You Walk Out That Door Sammy
You walk out that door Sammy..
And she can't come back. She knows. Hasn't she been told enough [censored] times she can't come back? Right between grunt and the heave the sofa makes when he throws himself onto it. Staring at the line of empty bottle necks and the way his hand swings low to touch the ground as he lies there. Pretending like he's not watching her reflection in the television screen. Alcohol scents the air, sloshes back and forth when he takes another sip of another bottle. He stinks.
"Dont give me that crap Don" she warned, grabbing some of the bottles together. They clinked and jarred against her hand. "You know I hate when you wrestle & you go out afterwards with the guys, stay out all night in hookers' bars and think I don't notice. This is just the same. Maryse invited me to her hens' night & unless I show up, she'll be a mega b*tch queen from hell on Raw" Sam said, running frustrated hands through the hair like midnight. The one platinum blonde streak hanging over her left eye fell forward and obscured her view of Don tossing the bottles' cap up into the air, catching it with the other hand. He spoke without moving."This ain't the same Sam and you know it. You'll come home b*tching a blue streak about them and how crap they made you feel" he stated, dropping one leg off the sofa. The blue denim clad leg hit the floor and made her jump. "And I don't go near no hookers' bars. I told you that sh*t yesterday. That kinda stuffs' old hat for me you know?" He sits up suddenly, the couch creaking under his weight. Sam stopped, stared at the broad expanse of back before her. Don's wearing a white wifebeater, stark against the tan of his skin. He half turns so she can see one golden eye and the angry, curling eyebrow above it.
He laughs, a grumbling, growling sound that has her stomach on edge and Sammy's leaning casually against the sofa, wanting to run her hands through the messy dark hair and knowing if she tries Don'd shift away, grunt at her. "I told you. I don't need hookers to get me what I want" Sammy snorts, "Yeah. You walk outside and women flock to you" Now Don snorts, sculling the last of the vodka in the bottle. "Can I help it being this good looking? Thats why you love me" he commented easily, but theres' a weight to the words as she hunts for her stilettos. "Well it couldn't be for your all male scent babe can it?" she replied, finding them and binding her feet into them. Maryse said 6 and its already half past. God help her if she has to sit next to Maria and talk banal crap for more than 5 minutes. "Cause you stink of alcohol" she added, bending down low over the sofa to kiss the top of his head. Don shifts, reaches up with one muscled arm and tugs her down using her one. Knocks her head over heels so she lands awkwardly on his stomach. "Tell 'em to get stuffed" he suggests, a Brooklyn drawl heavy in the summer heat of the afternoon. "Frickin' Maryse. Some hens' night. The grooms' holding his own funeral" Sam relaxes onto him, places her hand on his warm shoulder and looks down at him. "You know I'd rather stay here" she says softly. Don holds her gaze for a long moment until she says, "But your vodka fumes are giving me a headache" His mouth twitches for a moment and then its' gone. She feels his stomach go rock hard under her as he tenses. He places a hand on her back. Enough. He's had enough. Time to stand up. Sam stood, smoothed down her jeans once more, adjusted the plain t shirt she had on. That wasn't what she'd planned to wear at all. She'd had this really pretty dress lined up but Don had seen it and well...well her thighs still itched from the scratch of his beard stubble.
"I'll be back before midnight" she said. "Try not to be out with some floozy" Don held up a hand , scratching at his whiskers with the other one. "Hell honey I'm not out with you tonight" She punched his shoulder, hard. He barely flinched but chuckled roughly. "I have the grooms' shindig" he reminded and Sam covered her mouth. Of course. She'd nearly forgotten. "Oh yeah. Can you please try and be nice to Randy Orton for me?" she asked, leaning over the couch so he gets a good eyeful of the goods in the low cut t shirt. Don ran his tongue over his lips, arched an eyebrow and fought a twitch in his lips as he replied, "Randy Orton? Which ass is he again? The muscled one with no talent or wait....let me get it...the muscled one with no talent?" Sam laid a hand on his belt, meeting the suddenly heated eyes. "He has talent. And he's my tag team partner. So if you could refrain from giving him two black eyes like you do most of my male friends I'd be much obliged" she quipped.
Her mobile began to buzz insistently, Maryses' number showing up. "Crap. I gotta go" she told him, taking the outstretched hand and holding it tightly until she could hear Maryse on voicemail screaming at her. Sam let go and left him to it.
