Life Plus Fourteen Years: Chapter I

Title: Life Plus Fourteen Years
Author: Unanimo
Language: English
Genres: Humor, Drama
Warning: Some language and descriptive elements are not suited for minors
Status: On going

"I had a very bad habit before. Back then I was addicted to smoke that I consumed three packs a day, plus I thought too much malt is healthy that I even included them in my diet... stupid, huh?" says Sam Manela about her peptic ulcer...

Friday evening. Ten minutes past ten.

Sam stood before the window beside her cubicle, sipping her seventh mug of coffee. Tapping her twelfth cigarette onto the bin, her eyes landed at her watch.

Shit,'t was late and I'm nowhere finish yet.

She stole a few glances towards the project design behind her, trying to analyze what would be the final rendition. She could take it home and work it there, really, but her house is still under renovation since last week-that option is not open for a debate. The smell of lacquer paints, plastics and woods littered around the floor area can only ruin her concentration. And since there's more delay than progress, the contractors requested to include a night shift two days ago so that her house would be finish in next three days.

Luxury can find at home—your home. But how can that be if the only music was the smashing echoes of hammers and saws banging your ears once you set your foot on the garage? It's rather this or the empty office?

Sam chose the office.

Her working space was not that small, average but not that small. A cubicle, so to speak. An upgrade computer with two twenty-one inch monitor, a drawing table, numerous files, reference books, cd's, few small posters, brushes, watercolors, colored pencils and pens, cork boards, memo pads, a journal and a huge calendar the size of her torso cluttered across her table. Messy. Disorganized. Chaos. Chaos to the point that even her own phone was invincible.

Oh and there's a two large plastic bins for her scrap and other… things.

An ashtray? Her ashtray was tailored only for her, like an improvised bottle or a plastic cup. There's a huge sign of 'No Smoking' everywhere in the building so perhaps having an ashtray displayed around nine to six was not a good idea.

She's an artist when you look at her and her things in one glimpse. Cliché, wasn't it?

Anyway, she's been working here for three years as a Junior Art Director. The word 'Junior' or… should we say, 'Assistant' was a taxing job. It's not like a Sergeant to a Lieutenant—no. It's like a Sergeant saving the ass of the Lieutenant, that's what it is. She's the true brain, the talent and the genius. But being that was blindly seen by her superior's superiors.

Sam regards as the shadow, the wit, the guru to a monk, an adviser to a mob king. Her boss—the Art Director, by the way, was a naïve twenty-seven year-old man and, compare to her, was extremely dim-witted that even a moron would know the difference between 'talent' and 'influence'. It doesn't make any sense to or from anyone near her boundaries why she herself doesn't care about her position as a… as being used. Well, that was easy, Sam hates responsibility. She's more onto challenge, not the fame. She will literally give way to anyone as long as the blame was not hers to deal with—if there was one. She'll rather quit the job and hit your face or stick to the plan and then shut the fuck up.

Thirteen hours, four minutes and twenty-six seconds. She's working on this same project for thirteen hours, four minutes and twenty-six seconds and damn she's pissed. Her back was aching and her left arm was numb. Her caffeine and nicotine treatment doesn't help anything than pissing her off. She's hungry too, and her taste buds became impotent to the fact she consumed more coffee than an average sturbucks' addict and, as if like, the cigs has its new flavor when the caffeine starts to kicked in few hours ago.

It was late, too late to have dinner now. Any food intake would cause her to vomit. Having a peptic ulcer is a pain and planning not to eat in time was really, really stupid. She should have eaten her green salad two hours ago, but the snack bar down the hall was closed an hour after six and her salad was in the fridge. Damn them! How about delivery? Pizza! That was a good option. For us, yes, but for Sam, that was a no-no. She doesn't like food prepared by others. Odd, aye? Can you believe she has her own disposable utensils, mark with her initials? Drinking glass, forks—spoons! For public usage, that was acceptable, but at her own home? Disposables? An artistic-frenzied with a hygienic way of a doctor? That was 'two and two will never be four', yes? Isn't that a combination of a creepy person?

Her concentration was now slacking. Thirteen hours, four minutes and… fifty-six seconds and counting, not including the two days of planning, was nuisance. She's hungry, pissed, tired and her body begs to shut down, yet her work was nowhere near to at bay.

Groaning, she returned to her table. This could take the whole night to finish. She hoped the fucker who fucked the design five days ago—which happens to be her superior—die in a freaking car accident. She specifically instructed him not to do this and that but no, her Art-bogus-Director took the privilege of ruining it. Now she has to cancel her weekend plans just to polish the presentation which that fuckhead left behind.

Oh and by the way, that fuckhead was fired this morning, along with the rest of Sam's former team. Glad they did, glad they did before Sam could kill that fuckhead multiple times and everyone who goes with him.

The CEO's considered her as the savior of the day, or hell, savior of the year, even. Savior, my ass! NIKE was not a big joke, right? The Board of Directors can have the fame for all she cares as long as her salary was tripled. She beamed her lips considering the new compensation as her fingers pattered the keyboard. Three years with five digit salary was good—great even! However, eight digits? That's a different story. Their respective client demands the final design in two days and she was the only one who has the guts to save the company's ass. She was the best option the company ever had… no wait! She is the best weapon the company ever had! The company trusted her. The company loved her. So if she was that important, and as long as the compensation met, then she will return the favor.

Few more retouches. There—done. The rest is for tomorrow.

She lights another stick to relax her mind before she could go home. She inhaled… hold… and then blew the blue smoke in a furious gesture. Her steel-gray eyes widened, not much but slightly, indicates her inner-fuming will erupt any minute. What the fuck! Five more respective clients' emerged before her eyes. Shit. Shit. Shit and all of them marked 'Still in Process'. When this 'files-in-waiting' landed on her desk?

She leaned forward and rubbed her forehead, this is definitely shattered her mood. Sam knows herself and she knows she wasn't lacked on everything but patient. Half of her team had been fired because of incompetence and left her taxed by the timing. She looked back again, glaring the pile of the unfinished job, realizing virtually the agony she will endure.

Though she agreed to dismiss her own team, she still felt a little pity towards them. Well on the good side, the result of their dismissal had been more… challenging.

It's their own fault anyway. I told them to be dynamic, not sesame street!

Eliminating the fuckhead and his minions, Sam was promoted immediately as the new Art Director of the company this morning, making her the boss of her new team. The new duty and the new burden she will encounter bothered her. Here she is, pissed and all and had no choice but to favor this shit. That includes the taunting and the nagging. Responsibility, responsibility, she told her self in repetition just to sink in. Can she handle this? It wasn't so bad if she look at the bright side. Her salary has been tripled since 10:00am this morning.

Ah finally, big cash. Her lips made a side twitched on that.

Leaning back at her chair as she set her feet at her desk, her brows crossed while eyeing the files next to her. "Wonder you fucked it up," she murmured, grabbing one of the files as she recalls the face of her former Director. "This task was due last week!" she said. "You idiot, you left me a bunch of shit to finish."

Throwing the files lightly at the side, her head began to throb. As always when those headaches attacked her, she closed her eyes for a moment then swings her chair around to look at the walls, which by now, in front of her.

Hmmm…

The wall is white. No blemish, no color, just plain simple white.

Sam was staring on this same unsoiled, glittering, pallid wall everyday here in the same room before, while or after working. For her, stupid as may seem, these walls can answer any of her uncertain question. No one knew how, and hell she doesn't knew how either. But after searching for other possible remedies for her odd behavior, the wall itself was the most effective one. She can see and feel serenity and satisfaction.

It's like working on a computer. If everything just fucked up, just press the refresh mode.

But her uncertainty today was not entirely involved with the promotion, her new job or the fucking files waits at her side. It was something else. While staring, fingers absently tapping at her desk, her mind is crumbled, grinding to the core. And if there's something she must consider, either sudden emotional or physical stress, these walls are the only thing that makes her mind free.

Anyway any white wall would do, she's not that choosy. Besides, tomorrow she will be at the left wing, next to 'the boss' at the forty-first floor, the Art Director's office. More white walls.

She glanced at her cellphone. She remembered avoiding twenty-one miss calls and fifty messages. Thanks for the inventor of the caller ID, she can dropped the caller anytime without answering it. Texting without a question mark will be ignored, that's her first rule. Second; No calls while working please! If you can't handle it then proceed to the first rule but make sure it's a query.

Unless Sam was in the mood to bother herself to take a peek, then you have a chance.

However, for the… fifth time of her life, she did bother herself as one name stood up and caught her attention. It was one of her closes friends named Dylan.

"Guess what?"

"What?"

"He's going to get married!"

At first it was nothing, then…

The news was not that shockingly, she has no doubt it would come for her one day. But though she tried to ignore it the whole day, she felt it will take forever to accept it.

Fuck, If only I could change the past.

She sighed again, and her stoic face somehow became… gloomy. "This is ridiculous," she said to herself while staring at the wall. "Do I have to deal with this now?"

She looked out at window, nothing she could see except glittering lights from the buildings outside and her vague reflection from the glass. Her long auburn hair tied up loosely and her saggy eyes starts to tell her it's time to end this shit. Patting her cheek and massage gently to ease the tension, her other hand grab the phone and started to press a number. "I'll be late… again," she started once the speaker says 'hello'. "Don't wait up for me. I have to finish something here. Is she… of course… I'll see tomorrow… I," before she could say something romantic to the person on the other line, the tone click off. "Bastard," she murmured and tossed the phone away.

She looked back at her reflection then at the wall. Her mind drifted again… drifting absently. It's not about the phone call… I mean this phone call. It was something else… again. Then all of a sudden, after realizing it all, she uncharacteristically giggled, and that giggled became a laugh. She keeps on thinking why she can't stop herself laughing. But in the end she realized she's laughing at herself.

"So stupid."

The laugh subsides dramatically. Now she understood why. After that long look at the pale wall, she covered her face with her hands and finally burst into tears.

She was known to be strong and aggressive. Well, on her colleagues, that is. But deep inside she's like an ordinary person; sensitive. Maybe because what she had before changed her perception. Weak can be intimidated, as she always said.

Drying her tears away with a tissue, she recalled the days when she smiles a lot.

Now, smiling is just a sign of jester. Smile is just for an occasion.

Recollection of her past sickens her, despising her younger years. And root of all things was pain. This thick head of hers has the capability to fuck things up. And…

Love.

She was in love before.

Fourteen years ago, where everything seems to be so… innocent, she felt normal. Not only normal, she was in love. In love with a man she truly cherished. But that had all gone in an instant. Because of some rules she must obliged to obey. Since then she swore no one will ever break her heart again.

Or so she thought…

Dylan's says he's getting married…

Fighting to prevent pain is harder than she expected. Pain is mandatory, not an option.

After few sobs she gained her composure and shook her head. What the fuck am I doing? Who cares he's getting married. Good for him. She walked to a nearby room to make coffee, pulled a pack of cigs and put one on her mouth. Yeah, smoke relaxes her. It's more than a remedy. It's more sense than staring at the wall, really.

Frowning, she stared at the clock while waiting on the coffee maker to set. Pass twelve, and obviously alone at the office. Her new team had left for home four hours ago, making her the involuntary volunteered to stay behind to finish the job. They give up and manage to let her handle the last retouches. Well, she doesn't mind, it is her new job anyway. Her former team was bunch of whiners such as the new ones and that irritated her really.

Cupping her mug of coffee, she sat down at the couch and put the TV on, channelling every single cable network just to kill time. Glancing back and forth between her table and TV and drawing in and out of the kitchen to make another mug of coffee, which happens to be her third for the last one and a half hours, her little 'killing time' starts to consume her boredom.

Coffee and cigs—perfect combination to kill time.

Very typical for someone like her.

Very typical to have yellowish teeth and lung cancer after forty.

She decided to get things done and leave the office by morning. She's between 'Sixth Sense' on HBO and David Letterman when a buzz hubbub from her laptop. The curse she's holding a while ago for the boy who's been grabbed by the girl under the bed turned out as a hissed instead. Someone from her email list wants her attention.

She stood up once again and strolled indolently at the office. Obviously, her face showed grimaced—she's watching a movie here!

She leaned and narrowed her eyes at the monitor after opening the messages. Maybe it's from her boss or maybe from a client, checking progress. At this time of night? You're a one weird desperate psycho, you know that?

But it's not. What was appeared on her screen has nothing to do with her work. It's not from home either. Her daughter is already fast asleep and 1:45 AM is utterly unthinkable for her age of five.

"JPLibra," She read. She was aware he is guy and fully not on her list. "Who the hell are you?"

She tried to recall anyone who owns that username. However, none came out. Instead of using harsh language, which usually she did for some occasion, she asked him what he wants in a cooperative and basic way.

Text appeared in hue with a shrugging smiley. [U don't remember me, do u?]

"Whatah…" [Don't toy with me. What do you want?]

Another smiley appeared, scratching head this time. [Look dude,] she scribbled, [It's not in my nature to entertain a buzz while I am working. You should be pleased I noticed you.]

She waited for an answer, perhaps some outburst from the other line. Nothing came.

"Oh well, that tick you off!" Sam was about to turned around left to go back at her 'killing time' when another buzz irritated her ear.

[I'm sorry to disturb you,] another pleading from JPLibra, [I just want to know you are there.]

Sam froze for a moment after reading that. But then again, the movie ended as well when she gazed at the TV.

Out of irritation, she scribbled, [Yeah that is some interesting thing to say. Too bad it won't work for me. I am here! There—happy? You ask. I replied. So fuck off! I'm working!]

Obviously that is her curtain call. She turned around again as she turned her laptop off and back at the room for good. While I'm holding the remote and channeling again, her phone starts to vibrate.

For an instant, as everyone else would do, she scanned the name on the small screen. No name. Just a number. She had an intuition not to answer, but still it intrigues me.

Yeah right. Cats died because of their curiosity. For her, is way worse.

"H-hello?"

"So, what they said is true." The voice from the other line said. "You turned out to be a snooty one after all."

Is she imagining things? That voice, it's familiar. It sounded little low but velvety-like. A soft whisper flushed in her ear. It was lovely. It was soothingly. Sam definitely heard this voice before. From her nature of work, her only gesture for communications is keyboards, keypads and paper notes either on the fridge or on the corkboard. Sam admit she have long for hearing an actual voice—not necessarily from the phone and not necessary from her compulsory husband and her nagging boss. That is exceptional, but hardly optional. But this one is good enough. She even beamed her lips when she heard it.

Anyway, she's holding the phone while standing in the middle of the office—disturbed. Her hand began to shake. Judging to what she witnessed on HBO a while ago, Sam feels there's a mystery roaming around the room.

"Who… who is this?" she asked carefully, trembling.

The voice from the other line chuckled—or so, something like that. Then answered her in a smooth tinge, plain and simple word. "JPLibra."

She felt shudder running throughout her body. She dropped the phone. From that moment, Sam already knew she was running like hell, way down to the basement, to her car, drove fast like someone wants to kill her. She was gasping, bewildered...

But then again, that was only an imagination. Of how she look stupid, screaming from top of her lungs if indeed it was a ghost who is talking to her.

"You there?"

Huh... what?

Mentally shaken, blinking away the fear, her brain is slowly coming back, functioning again aftermath. She felt her jaw sagged due to dazed of somewhat weird amusement. She was standing in the middle of the room, holding the phone, scared for some fuckin' question!

"Ah, hello?'

There he said again, but this time she was fully aware he's not an eerie form elongating the area of her subconscious mind. Sam was aware that he's still on the other line and Sam still on herself, that she's still here, and she's still here and really pissed off.

"Where the hell did you get this number?" she snarled at him before he could say anything. She's already prepared a speech which definitely capable of tormenting someone when Sam's in her peak of her fuming. They said she was a snob, hollow for sudden twist of behavior, wreathing off soft sobs from whoever or whatever individual that she encounters. Well, maybe they are right. Maybe she is guileless. Not just because she's unreasonable, it's because Sam is an analytical human being. She analyzed! It's her nature, that's what she does best.

Oh and a... paranoid.

And a bitch...

"Well? Talk!" She demand.

"Are you sane, yet?" the voice from the phone asked, trying to humor her. But he knew that was wrong thing to say for someone like stalking you. "I'm sorry…"

"Who is this?"

A low sigh and a chuckle, "I told you, I am…" he halted. Oh yes, he did. He did remember how stupid he was when he just said 'JPLibra' a while ago. Now, he's hesitating. "Don't you remember me, really?"

"Oh for god sakes..."

"No—wait!" he pleaded...again. Sensing she will turn off the phone anytime, he tried to persuade her again. "Please, I'm sorry. I'm not used to this."

"Yeah, neither am I." She agreed bitterly, gridding her teeth. Wonder why she still entertains this bloke, if she knew herself well—as all of this is a complete waste of time—she'd already smashed the phone.

"How are you, Sam?"

Ok that's it. A while ago I was crushing my brains out after knowing he has my number. Now he knows my name?

"Yes, it's been a long time, wasn't it? I can tell. You didn't even recognize my voice anymore."

She blinked then she felt her eyes narrowed at the wall. Recalling somebody, somebody she knew before. Someone so long ago, close to her. She tried to focus. Some images flashed in front of her, few of them where happy, others sad and regret. She was so afraid of the truth now, too afraid if this is who he is.

JP, that was his initial. Typical.

Libra, the zodiac sign. September.

'J' stands for…

A name flashed in front of her. And guess what? She can read literally at the wall.

"Jo… Joshua?" she uttered in disbelief.

"Bingo!" He said with his soft but irritating charming accent. "Thank god, you remember."

She's in between curse and joy. This is unexpected. "What the hell is wrong with you? You scared me to death. You could say your name anytime, you bastard!"

Laugh lingered from the other line; it was the sweetest thing she ever heard. "How are you?" he started. "Where are you?"

"Fine. Working. You?" She sounded little grumpy but smiled miraculously, almost fondly to herself behind the phone.

"At this time of night?"

"What can I say, I'm a workaholic."

"No. You are weird."

Yes, I am weird. I like being weird than a psychopath our friends used to call me.

Few moments of laughter passed between them, that she almost forgot her coffee which by now less warmer because of the room temperature, she asked him then few questions; how's Africa, Dubai, Singapore, Qatar, Indonesia. He's all over Asia for the last seven years and not one word from her, not one good farewell or good luck before his first departure, even. She wasn't aware where he was except her friends told her the news and keeps bugging her to chat or write him. She declined. Not that she don't care. Not that she intend to do so…

She just… she just can't.

He gave her a present by the way before he took off the country. A shirt. A printed black shirt. It was the lamest gift she ever received from him. Wait! It was the only gift Sam ever received from him!

After all this years, only a shirt?

But then again, Sam admits she was touched. It was his birthday that time and instead of giving him a gift, he's the one who managed to buy her one.

That was seven years ago. Good days, huh? And the shirt? Well, it's still hidden somewhere inside her drawer. No plans of wearing them though. She wants to keep it that way.

"So the shirt still exists?" Josh was stunned by the fact that Sam has an intention to preserve it. For what, to sell it in an art gallery? "And you haven't worn them even once?"

Sam wants to answer him with a thoughtful gesture. She wants to tell him it's a treasure. Since they were kids, Josh was the only one who thinks of her as a true friend, the first in line. The whisperer, the bearer, and the fucking absorber.

Funny, for the first time, Sam doesn't know how to verbalize it.

Then a one swift brain wave came and she retorted the answer. "It's Deep Purple, moron. I collect things regarding the band. The shirt is a collectible, you know that. How could I wear them? How can you forget that?"

"I don't." He defended himself.

Sam smiled at the recollection. That was his habit, being defensive. Knowing him since they were eight, being defensive is like a gun to Josh.

How can she forget… Josh once killed her with his weapon.

And, of course, that animated posture of Josh that made their whole company of friends laugh.

She misses that…

Huh?

Her laugh descended to a chuckle, then after a little moment a sigh came out. A huge calligraphy declares regret stuck inside her head. Oh what a great timing, indeed. Great but useless. Sam felt a sudden instinct inside her and want to spill it out. Whispers echoed through her ear, burrowing her head from images she doesn't want to forget.

Sixteen years ago, Josh and Sam had done something really, really… insane. She was anxious and angry at that time about this boyfriend who broke up with her. Josh, her platonic friend and savior of the day was the only one who's there to support her.

Sam considered him platonic, while Josh… well, it's like more than that.

Platonic friends are like red buttons from the fire alarm. In case of emergency, just break the glass. Nothing you can do but execute the last option.

Oh yeah, you guessed it right. They were absolutely mental. They had sex.

They spend the night together, alone. After few cries and confessions, they ended up sleeping together for the first and the last time. But since then, they never spoke about it, though Josh had confessed about his true feelings to her, but Sam was still in denial at that time. That urgent feeling just drop there, like a bomb in Hiroshima. They boy confessed, the girl is in 'have to think about it' dilemma. Then at the end, they both forced it behind. Friendship is like a tie that binds, as usually said, and both of them has no plans of ruining it.

Few years later, Sam felt empty. It was already too late. There was a void there and no one can fill it. Ever.

Friendship, pah! He's not here to prove something nor implement an idea, uh-uh. He's friend and I am a friend of his, that's the only thing that should matter. You needed a friend, alright… and so be it. A friend you shall receive.

Sam switched the phone to her left ear while circling her fingers on the table. "Josh, why did you call? Is there something wrong?"

"What kind of moronic question is that?" He jested. "You are one tough to find, yah know that? I called your parents house, they said you don't live there anymore."

"Oh…" She drew back.

"What do you mean by 'Oh'?"

She forgot to mention something. Something happened when he was gone. She told her friends not to tell him. It was useless to tell him anyway. And he will definitely kill her once she said it.

"Josh?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm married." There, she said it. "Of course I don't live there anymore."

If anything that Sam couldn't see right now, it was Josh narrowing eyes. "Kids?" he asked after a long pause.

"One. A girl." Good answer. Very prompt.

There's a silence between them again, an invincible barrier starts to build. To break that, after sensing Josh's breathes was like a needled spike, Sam abruptly imports a question. "So… Dylan said you're getting married too, huh?"

The tone of her voice may sound gleefully. But the last word may seem…

"Yeah!" Josh said. Interrupting my thoughts, thank you very much! "Did you get the invitation?" he added.

"N-no…"

"Oh?"

"I… I was out of town."

Liar!

She did see the invitation, the white envelope, the apple green motif, and the smell of lavender around it. However, Sam doesn't have the intention of opening it, she toss it away. She doesn't like lavender, she hate everything concerns with green and, most of all; she doesn't like weddings, especially this wedding!

And I don't like her either!

"Who?" he suddenly asked.

Oops. Did I say that out loud?

Sam flinched slightly as some kind of embarrassment crawl above her skin. At the same time she felt certain dreadful suspicion creeping up on her. There's something Josh like to ask, she's certain—then... oh he just did. "You don't like my fiance, do you?"

A while ago was humiliation, now it was guilt. Josh's fiancé and Sam had history, juvenile issue, to be precise. On the contrary, its history, meaning it was a long time ago.

"I don't remember how that feels, Josh, anger and all. Shayne and I are adults now, she must be. I know—we both know, we don't get a long, but everything is long gone. I don't wanna talk about it, okay?"

The battle between Shayne—the beautiful, brown-eyed, pale-skin girl, and Sam—the eccentric, boyish, petite teenager was definitely taxing. Almost of all highschool level from their school witness both of their waging war against both parties. Shayne was a sophomore while Sam was a junior. The grudge among them started for just one guy—the haughty boy named Maron. Well, it's like 'moron' if you asked Sam. She was wooed by this guy who happens to be Shayne's first boyfriend. How the fuck she would know? He looks single, he claimed single and Sam believed him. In the end it was a disaster.

Not good preamble for a puppy love story, huh?

"She asked me to ask you to come to our wedding," he said. "She insisted."

Now that's different. Sam's expression was still hard. "Seriously?"

"Would I lie to you?"

She didn't reply. So that means YES!

"I thought so…" he murmured.

Imagining his look, Sam grinned. "Alright, I'll come. But it's not because of her. You're my friend and my only concern is you."

"Truthfully, she wanted to tell you how sorry she was…"

Sam felt cold and bitter again, some like imaginary creature slapped her face. "Really?" she snapped. "I don't need pity. Do I need that kind of sympathy after so many years? Sorry?—yeah right! That's not exactly what I wanted to hear from her. For the record, what she told you before is not entirely factual, Josh. You are old enough to tell what a lie is and what is not. Knowing her, lying was all she really best about…" Her words hung there for a moment. She gripped the phone tightly as she felt her lips twitch.

Damn, I said too much, haven't I?

"Okay," Josh allowed the flow unhappily, his voice sad. "Okay… I know you better, Sam. You won't hold grudge against me because she is my fiancée, would you? Believe me I don't want to involve myself between you two. It's a girl thing." He sighed deeply. "We are not kids anymore, Sam. We are not a couple of highschool basketball players and cheerleaders anymore. Please do this for me. Talk to her… please?"

Sam paused for a moment. There's nothing on her mind, except… "And if I refuse?"

"No you won't." he chuckled. "I know you better than the rest of the gang. You won't turn me down."

She lit a cig, inhales a few and blew. "Alright… I'll talk to her. Satisfied?"

"Yeah!"

"You really love her, don't you?" She asked softly, and he said yes without any hesitation. There's a pang there, Sam doesn't know how did ignite. All she just said was, "Good for her."

"Good for me too, I guess…" he replied warily. Then his voice trailed with assurance, "And yeah… I really love her."

With a low smile curving her mouth, she closed her eyes and shook her head. "It may seem strange, Josh, but I heard that before."

"No—no. This is different, Sam. Very unusual, I know it's weird but who cares! Shit, I'm getting married!"

I'm talking about me, you moron! "Whoopee-doo," she gestured sarcastically. She shifted to her seat and put her feet up at the table. "So… when is the judgment day?"

"Fifteen. January fifteen. I will fly back home two weeks before the wedding."

So this is a long-distance call? Impressive. "That's Wednesday." She frowned, scratching her head as she looked towards the calendar. "You're getting married on weekdays?"

"What about it?"

Yeah, what so damn about it? "Nothing… curious, I guess."

"I had to fly back here a week after. So I guess I had to fuck her silly for seven days." He laughed.

Oh god, does he have to say that? "Why fly half the globe if you can get married there? Who decides to set the wedding—oh, don't answer that. Ms. Pretty face?"

"Sam…"

"Sorry… I'm expecting you'll say 'point taken'."

"Why do you have to spoil everything?"

Me? Spoil everything? You're the one who left me and fucking spoiled everything! "So, this is all about vows of fucking?"

"Forever, yeah!" He laughed again.

"I can't believe this…" she murmured.

"It was a joke, Sam. I'm not marrying her just for that."

"Riiiight. I forgot you finally gotten away from puberty."

"Sam…" it was his second warning to her.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. I just can't believe you're…"

"Settling in?" he supplied. "Yeah, can't believe I was about to do that."

"I was about to say…" she paused, knowing she will get the third warning. "Yeah, married."

"You'll be there, Sam. Promise?"

She snorted. "How can I refuse? I can't say 'no' for an answer to you."

"And one more thing…" he said when she's about to say goodbye. "Can… can you sing a song for us?"

Whattah! I am well tortured enough and he wanted more? "What do you mean 'sing'?"

"Sing," he repeated. "You know… like one of those wedding thing?"

"You can't be serious…"

"Oh common," he pleaded. "For me, do it for me."

"Don't push it. I am starting to get irritated."

"You have a good voice and," he chuckled. "Besides it's expensive to hire a wedding singer."

"You sly son of a bitch…"

"Now hey, you're pushing." He countered, laughing. "How many more curse words would I get from you in just one phone call?"

"Six, including this one."

"Pleading?"

"Four… and counting."

They both laugh at the statistics. Josh thought he would never hear her like that again. "Still haven't changed, Sam." He suddenly said. Voice was kinda husky. "I thought you did but you haven't."

"Is that worries you?"

"Worry? I'm happy."

"Happy because... you thought getting married was the last thing on earth you'll ever do?"

"Very funny…"

"So…" Sam has to end it before he could strangle someone. There's a tension there and she knows Josh feels the same way. Any more 'wedding' thing would force her to vomit. "See you next…" she glanced at the calendar then to her schedule. Great—no appointment! "In two months?"

"Yup, two months. Would you like to hang for a while before the event of the century occurs?"

"With rest of the gang?"

"Yeah."

That's not what I have in mind but yeah, why not. "Sure."

"See you… in two months. Can I call you again?"

For what, to torture me with your ridiculous whining? "Oh… sure. Goodbye, Josh."

"Goodbye, Sam."

The phone clicked and silenced lingered. They both thought their last farewell seems to be their last farewell.

Sam glanced at the clock. Past two in the morning... shit.

 NEXT