Chapter Sixteen
Saturday
Joshua:
I only came out to the alley for air.
The Shed is packed and boiling, Lady – Hear Me Tonight blasting loudly. It’s all a bit much.
I lean against the back wall, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets, letting the cold settle over me, mulling over the day. It’s on nights like this that I notice people say a lot about who they are but almost none of it lines up with what they do.
Words are easy. You can paint yourself however you want. I stopped trusting what people say a long time ago.
How they behave is who they are.
As I’m deciding the night’s a write-off, something bangs above me, followed at once by swearing that would send a nun into cardiac arrest. I turn toward the sound. It takes me a second to realise what I'm looking at.
Ruby Hollis is hanging out of a tiny bathroom window, head-first.
Her entire upper body is outside in the alley—head, shoulders, arms, half her torso resting awkwardly on the sill.
Everything below her waist is still inside the bathroom.
I can see the way her legs must be braced on something, probably the toilet she climbed onto, because her hips are jammed tight against the metal frame.
She's literally stuck in the window.
"Ruby?" I call, because what else do you say to a girl dangling out of a toilet window as if she's trying to escape prison? “Ruby, is that you?”
She goes all stiff, then groans loudly into the night. "No. No. I reject this entire reality."
I cough back a laugh. "Are you okay?"
"Oh, I'm thriving," she cheerily calls, voice muffled by the fact she has gravity working against her. "Just having the best night of my life, actually. Everything is going brilliantly, thanks for asking."
I walk closer until I'm directly underneath her, trying to process the exact mechanics of how she got into this position.
It's obvious once you see it: she must have climbed onto the toilet, shoved the window open, leaned out head-first, and then attempted to squeeze the rest of herself through.
But the window's too narrow, and now her hips are jammed, and she has no leverage to pull herself back in or push herself out.
"What happened?"
"The lock to the toilet jammed," she explains, humiliated, cheeks flushed pink. "I shouted for help, but no one heard me. Brooke has my phone… so I tried the window, for reasons I cannot explain.”
“So… you’re stuck?”
“No, Josh. I’m chilling here. Thought it would break up the evening.” She huffs as she tries to push herself backwards into the bathroom again, but her hips don't move at all. They’re wedged against the frame in a way that looks painful.
My hands hover above her waist, not sure what to do. "Do you want to come down?"
"Please," she groans. "I think my blood circulation is being cut off. Oh my God, I'm going to die here."
"You're not going to die."
"Josh," her voice is whiny, "I can't feel my left thigh."
I get closer. "You're gonna be alright."
"No, I genuinely think it's gone."
I look up at her, and her hazel eyes trap me. My voice is gravelly as I say, "I'm not gonna let you die here."
Her breath catches. “Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
“Okay,” she mutters, nodding to herself, looking down at me. “Fine. Save me.”
I steady my feet on the ground. “Alright. On three you’re going to shift your weight forward. Don’t twist until I say.”
“I swear to God, if you count wrong—”
“One.”
“Josh, I’m serious—”
“Two.”
“Don’t you dare drop me.”
“Three.”
I lift carefully in an attempt to free her hips from the frame but not enough to send her flying. She makes a startled sound, halfway between a gasp and an insult, and her body moves an inch before getting stuck again.
She twists violently, startling me. “Not that way,” I warn quickly.
“I don’t know which way is which!” She snaps. “I’m on death’s door here, give me some fucking grace!”
“Okay, okay—relax your legs.”
“They are relaxed!”
“They’re not.”
“Well maybe that’s because I’m STUCK IN A WINDOW.”
I duck my head, hiding my face. This is unfairly funny and she looks mad cute now that she’s cross. I lift a little higher, feeling the window loosen around her. “Ruby—not so much—”
“I’M TRYING.”
“You’re flailing.”
“I AM NOT FLAILING, I AM FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE.”
“Alright,” I choke back laughter. “Just—keep still for a second.”
“I haven’t kept still a day in my life, Josh, what are you—OH—” The window frame gives a loud metallic creak, the kind that sounds both painful and offended. Ruby goes rigid. “Did it break?”
“No—”
“IS MY ARSE LITERALLY brEAKING THE WINDOW?”
“Ruby—”
“DON’T LIE TO ME, I CAN FEEL IT IN THE FRAME!”
“It’s not your—”
“Fuck! I’m going to brEAK IT!” Her voice goes so shrill that I have to look away. She wiggles again in sheer panic, which only makes the frame creak louder, the building equivalent of an elderly man saying, absolutely not, young lady. “I am breaking it!”
“Ruby,” I manage through breaths, “you’re not breaking the window.”
“How do you know?!”
“Because if you broke it, you’d be on the ground by now.”
“That is NOT reassuring!”
“Just—stop moving.”
“I CAN’T STOP MOVING, I’M STUCK IN A WINDOW AND MY ARSE IS MAKING NOISES.”
I lose the battle—a laugh punches out of me before I can stop it. I have to lean my head away from her to get control of myself.
“THIS IS NOT FUNNY, JOSH! IT IS HUMILIATING.”
“A little,” I agree, still laughing.
“JOSHUA, I SWEAR TO GOD—”
“Okay, okay,” I try to sober quickly before she commits murder, “let’s get you out.” I steady myself again and lift my hands, placing them more firmly on her waist. “Alright,” I tell her, “This time—no dramatics.”
“It won’t be dramatic if you actually PULL ME OUT!”
“Ruby, you’re wedged into a hole half your size.”
“ARE YOU CALLING ME FAT?!”
“Do I look crazy? Of course not.”
She gasps. “You’re bullying a woman in distress!”
“You’re bullying your saviour!”
“THE WINDOW IS BULLYING ME! OH MY GOD, IT’S GOING TO SNAP. I CAN FEEL IT. I CAN FEEL THE BUILDING AROUND ME—”
“Ruby, stop,” I’m laughing so hard my voice cracks. “The building is fine.”
“I’M THE TITANIC AND THIS WINDOW IS THE ICEBERG!”
“You’re not the Titanic.”
“I AM! AND YOU’RE STOOD THERE ALL ‘OOOH LOOK SHE’S SINKING.’”
“Ruby—”
“SAVE ME, JACK!”
“I swear to God—”
Her hands slip down the wall, her torso jerks forward, and suddenly the window gives one violent, irritated shudder.
“OH—OH MY—JOSH—”
“I’ve got you—”
And then she’s falling. She drops straight out of the window like a sack of extremely mouthy potatoes, and my arms snap around her, colliding with me chest-first, sending us both stumbling back a couple of steps until my back hits the brick wall.
Her arms clamp around my shoulders. Her face slams into my collarbone. Her bunny ears whack me in the chin. She’s warm and breathless and clinging to me as if I pulled her out of a burning building.
Even in this dire situation, she feels so fucking nice. She smells even better.
“You’re alive,” I laugh, holding onto her and breathing her in. “You made it.”
She slowly lifts her head, cheeks flushed, mascara slightly smudged, hair sticking out in about twelve unnecessary directions.
She looks wrecked.
She also seems to be the kind of girl who would attempt this again if dared.
“Oh shit,” she whispers, hazel eyes going wide in horror. “Did I hit you?”
I nod, trying not to enjoy her closeness too much. “Multiple times.”
“Is your face broken?”
“No.”
“Is the window broken?”
I glance at it. “Somehow, also no.”
She drags a hand down her face. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I’ve never known embarrassment like this.”
I shake my head, steadying her by the waist because she’s not let go of my shoulders yet. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Josh. I was stuck like a feral raccoon trying to escape a bin.”
“That’s…” I grin, “quite an image.”
“It’s the truth.”
She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she seems to sink into me a little more, her grip on my shoulders loosening without letting go.
The panic is leaving her slowly, but I’m becoming more aware of every place we’re touching as it does.
Her face is close enough that I can feel her breath when she exhales, and my hands are sitting at her waist which is making my heart pound.
When she moves slightly, my fingers tighten around her, and a hot pull goes straight through my stomach.
“Are you aware you’re still holding on to me?” I ask, and every breath I take moves her slightly against my chest.
She blinks once, then looks down at her hands, surprised they’re still on me. Instead of dropping them, her fingers curl slightly. “Oh. Yeah.”
“Are you planning on letting go?”
“No,” she mutters instantly, holding tighter. “I don’t trust myself.”
That makes two of us, although for very different fucking reasons.