Enemies?

Denial phase

Cuba could not fall asleep. After seeing that Venezuela was spying through his window for a few hours now, he did not feel as safe as always.

He got up and walked to the window. It was true, Venezuela was there watching him. Cuba opened the window and Venezuela was already making a move to hide.

"I know you're there, I've seen that you haven't left since the USA returned home, what are you doing?" Cuba asked.

"Nothing," replied Venezuela, at the same time that he got up since he was hunched over in a corner of Cuba's patio, to be exact behind a bush. "I was just looking around." But Cuba did not believe the Venezuelan. He knew he was lying.

"Acere, do you know that I can sue you for spying on me like that?"

"Do not do it!"

"Then go away"

"It's just that I'm afraid that the USA will do something to you..."

"...I'm going down right now," was the only thing the Cuban replied before putting on a housecoat and going down the stairs from his room to the entrance of his house. When he opened the door, he found Venezuela face to face.

"Ah! What are you doing, you shithead?! Don't scare others like that!" Cuba was startled a bit before sighing and returning to his original position, leaning against the door frame.

"I only care about you, it's not that bad" The other Latin American replied, shrugging. "Look Cuba, maybe you don't know it but the USA is not to be trusted, and I feel embarrassed after helping him, but I think you should distance yourself from him."

"Look Venezuela, I don't know what you're talking about or what the hell you've done now with the United States, but I know perfectly well that the he is a country that looks for trouble. And if you stay here in my patio spying on me, you're sure not going to find anything. So away and don't come back, okay?" Cuba finished speaking, staring at Venezuela until it nodded and left. He was muttering something as he left but Cuba did not listen to him. He thought that it would only be the occasional insult, something typical of the Venezuelan.

Cuba returned to his room, took off his robe, and closed the window. He lay back on the bed, but could not fall asleep; the face of  USA appeared again and again in his thoughts.He got up, went to the kitchen and looked for a bottle of rum. He sat on the sofa and drank a little but it didn't seem to have an effect, instead, his thoughts for the USA were getting bigger and bigger. Cuba got up angrily, went to the room and looked for a pistol. Finding one, he closed his bedroom door pointing at the USA photo behind it. Normally he used it to throw the odd dart at him. "Stop trying to ruin my life" he told himself as he pulled the trigger.

The sound of the shot startled Cuba and he quickly lowered the gun, realizing what he had done. What had he just done? Why did he feel like this? He sat on the bed for a while, trying to figure out what to do next. He started thinking about his whole life since he started pretending he was a friend of the USA just for his benefit. Those good, unforgettable and strangely pleasant moments that only that country could make him feel...

Little by little, he realized that he was in love. One of his worst nightmares. He had been hiding it for a long time, fearing the worst. But it was inevitable; he was the only one who made him feel this way. And now he was in love with him... but how was he going to tell him? Cuba denied. It was impossible, surely they were fantasies caused by his mind when as he was awake at 3am in the morning. Or perhaps the concern of Venezuela had deceived him like this with the American defending him the other day. But even so, the desire to go to him and confess everything to him was stronger than ever.

Cuba got up from the bed, and began to walk around the room. He went to the desk, where he checked his emails once more. Nothing new. Surely everyone would be sleeping at that moment, thinking about him as he used to do before falling asleep. He remembered the hours spent talking with the USA on the terrace of a coffee shop, laughing or discussing politics or baseball; always talking until the wee hours of the morning knowing that the next day a new equally interesting conversation awaited them. He went back to bed but could not sleep; the images of the United States danced before his eyes, provoking mixed emotions. Why was he so obsessed with that boy? He constantly wondered without finding any answer. Perhaps it was his way of being: nice, charismatic and attentive; you could even say adorably stubborn at times. Or perhaps it was just curiosity that inevitably attracted him to him...But the truth was that, despite everything, he couldn't stop thinking about him.

Was he going crazy? Maybe. Could he be ignoring his feelings? Not by long.

(Author's note: I think I watched too many Turkish novels while making this chapter 😅)