sleepy rose is sleepy
It was over seven years after meeting Rose that Luisa finally saw her without her skin on.
The cold fifth of July morning after their first meeting, Luisa had woken in that Fort Lauderdale motel room to find that the beautiful woman she’d been with had disappeared, leaving nothing but sweaty sheets and an empty packet of powdered donuts in her wake. During the years before her father’s death, the time they had together had been short, scattered, impulsive, without any warning – and Luisa was always so exhausted that by the time she woke up, Rose was already awake, the mask of her make-up back in place, her hair already in its meticulous waves and cascading across her shoulder. And by the time her father was dead, that was five and a half years spent and gone and never once was Rose in a position that could even be considered compromising – or, she was, but not in the sort of way where Luisa could learn more about the woman she’d fallen in love with. More in the sort of way where she could hear whimpers and pleases and a million and one other little pleasures that…weren’t Rose without her skin off.
And then there was the year she was with Susanna, which was another skin entirely, and then there was their time in the sub, and Rose was again always awake before Luisa was, going to the kitchen, making sure the food was all done and ready, making sure that her men were keeping the submarine in tip top shape, and then they were apart again—
It was over seven years before Luisa finally saw her without her skin on.
She wouldn’t have even called it that if she hadn’t picked up one of Rose’s books during her insomnia and read through the entire thing in an attempt to get herself drowsy enough to be able to sleep. (Notably, it was a good book, and once she’d started it, she’d realized her mistake, but she’d thought it was one of those weird, boring legal dramas that Rose liked to read and which really did put her to sleep whenever she tried to read them. All that legalese. Who cared? When were people going to start making out? Where was the sex? Where was the intrigue?) But she liked the phrase.
And it was that moment – when she was finally finally starting to feel tired (and maybe it was the jet lag from flying to their current location from Miami – Rose, maybe, had already gotten used to its hours, but Luisa had not) – that she felt the mattress shift next to her, and she peeped one eye open so that she could watch.
Rose let out a little groan, muffled only by the pillow beneath her. Then she turned to face Luisa, and Luisa covered her eyes with one arm, her eyes still open, hoping that Rose hadn’t noticed. For a moment, there was nothing, and then Rose groaned again before moving off of the mattress. Luisa peeked out from beneath her arm, and when she realized that Rose wasn’t looking at her again, she peeked up over her arm so that she could see a little better.
As she walked away from the bed, Rose was stumbling. One hand was flush against the wall, feeling her way along it, and it wasn’t until Luisa watched her turn the light on that she realized Rose had her eyes squinted, half-lidded, and although she winced when the light turned on and blinked quite a few times for her eyes to adjust, they were more adjusted more quickly than Luisa’s were. Rose yawned and scratched her head and stared at herself in the mirror for a few minutes, still blinking. One hand cast about the bathroom counter, reaching for something, anything, and as it found nothing, Rose frowned. She looked down, around. Then she looked back at Luisa, stared at her, and softened, relaxed.
She was looking for her mask, Luisa thought. She took a deep breath – Rose hadn’t realized she was still awake, had flicked the bathroom light off and padded on bare feet, yawning again, out of their suite. Luisa lay in the bed for a little while longer then slowly, carefully, got up to follow her, using all of the subtle silences she’d learned when she was younger and wanted to steal drinks from her father’s liquor cabinet. She moved to the suite doorframe and leaned just enough outside of it that she could watch without being seen – hopefully.
Rose leaned over the kitchen counter, pressing at the coffee button once, twice, three times before realizing that wasn’t the way their coffeemaker worked. Then she stumbled forward, pulled the door to the fridge open, and without looking twice took the cold brew that was Luisa’s preference and which Rose said over and over again that she hated, unscrewed the top, and poured half of the bottle down her throat. She smacked her lips a couple of times, winced harder than she had when she’d turned the bathroom light on, and then scowled at the drink in that way she did when something wasn’t going the way she wanted and shoved it back into the fridge with a loud enough clatter that Luisa was surprised she hadn’t been wakened by it before. Then Rose turned back to the coffeemaker with the murderous glare that Luisa knew far too well and this time she was able to get it working.
Luisa could smell the coffee from here. She watched as Rose stood in front of it, not moving, staring at it. And then, finally, Rose pushed herself away from it and over to the sofa, where she slumped down and stared with blank eyes at the outside world. It was then that Luisa decided maybe she should stop watching and start doing, and she crept out of the bedroom over to the sofa and leaned down to press a kiss to Rose’s cheek.
Rose didn’t move.
Luisa’s eyes narrowed, and she moved to the other side of the sofa so that she could see her better.
Rose’s eyes were closed; she had promptly dozed off in the few minutes it had taken Luisa to get to her. Luisa stifled a laugh and slowly moved her girlfriend – it was weird to use that word now, after so long not using it, after so long using so many other words to describe the woman in front of her – and then curled up against her. Rose would probably wake up again as soon as the coffee was ready, and Luisa probably wouldn’t see her sleepy like that in a long time, but she was glad to know she wasn’t the only one who was inept when she first woke up.
She curled her head against Rose’s chest, felt herself relaxing, and finally – finally – drifted off into sleep.
When Rose woke up again to Luisa suddenly curled up against her, she stared at her, blinking. Then she smiled, ignoring the smell of the coffee, and settled herself a little better on the couch, slowly brushing her hand through Luisa’s dark waves.