13. Ruby
During the last few days, Samuel and I established some kind of routine. I cook for the both of us and he agreed to clean the kitchen up after me. It’s honestly a win for both of us and I admittedly also enjoy spending time with him.
I still have to get used to him sneaking into the kitchen for a pre-snack because he acts like he’s close to starving. Sometimes I allow him to stick around, as long as he keeps his gorilla-sized ass on one of the bar stools and stops standing in my way.
This kitchen may be spacious, but there’s not enough room for two people in it. I’d honestly feel crowded even in an industrial kitchen, so it’s not really his fault.
What is his fault though, are the faint hints of touches. Subtle enough to make me question them, obvious enough that they make my heart race.
His hand on my waist when he walks past me, guarding edges when I turn around so that I don’t run into pieces of furniture. Or maybe I’m just reading something into it.
He seems to like pasta dishes just as much as I do, which is good because I could live solely off of pasta and potatoes if I’d need to.
We basically have the routine of a couple that has been married for fifty years and I don’t find it as horrible as I would have expected it if someone told me this would be my life two years ago. We eat together, interrupted by brief discussions about the remote privilege, before we end up on the couch to watch TV together.
If he has a good day, I’m allowed to touch one part of him for half an hour. We came to that agreement after I completely obliterated him at Uno. I cheated, but he doesn’t need to know that.
One of us, usually me, would fall asleep on the couch, resulting in the other, usually Samuel, kicking me awake.
I really like spending time with him, but I also don’t like that I like it so much. This starts to feel less like a game and more like a crush. The opposite of what I want it to be.
He’s busy with his laptop again, sitting on the far end of the couch hunched over that thing like he’s working on creating the next big social media platform, but I know better than to ask what he’s doing. It’s a miracle he’s even sitting here with his laptop open. He always mumbles something about private stuff when I ask about it, closing the thing before I can take a proper look on the screen.
I pull out my phone to scroll through my social media apps when something, or rather someone, catches my eye.
A blurry video of Brian, smiling at the camera until the view wanders over to a bottle of vodka that’s being carried to the table. I would rather see a literal piece of shit on my feed instead of his face, hence why I blocked him everywhere since we broke up. I couldn’t stand his fake whining in my inbox any longer and didn”t want to read through countless paragraphs that explained how he would really change this time.
Funny enough, Brian isn’t the one who posted the video. No, it’s on Sarah’s account. My “best friend” who’s unable to reply to any of my messages in weeks but apparently has more than enough time to celebrate the birthday of my ex-boyfriend with him.
The same guy she repeatedly called an embarrassing rat, a liar, and just an overall horrible person. She played an important role in our breakup, enthusiastically encouraging me to dump him whenever I opened up to her.
It’s more than interesting that they seem to be best friends now. The angle tells me she’s sitting right next to him, giggling as he toasts to the camera.
I really don’t miss them.
Still, something about the situation rubs me the wrong way. And maybe a little trip outside could help with getting my head straight about the whole situation with Samuel.
Most people try to find themselves on hikes or fancy retreats. At least the people I know try this approach. But maybe the true answers to the big questions in life lie on the bottom of a bottle of vodka, and I decide that I’m going to test this theory out tonight.
With a yawn, I stretch myself before I get up from the couch.
“Gonna go to bed,” I mumble, trying to sound miserable. “I think I’m coming down with a cold or something.”
“Night,” Samuel mumbles in my direction, not once looking up from his laptop.
It is more than a bit embarrassing, but I’m getting jealous of that darn thing because it’s getting too much of his attention for my liking.
New low Ruby, competing with a laptop.
“Goodnight,” I reply, as I’m already halfway up the stairs.
I close the door to my room before I look for my headphones to get ready. Being too loud would only alert Samuel, so I try my hardest not to make any unnecessary sounds.
I decide on a black leather skirt and a short black top. My head is already hurting after I have my hair in a high ponytail for not even five minutes. With a full face of makeup, I’m almost unable to recognize myself.
It’s not that I run around the house like an unkempt little monster who hasn’t showered for weeks, but there’s still a difference between light makeup and the amount of stuff that is on my face right now.
I laugh as I imagine Samuel seeing my outfit, almost able to hear him calling it inappropriate as he shakes his head. But he’s not here to give his opinion right now and if I don’t fuck this up, he won’t be able to give his opinion to my outfit or this whole idea until I’m back here, tucked away in my bed.
Planning on getting dragged back to the house again?
Dom’s name flashes over my display and just when I want to tell him to stop mocking me, there’s another message.
Just joking, gonna wait outside the gate. 20 minutes?
I reply quickly while I put on a jacket and start my descent to the driveway.
A part of me expected Samuel to wait down here again, to drag me back, maybe to punish me for trying to sneak out, which makes my pussy throb more than I like to admit, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
It should alarm me. He had never been this negligent before, but I’m so set on getting him at least a bit out of my head that I don’t question it as I make the bee-line to Dom’s car.
“Careful,” Dom says as I slam the door of his car shut with a bit too much force for his liking.
“Sorry.”
“Where’s your shadow?
“Busy on his laptop.”
“Aye, where’re we going tonight? To the park, like usual?” Dom asks with a laugh, already starting to drive towards the park.
“Nope, Red Room tonight.”
“Oh?” He looks over at me, eyebrows raised, as if he’s unsure if I’m joking.
“Really, Dom. I need a distraction.”
“I’m not judging. I’d drive you anywhere, you know that.”
I curse under my breath as I yank on the band of my left shoe that won’t close properly. Must be the nerves causing my hands to be slightly sweaty, making it even harder to close those damn things.
The last time I was out partying was a long time ago, more than a year, if I had to guess. Apart from my nervousness, there’s another feeling, slithering around inside of me like a snake right behind my chest. Remorse, for lying to Samuel and sneaking out behind his back.
I never felt bad for lying to the bodyguards. Never felt bad for sneaking out, never felt sorry when I heard them getting yelled at by my father. I missed them for a day or two after they were gone, but that feeling usually vanished as soon as the next one stood in front of my door.
Thinking about Samuel leaving causes my stomach to drop. It gives me the reassurance I need that I should use this night to get my feelings back under control. As we turn onto Woodland Street and I see the line in front of the club, I almost want to tell Dom to drive me back home.
He hugs me goodbye before he lets me out of the car right in front of the entrance of The Red Room and I feel how some people in line glare at me as I walk up to the bouncers. They wear black surgical masks, just like Samuel did at the mall. One of them holds the door open for me and I hurry into the club.
The music vibrates through my body as I walk down the sticky stairs. I don’t remember this place being so dirty. I pull down my skirt as I reach the end of the staircase, looking towards the guy behind the bar who almost drops the shaker he’s holding as he sees me.
“Ruby?” Jonah yells my name, rushing to prepare a daiquiri for me. Glad to see that he still knows what I like.
He started working at The Red Room around the time I started going to university and Sarah, Brian and I came here every weekend. I spent hours sitting at the bar to talk to Jonah, even helped him clean up after his shift a few times.
I would call Jonah a friend, but if the last year taught me anything, then that I shouldn’t get attached to people too much. That’s why I didn’t reach out to him even if I have his number, and the order to call him whenever I need anything.
“I almost messaged you when I saw Brian and his entourage walk in here but I was afraid that you’d block me if I did as much as mention his name,” he says with a frown on his face as he shoves my cocktail towards me.
As if on cue, I hear the high-pitched giggles of the girls that probably surround Brian. It’s not that I’m jealous or anything remotely close to that, more the opposite. Whoever wants this possessive, whiny, manipulative man-child can gladly have him.
I’m just—I don’t know what my goddamn problem is.
Ever since Sam started working as my bodyguard, my brain is all wonky and it seems like not even the copious amounts of makeup on my face can hide what goes on inside my head.
Jonah pours two glasses of tequila, one for him and one for me. My face contorts slightly as I down the liquid, following it with a hefty gulp of my daiquiri to get rid of the taste.
Why don’t they make sweet tequila, I wonder while I gather the emotional strength to walk over to the VIP area. This is why I came here after all.
What exactly I’m hoping for is still unclear and I try not to think too much about it. A fight, an apology? Maybe both.
“Ehm, hi, Ruby—” Brian stammers as he sees me walking up to him, his arms around the girl on his lap going lax. The girl who I realize is Sarah, what a goddamn funny coincidence.
I smile at him, even though it feels like someone is sitting in my head and pulling at my lips. I need more tequila.
Sarah glares at me before she gets herself together. She jumps up from Brian”s lap, hugging me tightly.
“You look so pretty, I missed you so much,” she says in that voice we all use when we want to say fuck you without saying fuck you.
A flock of other girls gathers around us, chiming in to say how I should join them more often and I don’t even know half of them. Or maybe I do, I don’t know. Their fake friendliness is palpable and I hate to admit it, but I would rather sit on the couch with Samuel and watch James Bond shoot someone with a pen instead of being here right now. God, I’m really getting old.
Brian”s expression is the only good thing right now, something between pure horror, regret, and want, and it admittedly fuels my ego a bit, especially after two more shots and the rest of my cocktail.
But what goes in has to go out eventually, so I make my way over to the bathrooms. I spend at least ten minutes in the booth, trying to collect my thoughts, my fingers hovering over Dom’s contact info as I contemplate calling him to pick me up and drive me home again.
Whatever kept me in my little hideout must have been fate, because suddenly Sarah’s voice fills the bathroom. Shrill and pissed, audible even over the music that’s blaring through the doors.
“Why the fuck is she here? Acting like a damned recluse for the past few months and now she’s going out again? Fucking tonight?”
The other girls that must have come in here with her try to calm her down, but it looks like they don’t know her that well. I do. That’s why I know this hysterical fit is far from over.
“Bet she wants to get Brian back. Did you see how she looked at him?”
I have a hard time suppressing the snort that threatens to leave me. I’d rather be celibate for the rest of my life than get back together with Brian. Something clicks outside of my stall and Sarah is silent for a few seconds. Some things never change and that apparently also goes for Sarah and cocaine.
I wonder where she’s getting her stuff now that she’s no longer able to annoy me to bring her stuff from one of my father’s warehouses. For free, of course. Because best friends don’t take money from you, according to Sarah.
“Babe, calm down,” says one of the girls that are with her. Brave.
“He dumped her for you. You know he loves you. Sarah, please calm the fuck down and stop overreacting. Don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you make a scene. Remember, he’s with you for what now, a year? Do you really think he’d throw that away for her? He didn’t want her, babe, he wanted you. So get yourself together.”
My stomach drops, and not because of the booze I had. That’s a lot to swallow. Brian did not dump me, I dumped him, but it’s still nice to know that the two people I let get close to me played me like that. They really deserve each other.
The old Ruby would want to storm out here and give Sarah the scene she seems to want so desperately, but whatever I turned into during the last months just wants to keep on sitting here in this tiny stall to bawl my eyes out. Either that or just have Dom drive me to the airport so that I can catch a flight to God knows where.
None of this is an option, though.
I get up, fix my outfit, and bite down on the inside of my cheek so hard that I taste blood.
Five pairs of eyes are on me as I leave the stall. Sarah scowls at me, the girls around her looking like they are waiting for a screaming match. I just smile as I walk past them, acting like I haven’t heard every single word. A lot of things make sense right in this second and I want to drown those realizations before I can think too much about them.
Jonah sees right through my act as I sit down at the bar, but he’s nice enough not to press the issue and prepares another cocktail for me instead. Good, because I fear that the shock got me to sober up.
“Should have told you, Ruby, I’m sorry,” he says, but I just dismiss him with a smile and a wave of my hand.
“It’s alright, really, not your fault.”
Nothing is alright, but the alcohol does its job, slowly making me believe my bullshit.
I need a distraction. The kind of distraction I can’t get at home because Samuel still has a stick up his ass.
Two cocktails and a few shots later, I’m drunk enough that my anger subsides as I make my way over to the dance floor. I came here to have fun, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do now.
Maybe I could shoot my shot with one of the bouncers. Bouncers and bodyguards, that’s almost the same thing and with the power of imagination, and a bit more booze, I could act like one of them is Sam.
But it seems like I don’t have to make any kind of effort, because after around five minutes on the dance floor, I feel someone coming up behind me.
He must be tall, his big hands resting on my waist as I grind my ass against him. Big hands, just like Sam’s, I think with a giggle as I try to envision him in the setting of this club. He would surely hate it.
Suddenly, the man”s grip on my waist tightens, and before I can yell anything or call for help, he throws me over his shoulder like I’m a bag of potatoes. He walks up the stairs, carrying me out of the club and I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or wishful thinking, but I could swear that the guy smells just like Sam.