25. Ruby
We keep on sitting on that bench until it gets dark around us. Until even Harry and Sally go to sleep. It’s almost midnight when we drive back home.
I gladly would have spent the entire night out there, but I don’t think Samuel would have been too happy if he had to sleep on a park bench.
He lets me drive us home, probably too tired. Must be his age. I’m surprised to find out he seems to know traffic regulations, as long as he’s not the one behind the steering wheel.
“Midnight snack?” I ask jokingly as we walk back inside the house. I go over to the kitchen, looking for two bottles of water because with all the salty food I had, I already know that I’ll be horribly thirsty throughout the night.
As I look over to Samuel, ready to ask him if he also wants a bottle, I see him unbuttoning his shirt. He’s almost done, only two more buttons are closed on the lower end, and Jesus.
I’m staring, not even trying to hide it. I grip the bottle in my hand so hard that it makes a creaking sound, which in return causes Samuel to realize what he’s doing.
“Ah, sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “I’m tired.”
“No need to apologize. I enjoyed the show,” I say with a grin as I walk towards him. “Do you want background music for the rest?”
“Dipshit,” he scoffs, putting his hand on my face to keep me from staring. “Gonna go to bed,” he says before he walks up the stairs, adding “Goodnight,” after he’s done yawning.
I should do the same, I think as I also go to my room. But as I lie in my bed, sleep doesn’t come. Not easy, not hard. It just doesn’t come. Not even with the TV running in the background, not even after I tried a few of those dumb falling asleephacks I see on social media from time to time.
At around 2am, I give up. Quietly, I walk down to the kitchen. Initially, I wanted to make myself a cup of tea, but then I look over at the bar. I’m not a fan of drinking on my own, and maybe Samuel is still awake to join me for a little late-night drink.
I’m too lazy to make us proper drinks and he prefers his booze straight from the bottle either way, so I just bring a full one back up with me.
Somehow, I hesitate as I stand in front of his door. I’m weirdly anxious, but I decide to ignore it as I knock on his door. Softly at first, but after I don’t get a reaction, I knock harder.
“What?” he asks through the closed door. He sounds tired, but not like I just woke him up.
“Can’t sleep,” I say as I walk into his room. He splayed out on the bed, still dressed, minus the dress shirt.
Someone should build a statue for him. I’d worship it. Would probably build a fucking Samuel-altar in front of it when I have a weak moment. Which I’m having right now, I realize.
“Me neither,” he says, shuffling upward on the bed until his back is leaning against the headrest.
I lift the bottle, and he hums in satisfaction as he takes it out of my hand. He has a couch in his room but sitting over there would be a bit inconvenient for me, so I look at him and down on the mattress over and over while I wait for him to tell me to sit down.
He takes a big sip from the bottle before he even does so much as to really acknowledge me.
“God, stop looking at me like that. Come here, but keep your distance,” he groans as he moves over on the bed.
I try to hide my excitement as I sit down on the mattress, adjusting a few of his pillows so that I have it comfortable.
He looks a bit confused, but still lets me do the same on his side before he lets his back fall against the now pillow-padded headboard again with a tired sigh.
I take the bottle from him, forcing down a big sip. I brought it back up here to get drunk after all. And the more alcohol I get down with one sip, the fewer chances it gives Sam to make fun of me for pulling a face because I don’t like the taste.
Should have brought strawberry vodka or something.
We talk for a while—well, it’s mostly me telling him things and him replying with grunts in varying degrees of consciousness, but it’s still better than staring at the ceiling over at my room. Besides, I like his company way too much.
“What’s that?” With a laugh, I grab his arm, examining the hair tie around his wrist. It’s definitely one of mine. I just wonder where he found it, and why the hell he’s wearing it.
“You left it in the car. Wanted to give it back to you but I forgot about it, so yeah, here.” He moves his arm over to me, almost slapping me in the process while I can’t help but smile.
“You know, you could have proper matching jewelry with me, Sam,” I say, shaking my wrist with the two bracelets in front of his face. “No need to cut off your blood circulation with that thing.”
I struggle to get it over his huge hands and just when I think about cutting it off, I succeed.
“Don’t start with the goddamn bracelets again.”
He sighs and nudges my foot with his before taking another big sip.
“I won’t. Like how they look on me anyway.” I try to yank the bottle out of his hand, but he’s quick to hold it out of my reach.
I don’t feel the alcohol at all, I think as I try to get up.
“Where are you going?”
“I want a snack,” I say as I walk towards the door. As soon as I reach the stairs, I realize I do in fact feel the alcohol.
“Careful,” he yells back out to me and I make it down to the kitchen and back up with no accidents.
“Vitamins, thank God,” Samuel says when he sees me coming back with a bowl of grapes, snatching it away from me while I try to climb back into the bed.
The bottle is less full than I remember it, and it’s obvious that he’s handling his liquor way better than I do.
He throws a grape up and catches it with his mouth and in my drunken eagerness, I’m sure that I can do the same. My hand-mouth coordination is unfortunately nothing more than a joke, so instead of catching the grape with my mouth, it lands on my forehead before it tumbles down into my cleavage.
Not my desired result, but it could have been worse.
Samuel laughs next to me, holding a grape in front of my mouth. “Here, dipshit. With your track record, you shouldn’t try that again. Wouldn’t want you to choke on a goddamn grape.”
“You know what else I could choke on?”
“Shh,” he snorts, shoving more grapes my way.
Soon, the bowl is empty, and we get back to drinking.
I’m pretty sure some poet said that the best ideas come when drunk, so when Samuel dozes off next to me and I finish ordering a few new dresses on my phone, a marvelous one hits me.
Carefully, I adjust his arm so that it looks like he has me in a headlock, his massive biceps right in front of my face. Biteable, but I try hard to hold myself back. I am sure that I’m taking the best pictures ever, twisting and turning his arm while I try to get the perfect angle.
“You monster,” he groans as he wakes up. “Taking advantage of a defenseless person, that”s like, a criminal offense in at least ten states.”
“Just wanted some pictures,” I chuckle, nuzzling against his arm.
“Then at least do it properly.”
He grabs me with ease, pulling me onto his lap. Barely awake and still stronger than any man I’ve ever met.
His lips brush against mine while I try to take pictures that are definitely going to be blurry, and we probably won’t even be on them with the way I’m holding my phone.
I don’t know if it’s the whiskey, the whole day we spent together, or the way he’s holding me, but I can’t swallow the lump in my throat.
“Please don’t leave,” I whisper against his lips. “I need you too much.”
He lets go of me, shoving me slightly back so that he can look at me.
“You’re just drunk.”
I shake my head, but he grabs my face and forces me to nod.
“Don’t be a sappy drunk or you’ll get a one-way ticket back to your own room,” he says before he pulls me closer, his head resting on top of mine. I grumble, and every time I try to speak up, he presses me closer to his chest to muffle my voice.
At least I get tired, drifting in and out of sleep. I’m not even sure if it’s really his voice that I’m hearing.
“You don’t need anyone, firecracker. People come and go, you can’t keep them from doing that. Don’t be dependent on anyone. You’re too clever for that.”
Tears cloud my vision as I try to get out of his hold.
I need him, matter of fact, but I have a feeling that he wouldn’t be open to discussing this right now. But maybe it’s just the whiskey speaking.
I remember why I usually stick to drinks that make me funny instead of sad.
“I should go back to my room. It’s pretty late.”
“No way,” he mumbles while he manhandles me so that I’m lying next to him. More asleep than awake, and I wonder if he even realized that he had been talking to me a few moments ago.
“Good pillow,” he states as he gets comfortable next to me, rendering me immobile. I can’t move my limbs and have to keep my breaths shallow, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt more cozy in my life.
The next morning,I have to pay the price for drinking with Sam. It’s not even eight, and he seems to be in the shower, judging by the sound of running water. The very noise that somehow feels like someone is using a pressure hammer right next to my head.
Why is he not feeling like he’s dying? He drank more than I did. But he’s twice my size, so it’s probably not that surprising.
The thing is, I don’t get hangovers easily. But when I get them, I regret my entire existence. Groaning and holding my head with one hand, I lurch over to my room. Partly because I don’t want Samuel to see me like that, already sure that he’s going to mock me, and partly because I’m afraid that I’ll get an aneurysm if I have to listen to the shower any longer.
Somehow, I manage to close the blinds before I let myself fall onto my bed. My head is pounding and I should take painkillers, but I know that I’ll throw up if I go down into the light-flooded living room.
The shower stops after a while and I enjoy the silence before I hear Samuel stepping out of his room.
“Ruby?” he calls out to me and I pull my pillow over my head. He opens the door, groaning as he takes in my state.
“Next time bring a soda if you can’t handle booze,” he says, and I wonder if he’s trying to speak quietly on purpose. “You okay? Need anything?”
“Aspirin,” I croak out from under my pillow. “Please.”
“Where?”
“Kitchen. The small drawer next to the fridge.”
Judging by the sounds, he goes down to fetch them, and a few minutes later, the whole package lands next to me on the bed. He presses a cold water bottle into my hand and when he leaves my room, I’m sure he’s shaking his head like a disapproving grandpa.