at any time. This is Cuba. So I expected Spanish, considering the native speakers, then the languages of the man visitors. English from Canada, French from France, and Russian from Russia. I did not expect Chinese. That was a surprise.

Whenever we’re up and not eating or on the beach we’re in the lobby and he’s trying to throw ideas at me.

I completely appreciate him trying to do my job for me, but I’m not certain you can talk a regular woman into going to Cuba with you, then rent out the entire resort and have your way with her in the lobby. I’m pretty certain no one is that rich.

But could you imagine the amount of sex involved?

Then it was a woman is the only real booking before a rich man (very rich) tries to take vacation and realizes she has booked into the resort. So he brings his entire staff with him. Because they know to shut up and leave him alone. Then it’s just her and him the whole trip.

I dunno if that will work, but thanks for the idea, Dorian.

Dorian has decided, after an event if tonight and seeing the look on my face, that I should schedule blog posts for when I get back.

After getting into the room, it was gorgeous. It was everything the picture showed. Then he took me down to the lobby bar and my instructions were clear: find solutions.

Dorian  believes I should be more “alpha” and if I want something, don’t just stared at it, go for it. 

He played the part of … uhm… person? 

While we were at the bar, he motioned to a drink and said, “I wonder what that is.”

A gentleman beside him said the same. So I went over and asked the waitress as she loaded her tray, what’s that one there? She told me and I thanked her.

Dorian later ordered us those drinks, we spoke with that man four more times. This is how you make friends, he said. Doing it on vacation is easy practice, I will never see these people again. It’s easy to be kind, especially with the amount of alcohol Dorian was bringing me.

Dorian does not drink. He is an alcoholic, though sober for several years. Everything I drank, he ordered a virgin of. So it was easy to tell myself that I had a drinking partner.

A woman walked up and offered to sell me a raffle ticket for 1 CUC. I bought one. My ticket number was 142. Whatever, put it in my pocket. So I spent some frivolous money.

After about two drinks, you do not have to encourage me. He wondered where the buffet was, I found out. While in the buffet, I thought I saw another side of it so I just got up and wandered off. I wanted white wine so I asked for it, and it was served to the table.

When Dorian sat down, he frowned at the wine, then looked to me. I lowered my eyes and apologized immediately, because I had asked the waitress for wine for me, not him. He jokingly said that I should drink both then, but we both know my tolerance and I was near to.

I still hadn’t slept…

After dinner, we went back to the room and I had a massive panic. I couldn’t recall where I put the converted money. Dorian had to drag me back out because I was panicking. It was only $50 CAD, he said, it was fine. 

That’s… not… no.  For me that’s a lot of money to just lose.

But he dragged me out and back to the lobby for the fashion show/raffle. See found some seats, asked for more drinks. 

Rich man and a woman who thinks she’s hot get in the way. Across the aisle I notice four people. A narcissistic man (I could be wrong on all this, let me just preface with), a random man, two women across from them.

The narcissist had one of those douchebag shave jobs, like he was trying to do, what’s it called, chin curtains? He had a beard that was mean to show off a jawline he didn’t have. He had a round face and the beard didn’t work with that. He also wore a wedding ring and was focused on nothing… or looking at me. 

He was probably looking at me because I was looking at the him.

The two women were a nondescript and a woman who seemed way too… like she was trying to ignore someone else. Way too… expressive.

Then the fashion show started and woman and the two nondescripts got in the way. We couldn’t see anything and there was plenty of space for them to view from the side and us to view it. So I got up and told them no one behind could see, and could they please move to one side or the other?

They did immediately. No hard feelings.

Then the fashion show ended so I pulled out my ticket, but for the first time in my life, I clapped with the crowd.

The wind tool my ticket. I was looking for it as the raffle drawing person called out the number in Spanish.

I took Spanish in high school. I thought I recognized the number, but dismissed it as I frantically searched for my ticket and he read it out in English. 

142.

Mother fucker read my ticket. The moment I said it out loud, the tables around me stood up a date started searching for it. They found it and gave it to me in two minutes top. 

I went up with my ticket. He took my name and country…

Then fucking disqudisqualified me because it took me more than two seconds to come forward. He gave it to the next person.
I went back to Dorian heartbroken. 

Because I had actually won. But I shut up and drank my drink. 

Then that raffle person came over and admitted that he saw us searching, but still called another number rather than wait. He told me not to feel bad and then walked away.

I started crying. Dorian could see it come over me and told me to go to the bathroom.

Because he knew that I wasn’t sad. I was pissed and I was crying because being rage filled is outside of my experience. So I went to the bathroom and sobbed for a while, wiping my eyes  until the tears stopped. 

Then I went back to Dorian as a second drink was delivered. I chugged it back and he looked at me sympathetically.

“Beach?” He asked.

“I’ve been up too long,” I whispered back.

“Room, then,” He said, pulling me to my feet.

And we went back to our hotel room and had sex in the waterfall shower.

Thing is, the bathroom has like shutter windows. The room itself had sheer curtains and them blackout curtains, which we hadn’t closed. The only lights on were in the bathroom, and that shutter window was open.

Our too.  Faces what is supposedly empty rooms. But someone may have gotten an eyeful.

Why, you might ask, would Dorian let me schedule posts and write this all out? 

Because writing about it is cathartic. I am not as upset as I was to start with.

Sex didn’t help, but writing about it made me view it as someone who isn’t a little orphan girl who had every achievement stolen from her because fuck her. I’m calmer because I realized that the world doesn’t fucking hate me and it’s just bad luck.

Whatever. My drink and food is free, and tipping is optional.

Waiting for a room to come free, or more precisely for our room to be cleaned, I can’t help but feel anxious over being in limbo. I want to do my things and settle in and maybe shower to wash the day of travel off of me.

Then to find one of those people with the trays and ask for a drink. 

Instead, I’m in limbo, on three hours of sleep, and no food or bathroom break for going on six hours. I could find a public restroom, I’m certain. But I don’t want to, I want my toilet, not another one used by a hundred strangers.

Me on little sleep turns into a selfish princess, but whatever. I’ll wait the half an hour for my room to come free before settling in properly.

I left my ring at home. Didn’t want to risk losing it, but now I’m missing it. 

Missing the Internet connection too. Contract Taken was approved for Smashword’s premium catalogue as I was about to board the plane. Shipped out to the major retailers today, while I was on the plane.

And I know, I’m small fish, nothing is going to happen and I’ll come back to the numbers at the exact same level they were before. 

As in nothing, no movement. Nothing had changed between this morning and now, like it hasn’t changed in days. I don’t need the Internet. 

Is what I keep telling myself.

It’s cloudy here. Full on overcast, windy, with water in the wind. I don’t like water in my face. It’s like getting sprayed in the face with a water bottle every time it happens.

I swear, I’m not going to complain the whole trip through. I’m just tired and in limbo, without my room. I need a bathroom, food, alcohol, and then to bed early and I’ll feel much better, more adventurous in the morning.

For now, I’m beyond tired. 

The couple across the aisle from Dorian and I were headed to the same resort. They talked to me a bit, about things that Dorian hadn’t mentioned. I guess it’s been a while since he has come down, so things had changed. 

But we did arrive safety and without problem.

We’ll, if we ignore the hundred and twenty-five pounds of cranky author going through Internet withdrawal. 

There are flaws in the wonderful system they have, but I think the resort expects people to gawk around. I’m not really a gawker or a hang around type of person on travel days. I’m a get it done and get in the room and glimpsing Dorian kind of person.

When I went to check on our bags, I almost knocked their lobby statue over! I was terrified ad Dorian laughed at me and put a hand on it to keep it steady.

Then we got lost going to find where the room was and you can hear people shouting in the halls and…

Ugh. I just need to go to sleep. Need my room to be ready, already!

Updated, because I can.

The room was being cleaned as we walked by, so I was a little pushy when I was told it probably wasn’t ready yet. Let them take their time, but I’m pretty certain that they’re done my room.

I got money exchanged and then we walked back up, running into the couple from the plane. They’re staying down the hall from us. Hey, at least we have friends, right?

Tomorrow morning, I’m leaving for a week to Cuba. Staying in a 5star, all inclusive resort. Dorian surprised me with the trip months ago and we’ve never traveled quite so far before.

He’s already packed. He’s calm as could be, but then, he’s gone before.

I’ve never been anywhere tropical, the only islands I’ve been on have been in bodies of cold water. I’ve also never been at an inclusive resort, or like, free drinks and food. The only other country I’ve been to was America.

I did not enjoy going through customs, I understand you need to look scary, but maybe I’m nervous because there’s a bunch of scary looking men standing around glaring at little ol’me. When you’re small enough for almost any man to pick you up and throw you, you get a little twitchy.

Here’s a kicker: there’s no internet.

When I pointed that out, Dorian laughed at me. I’d say he planned that, but internet is like that. You can pay a little bit for an hour of internet, but Dorian has forbidden me from doing so.

Remember, ladies, he and I have a standing arrangement, he’s not just ordering me around willy-nilly. So no one needs to make comment about abusive or rude men.

We’ve been debating taking my tablet. The debate is pretty much, will it be dead weight, or should we bring it to keep me from going a little crazy. I’ll have my phone, I can write on my phone, but what if I want to add to His Grace instead of Death Mask? What if I want to do world planning instead of writing Death Mask?

The thing with my writing is that if I don’t get to work with what I want to do, I get upset, whiny, and withdraw. I get done with the world at large and pissed at other people, downright rage filled towards the person who makes any kind of suggestion about leaving a writing thing at home.

Right, charging the tablet.

I had to buy a larger suitcase and a bunch of stuff because who the hell just needs three swimsuits?

I get it, I understand normal women do, but I’m not entirely certain what for. On the off chance your boyfriend buys you tickets to Cuba because you’re having  a bad eight months? Suppose it’s like me and dresses, except I like just wearing those around the house.

Dorian, of course, isn’t thinking about what a woman might need in Cuba. He wasn’t going to take bug spray or sunscreen. I swear, that man would be riddled with zika and cancer by the time he got back if it weren’t for me.

“What’s Zika?”

“… a mosquito borne illness that the heath advisories say we should watch out for in Cuba.”

“There aren’t mosquitoes in Cuba.”

“They’re surrounded by water.”

I’m off for a week and am pretty certain that I’m missing a ton of stuff.

I pulled four fourteen hour days and it just killed my brain. I’m trying to get back into the motion of writing three thousand words a day and it’s just not working because my head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton.

It’s not necessarily a bad feeling. Let’s face it, if I wasn’t trying to keep going, I’d probably be inside a fluffy little cloud. Just relaxing and comfortable about the whole thing.

So, unfortunately, I’m kind of pooched. 

Instead of writing three thousand words, I’m plotting Death Mask and over Easter will be making covers and graphics. 

That way I’m just doing arts and crafts, basically, but I’m still getting work done. 

Next week I leave for Cuba. Gone for nine or so days and I’ve got the proof of At Death’s Door and the second edit of Cheating Death to do. Both of these is basically just reading the books until something pisses me off, then making notes for said things. 

I am still debating taking my tablet. If I really want to write, I can turn my phone on, I’m not restricted just because I leave the tablet at home. 

Though, taking a USB drive and nothing to plug it into may be suspicious and may keep me from getting on the flight. Maybe I should take it. There could be nights I can’t sleep or something, and write instead.

That kind of thing, you know? 

Trying to plan this all, I feel like I’m forgetting something. I have ID, medication, clothing, and even someone to watch the cats. I’ve told the landlord so he doesn’t think I’ve abandoned the apartment.

So what in the hell am I forgetting?

It’ll come to me when I get to the airport…