Chapter Twenty-One
Redheads = fiery temper? In this episode of Myth Busters…
Ruby
“If one more person tries to come into this office, I’m going to smack their heads off with my cane, and then I’m going to come out there and smack yours off too. Do you understand?” I growl into my phone.
“Yes,” Charlie squeaks on the other end.
“Good,” I snap, then slam the phone back into its cradle.
It’s not even lunchtime yet, and I’ve had twelve meetings, all of which could have been a freaking email , and all of which involved my idiot coworkers coming around to my side of the desk for no freaking reason and touching me uninvited. I have been patted on the back, elbow, arm, and shoulder more times than I can count.
I’m itchy just remembering it.
I scrape angrily from my shoulder down to my elbow, and am further enraged when my fingers come back covered in tiny sticky shapes.
Stickers.
All of this because of freaking stickers .
I’m going to kill Brian.
The next time I hear him, he’s dead.
Dead.
Irate, I fumble my walkie-talkie when I reach for it, and knock a tissue box on the floor in my struggle to keep hold of the walkie.
“Will,” I grunt into it, not bothering with the lingo. “I need you. Now.”
I don’t even want to know how many stickers are on my back. I’ll be making a list of every moron who entered my office today. They’re going to feel my wrath, and they’re going to feel it good.
“Ruby?” Will bursts into my office, ignoring Charlie’s pleas that he wouldn’t.
“Oh, shut up, Charlie,” I snap. “He’s fine.”
“Ruby!” Will chastises.
“Get over here,” I grumble. “Charlie has been in cahoots with every other fool employed here, and now I have stickers all over me. I need help to get them off.” My jaw clenches. “Because I cannot see them. Real funny to cover the blind girl in sticky little irritants, knowing full well she won’t be able to get them off on her own, isn’t it, Charlie? Absolutely hilarious to let person after person in here to touch me, knowing I can’t see to stop them, huh?”
“I- I didn’t. I wasn’t- Ms. Vann, I swear. I didn’t know they were doing that! I would never- I wouldn’t-” he quavers, and Will interrupts.
“Of course you wouldn’t, Charlie. She knows that. She just needs a few minutes, okay? Take a breath, buddy. It’s going to be okay.”
My eye twitches. If by “okay”, Will means that Charlie better sleep with one eye open, then yeah. Things are gonna be okay.
“I can help!” my assistant all but wails. “I can get them off!”
“No,” I bark. “Nobody but Will is touching me.”
Charlie whimpers.
“Go back out to your desk, Charlie. Yeah?” Will soothes. “Don’t let anybody else in. I’ll take care of her.”
“I’m so sorry,” Charlie says. “Honest. I didn’t know.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get this all sorted out,” Will mutters, voice quiet as he, hopefully, leads Charlie out.
I cross my arms, foot tapping.
The door clicks softly shut, and the shadowy breadth of Will approaches me, rounding to my back.
“I’m going to move your hair now, Rubble. To the left. I’ll start on your right shoulder and work my way down your arm. It looks like you’ve already gotten most of them on that side. After that, I’ll do the right side of your back, then I’ll switch your hair and do the same on the other side. Okay?”
I nod, standing stiffly as he sweeps my hair over my left shoulder. His fingers graze the skin of my neck as he does, and I find comfort in the familiar warmth of him – in the expected texture of his skin, the weight of his fingers. I know Will’s touch, and as he wipes away the stickers, I let it rub away the itch that others’ uninvited touches left behind.
“Thank you,” I mutter when he’s making his way down my left arm. “I really appreciate you helping me.” I sniff, eyes watering as the angry adrenaline fades. I’m left with only bone-deep exhaustion touched with shame. “I’ll apologize to Charlie as soon as we’re done. I know he wouldn’t do something like that. I just… it’s so…”
“Shhh,” Will murmurs, hand traveling to my back. “It’s okay, Ruby. You don’t have to try to excuse yourself. What’s happened here is not okay, and you’re angry. Anybody would be angry if they were in your shoes. It’s a natural reaction.”
My tears fall.
“It feels like elementary school,” I whisper. “These kids, they stuck signs to me. I don’t even remember what they said – some childish jab at me not being able to see. I don’t know. But I wore them all day. Even the teacher didn’t say anything. When I asked her later, she told me that it was ‘a harmless prank’. That nobody got hurt.”
I blink, and suddenly I’m nine years old again, crying in the bathroom, chest aching with my sobs.
“But somebody did get hurt,” I whimper. “Somebody did.”
“Oh, Rubble,” Will whispers, voice cracking on the nickname. “Come here, precious girl.”
I turn, crashing into his chest and probably coating his shirt in mascara. He doesn’t seem to care.
“I’ll fix this,” he says. “I’ll fix this for you. I promise. Nobody is going to do anything like this to you again, okay?”
My head shakes. He doesn’t get it.
“It always happens,” I tell him.
“Not anymore,” he counters, firm. “Not ever again.”
I don’t respond. It’s not that I don’t believe he’ll try, but… people do what people do, and he can’t always be around to stop them. Even today, with him right across the hall, this happened. Unless he plans to glue himself to my hip, I’ll experience more of this in the future. It’s inevitable.
It takes a while for me to calm down, and Will spends that entire while whispering reassurances to me. He’s going to help. He’s going to fix it. He’s going to make sure this is the last time.
I hold him tighter with every muttered vow, grateful for his steady presence.
It occurs to me as we stand here, tucked together, that I called, and he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even take the time to walkie me back. He just came.
I squeeze him a little harder, and renew my resolve to be a good friend to him.
No, not a good friend. The best friend.
Watch out, Roman, a new sheriff is in town, and she’s stealing your job.
“Thanks, Will,” I whisper into his chest. “For always being there for me.”
His arms contract around me, and my hair moves as he lands a kiss on the crown of my head.
“Always, Rubble,” he whispers back. “Always.”