Chapter Five: New Leaf
Disclaimer: I don't own "Glee," but I hear its remnants are being used to fertilize Ryan Murphy's front lawn.
She wrote him 971 letters, and Sam knew every one by heart. Each one was written on pink stationary with a giant "M" on top and sprayed with lilac. It had reached the point where he couldn't sleep without an envelope beneath his pillow with her scent lulling him to sleep, and dreams of her in his arms.
He had covered his bunk with pictures of her. Candids with her family, singing at church, laying at the beach, blowing him a kiss through the camera. He kept that one in his denim shirt pocket, growing crinkly from… overuse.
He thought about finally being able to touch her. Would she be as soft and plush as he'd imagined? Would her lips be as sweet as her letters? Things would be different without at phone or a glass between them. They had spent all of this time declaring their love for one another and had made certain promises. Sam promised no more tattoos, no more fights, no more using the Lord's name in vain unless it was within the conjugal sense, and most importantly no more stealing. However, when her church's ministry came to visit for the first time, Sam said t was she that had stolen something… his heart. Even he had to roll his eyes after he said it, but he meant it. And in twenty minutes, he was going to have his Mercedes in his arms.
Sam gave himself one last glace in the mirror over his toilet. His blond hair, cut short and parted to the side, he adjusted the tie on the suit he had worn when the jury found him guilty. He licked his index and pinkie fingers, prepared to smooth his blow like his daddy'd taught him, when the guard banged her nightstick against the bars.
"It's about that time, Evans."
Sam grabbed his Bible and his box of letters from the top bunk, and didn't look back. He got a few hollers and catcalls as he walked past the cells, but he was already full with a song in his head to hear anything the men were saying.
What you gonna do when you get out of jail?
I'm gonna have some fun.
What do you consider fun?
Fun, natural fun.
With each step down the guarded path, Sam's heart would beat a little faster. His smile would grow a little wider. His spirit would feel a little lighter. When the final gates opened into the parking lot, the sun even seemed to rise a little higher in the sky, welcoming him back into civilization.
And then, there she was, resting against a purple Cadillac. She stood up and straightened out her curve-hugging dress. She looked as if she was ready to run and leap into his arms, but she kept on hand on the car door to prevent herself. That didn't stop Sam from putting some speed in his stride until he stood before her with an amused grin on his face. She was much shorter than he remembered and that endeared her to him even more.
She gave a toothy grin of her own when Sam stopped a mere foot away. Both were unsure of how to greet one another, but knowing that they yearned for one another. Without a second thought, Mercedes flung herself at his broad chest and wrapped her short arms around him. Sam stood there dumbstruck at first before hugging her back with equal intensity. He felt her sob against his torso, and he rocked her back and forth, as he rested his chin atop her head. She smelled even better than her letters, which he forgot were still in his hand.
"Hold on," he said. He pulled away for a regretful moment and place his things on the roof of her car, and just as quickly swept her back up again. "Mercy" was his final greeting.
"You're so tall" were the first words Mercedes could summon, wiping away her happy tears. Sam cupped her face. His thumbs swiped away any remaining teardrops. Now that he could finally touch her, he was addicted. Her mahogany skin was soft and pliable under his pale, callused hands.
He licked his lips, scanning her features all the way down to the sweetheart neckline of her olive green dress, realizing that it matched his eyes. "You wear this for me?"
Mercedes coyly looked away, "No, I'm wearing it for the other free guy I'm picking up."
"Yeah? Well, he doesn't deserve it."
She tugged at his jacket. "But you do."
Sam leaned his forehead against hers, trying to instill the moment into memory. Sam asked, "All of the paperwork ready?" Still reveling, he felt Mercedes nod her head. "So, you wanna do it today or wait until tomorrow?"
Mercedes lifted her head and exclaimed, "Today!"
Her enthusiasm was so infectious that only a kiss on the cheek could calm her down. She put her arms around his neck, craving more, but settled on a kiss to his pointed chin.
By noon they were at the courthouse, and by 1:45 they were husband and wife. With the judge's permission of "You may now kiss the bride," Sam collected his new bride into his arms and devoured her lips for the first time. The couple behind them cleared their throats, forcing the brazen newlyweds to finally part and move along. They paused in front of the Ohio state flag in the lobby for a quick wedding portrait taken on Mercedes' phone. She smiled at the camera while he nuzzled her temple.
Mercedes rested her head on Sam's shoulder as the elevator rose to the top of the parking garage. The ding shook her from her enchanted state. She took his ring-less left hand into hers, and brought it to her cheek.
Once in the car, Mercedes checked her phone for the time, pausing with a soft grin at her new wallpaper. "We've got an hour 'til the meeting with your P.O."
Sam reached across the console and caught her for another matrimonial kiss that she deepened, pulling at his tie for him to get closer. She slid her tongue into his gasping mouth, tasting the cigarettes he had earlier. Sam pulled away with a wet, wanton smack of their lips to catch his breath.
"Did you wear 'em like you promised?" Sam asked expectantly. Mercedes chewed on her bottom lip, nodding as she regained her shyness. He pecked her nose. "Show 'em to me, sweetheart," he begged.
Mercedes sat against the window of her driver's seat, and lifted up the hem of her dress. She revealed a pair of leopard-printed panties atop her luscious brown thighs. Sam stifled a groan before instructing, "Take them off." Mercedes acquiesced, sliding her panties down as Sam unbuckled the brown leather belt to his trousers. Once he unbuttoned his fly, Sam pulled his wife across the armrest and onto his lap, her legs on either side of him. She licked his Adam's apple, loosening his tie and collar. Sam took her panties to his face and inhaled deeply.
Sam croaked, "This is what I've been missin'."
"Oh, yeah?" Mercedes inquired. Her tongue traced his pout, amused at the deep red lipstick smudges on his kiss-swollen lips. Sam pulled the lever on the side of the passenger seat, scaring himself and his lady with how fast the seat fell back. Mercedes could not control the snort that escaped with her fit of laughter, and buried her face into his collar in embarrassment, only to make Sam laugh harder.
"I could get used to that," Sam pined.
Mercedes reached towards the backseat and rustled through a plastic bag until she pulled out a condom.
"That's my girl," Sam whispered into her neck before marking her for the first time. Mercedes ripped the gold wrapper open with her teeth. Shying from the lips against her neck, she let him take the condom from her hand and sheathed himself. She slowly rubbed her fold against his hardness, and moaned at the feel of his erection against her throbbing button. She hissed when he entered her, grabbing the headrest for comfort.
"Mmm, baby, you weren't lying," she growled.
"You think you can handle it, Mrs. Evans?" Sam slapped her ass once and then again for good measure. The smacks were the impetus for her body to dance atop his cock. Sam met each roll with an upward thrust. Mercedes reacted with a desperate yelp that she soon covered with her hand at the sound of a car passing. Both of them tried to hide beneath the window. The sound of the car distanced, and Mercedes unconsciously swiveled to accommodate his member while her husband clutched her thighs.
"I've been waiting 822 days for this. Since you told me you loved me. I've been thinking about this. This moment. Coming inside you," Sam moaned before taking her mouth again. He reached and released a breast from the cup of her dress. "You're fuckin' perfect, Mercedes." His teeth tugged at her sensitive bud. "You think about me, sweetheart?"
With her eyes shut tight, gripping his shoulders, Mercedes diligently jounced on his cock. "Everyday," she cried. Through each bounce, she lamented, "Every hour. Every minute. I thought about you, Sammy." She grabbed his face for a searing kiss. Mercedes brought a hand between them, and flicked her clit, anxious for her release.
Sam gently pulled her hand away, "That's my job now, baby." He licked his fingers, and strummed her little bundle of nerves. Mercedes gasped out her peak. His name was an ever-flowing stream out of her mouth, seeping into the padded upholstery.
At the vice grip of her walls, Sam ached for every once of her. From some of their more passionate correspondence, he knew she wasn't a virgin, but the grip that she had on him was beyond snug and drenched from three and a half years of patience. Mercedes slowed down her pace, seizing his exalted face and whispered onto his lips, "I wanna take it off."
Sam searched her soft, brown features for any sign of hesitation, but asked her for safe measure, "You sure, babe?" Mercedes nodded and lifted herself, relieved as he ripped off the condom. She sat back down, feeling him again.
"Cum in me, Sammy."
With that, the blond increased his ministrations, pumping up from his seat and into her with the gusto of a man with a new lease on life. He wailed "Mercedes" so even the jailbirds in the basement cells awaiting their trials could hear his rapture, and the cause of it all was the pocket-sized mahogany diva of perfection on his lap. Both breathed each other in amidst the afterglow until they heard a car alarm blare a few levels below.
In the basement of a rec center that housed pool floaties and wiffle ball bats, Mercedes sat in the hallway, dangling her heel on the tip of her toe, while Sam sat in the office of his probation officer. Sam scrunched in the metal folding chair, as a rather loquacious, black woman hovered over him with her spiel. Her nameplate read "Roz 'The Body' Washington," but from the earful he was getting he felt "The Mouth" would have been more appropriate.
"Sam Evan!" Roz hollered, "I don't want to like you, but you are the first person I've seen all day without a neck tattoo or a body odor that attacks all five of my senses, so that already puts you in high regard with me. But I also like cops. Calling 'em. Sharing donuts with 'em. Playing 'Find the Nightstick' with a few of them in an off-duty cruiser.
"So be clear, you fuck up just once, and you go back to jail. You don't check in with me, you go to jail. You hit a guy 'cause he finds those soup coolers on your face amusing as all hell, you go to jail. And if you stick up another family like you did in Canton, I will personally string you up by your tiny pink nipples, 'Last King of Scotland-style' and beat you like my half-Mexican nephew's birthday piñata… and then you go to jail. You hear me?"
Sam's eyes grew big from fear, and if he was being honest with himself, a little bit of an attraction. Roz burst through his thought, "Nod to me if I'm getting through to you. Nod to me!"
Sam gave a soft, respectful nod before she continued, "Good. Now, where will you be staying?"
"With my wife… in Lima," he replied.
Roz searched her file. "The paperwork doesn't say anything about a wife."
"I know. We just got married… today. This afternoon."
She paused, caught a little off guard, and asked, "The My Size Chocolate Barbie in the hallway?"
"Y—yes, ma'am," he answered, attempting to avoid her seemingly judgmental gaze.
"Hmm" was all she said.
Sam didn't know how to take that "hmm," but he knew better than to question it in front of her.
"Are you gonna be a pain in my booty, Sam Evans?" She inquired with legitimate concern.
Sam thought for a moment. "I'm—I'm gonna try my damnedest not to be." And he meant it.
Sam smiled to himself, as Mercedes drove through town. Her right hand never left his knee as they drove around what Sam was quickly learning to be Lima Heights. With its chain-linked fences and hostile faces following him as they cruised the block, it had an air of familiarity to his recent home.
He was confused when Mercedes pulled in front of a large gate on what seemed like the edge of town. Mercedes jumped out of the car and unlocked the gate, allowing them to drive through. They emerged into a barren lot, greeted by a silver Airstream trailer at its center that reflected the candy-colored Caddy as they parked in front of it.
Sam climbed out of the car and tried to grasp his surroundings. He asked, "Is this home?"
Mercedes ran up behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle. "Not yet, but it will be." She grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the family of plastic pink flamingos planted in the yard. "This is gonna be our living room where we'll get one of those big, monstrous TVs with surround sound speakers in each corner, and watch the Bengal game after church. And you'll yell at the screen, while I'll root for the other team. Just to annoy you." She pulled him to the side of the trailer. "And this is where we'll entertain guests with my famous strawberry lemonade. And play Pictionary, which we'll always win because you've got hand kissed by God and Jack Kirby… 'Jack Kirby's' the correct reference, right?"
Sam smiled at her dorkiness, and replied, "Perfect, sweetheart."
Mercedes squealed, and pulled him over to the other end of the trailer, towards the mailbox that already had "The Evanses" glued in black letters on the side. "This'll be our kitchen. We're gonna buy one of those stainless steel refrigerators with the freezer on the bottom."
Sam reached for her, and nibbled hungrily against her neck. "So I can get a good view of your ass when you reach for the ice?"
Mercedes nodded, "It's gonna be one of those nice, big California Country kitchens with a long wooden table that I'll put fresh flowers on every week. And you'll show me how to make your momma's butter cookies with the walnuts in them."
A lopsided grin formed on his face at the thought. "You'd make those for me?"
"Of course. I'll make you anything you want. You're my Sammy." She threw her arms around his neck, and fiddled with the stray blond hairs at his nape. His eyelids fluttered at her caress.
He cleared his throat, "And where's our bedroom gonna be?"
Mercedes giggled, "Behind the trailer. From the kiddie pool to the rock pile."
"All the way to the rock pile?" Sam said in mock astonishment.
Mercedes playfully smacked him on the chest. "You keep talking like that, and your closet's gonna be a gym bag."
"Alright, alright. So… where is our actual bedroom?"
Mercedes handed him a set of house keys. "The gold one's for the front door. Silver's for the second."
Sam climbed up the steps, looking back to make sure she was still behind him. When the second door opened, his heart swelled. It's been a long time since he'd been voluntarily let into someone's home. Well, he guessed it was his home now, too. He dramatically lifted his wife into his arms and carried her over the threshold. Above the narrow red diner booth at its center dangled the words "Welcome Home, Sam." The words must have hit him with more reverence than he expected, because Mercedes stood on her tiptoes to thumb away the tears that trickled down his cheek.
"Shh, sweet Sammy. Come on." Mercedes laced her arm around his arm and led him into the bedroom. It looked familiar from the snapshots she had sent him for his last birthday. When he held her in his dreams, it was in that bed. Mercedes' nimble little fingers tugged Sam out of his suit jacket.
"Your brother shipped over your clothes a few weeks ago. They're in the first three drawers." She loosened his tie and playfully pulled it over his head. "A few of my friends are going to be down at Puckerman's Pub tonight. I didn't know if you want to go, or-"
"Let's do it. You wanna show me off?"
Mercedes grinned as she began unbuttoning his shirt. "Yes, please." Each freed button reveal an artist's canvas on his chest. Her eyes shot to the scripture scrawled on his ribcage, "I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me." It was something she would remind him of before the end of every collect phone call. Her gaze wandered over to the spot over his heart—above it, rested a hummingbird. Her hands grazed over the raised ink, reddened and she knew it was recent. "Sam-," her attempt at scolding faltered when noticed words below the hummingbird. She immediately recognized them as her signature from all of her letters: "Yours, Mercy."
"Sam…" Her tone was hushed and touched.
Sam pled, "This was my last one. I promise."
Mercedes said nothing and removed his shirt completely. Her hands traversed her husband's sculpted body, inspecting with tremendous care.
"You're it for me, Mercedes. I know you deserve a lot better, but-." Sam took of her hands into his.
Mercedes wrapped his hands around her waist, and shook her head. "Don't talk like that," she begged.
"We're gonna have everything, babe. The house. The kids. The rings. That ugly-ass dog you kept sending me clip outs of."
"The French bulldog," she whispered through a watery smile.
"The French bulldog. It's gonna be ours. I promise you that, Mercedes Evans."
Mercedes cupped his face, and gave him a sweet kiss. She instilled, "For now, I just want you. Okay? I'm here for you. Roz said I'm a great asset in your rehabilitation. Remember, Sam, I'm yours. You need anything, I am right here."
Sam lingered over her. His lips caressed her forehead as he muttered, "I need you… right now." He lowered her onto the bed, prepared to consummate their marital bed, but he was sidetracked by sheets. Actual sheets, with a thread count larger than his prison sentence. He was overcome with a softness he had never felt before. He climbed under the covers, willing Mercedes to do the same. Beneath the covers, the relinquished each other of their remaining clothes. Mercedes rested in his arms, fiddling with her name on his chest. He drifted off to sleep in a suspended state of felicity, as he finally got to live out his dream.
He awoke to the feel of his wife sliding out of bed. Her full exposed behind shimmied across the room for her silk robe. Sam groggily leaned over to enjoy the view.
Sam asked through a yawn, "Where are you going, beautiful?"
"It's 7 o'clock," she explained. "We're suppose to go to the pub. I'm gonna shower."
He raised a devilish eyebrow, and asked, "Want me to join you?"
Mercedes sweetly shook her head. "Rest a little more, baby. You've had a long day."
Sam collapsed back on his pillow, listening to the shower run in the next room. He was alone for the first time in what felt like forever. No guards. No asshole jerking off in the cell over. No constant threats. He was allowed to settle in his thoughts. He quickly questioned if that was the best thing. He thought about the word Mercedes used earlier—"rehabilitation." Had he really been rehabilitated? Such a strange word for "let's fix the fuck up." He rolled over to her side of the bed. His eyes lit up at the drawing he'd made of the two of them together framed on her nightstand. He would be a better man for her. He'd be anything she wanted him to be. Husband, lover, friend, priest. Hell, he would figure out a way to be the King of Monaco if that meant her being in his arms like they'd just been.
Mercedes fumbled through a clear plastic bin, searching for a dress to put over the snug black slip she was wearing. Her long, wavy hair cascaded down her shoulders. Framing her face enough to shield the stares she felt upon her. She turned to catch him. "What?"
His cheeks flushed at being caught. "Nothing. I just… I love you, Mercy."
She beamed in response, "I love you, too. Now, let's get dressed."
Mercedes spent most of the night on Sam's lap; his hands never got enough of her. At first, Sam was nervous meeting his wife's friends. He nodded ferociously as her friend Kurt talked on and on about him and his husband's boutique. Guys like Kurt probably got cafeteria duty upstate, away from miscreants like Sam. He zoned out a bit at the continued utterances of taffeta and inseams, but was jostled back about the need for a human mannequin in the shop window. It meant a job. It meant money in his pocket from him and his lady. More importantly, it meant getting Roz off of his ass. Sam shook his hand and agreed to show up at the boutique that weekend.
Mercedes hurrahed and whispered in his ear, "I knew you could do it."
Sam lowered his head, slightly embarrassed. "I didn't do anything. Kurt just thinks I'm cute or whatever."
"Well, you are. And I'm proud of you, baby."
"In that case, thank you."
Kurt took a spoon from their table, and tapped in on his wine glass, to get the group's attention. "May I have everyone's attention, please? As you know, we aren't just here to stock up on beer nuts and Hep. C. We are also here to welcome dear Samuel into the fold, and to congratulate him and our Mercedes on their nuptials. May the joy on your faces forever endure… minus the wrinkles. May your heart always flutter. And may the patter of little feet happen soon so I can tailor baby clothes." The bright-eyed young man raised his glass along with the others. "To Sam and Mercedes."
"TO SAM AND MERCEDES!" They all exclaimed.
A soft kiss between the couple sealed the toast. When things died down, she asked, "I'm gonna go to the ladies' room. Can you order me another ginger ale?"
"You got it." With a peek on the cheek, Mercedes was off to do whatever women do in the majestic world of the ladies' room. Sam walked over to the bar, inhaling her fragrance on his clothes. The green plaid shirt fit tighter across his chest than he remembered. He leaned against the bar, and waited for the blonde beside him to finish paying the group's tab.
"$600, Puck? We only had, like, three shots." Quinn protested.
Puck answered, "It's the tab for the month. Quit buying all the top shelf hooch for you buddies, princess."
She looked at him with distaste and scowled, "Highway robbery, Puckerman."
He leaned forward across the bar. "I do have an off the menu item you can have for free."
"I've had that already, remember? As I recall, it was too small for anyone to enjoy. Can you take my card?"
Rejected, Puck leaned back and pointed to the sign above the bar. "You know the rules. Cash only."
"Fine." Quinn fiddled through her wallet, fishing out the cash.
Sam finally spoke up. "Who keeps that much cash on them?"
"I tend to get into quite a few jams. It comes in handy."
"Must be nice," he said to himself.
Quinn shrugged, and tossed the money on the bar like it was nothing.
Sam finally caught the mohawked bartender's attention. "Hey, can I get a ginger ale and an iced tea?"
Puck looked at him, confused.
Sam explained, "It's the wife's orders tonight."
The bartender shoved the cash into the tip cup in front of him, and went about pouring the drinks. Sam stared at the twenties and fifties that readily taunted him. It would be so easy to just snatch it, and shove it in his back pocket with no hesitation. Blow it on something nice for Mercy. A pair of earrings or some shit like that.
His hand inched towards the money, as his other hand racked through his hair, full of nerves. But he thought about her, and the disappointed look on her face at him skimming a few bucks. He just got her; he couldn't bear to lose her.
"Here you go." Puck set the two drinks down in front of the shaken blond. Sam reached into his back pocket for cash, but Puck waved it away. "Mazel tov."
Sam gave an awkward nod in thanks. He felt a short arm wrap around his waist, forcing him to turn and see Mercedes. He rested his hand on her shoulder.
Mercedes pointed to the drink, "Is that mine?" He handed the ginger ale to her. "Thank you, baby."
He turned around in her hold. "Listen, do you wanna get out of here?"
"Sure," she responded. "Let me just go get my purse. You okay?" The small woman leaned back to get a good look at him. He seamed different, quieter, but Sam uneasily nodded his head. Mercedes hesitantly walked back to the table.
Sam noticed the tan man in a stool beside him taking in Mercedes' figure. The man whistled, "If I had a girl like that, I'd never let her out of the house. She yours?"
The stiffened blond chose to ignore the man, and took a sip of his iced tea. But, the man slid closer to him in order to get his attention. "I asked you a question. That girl over there with the ass for days, her. Is she yours?"
Sam took a deep breath and replied, "She's my wife, yes."
The man scoffed, "You get to fuck that on the regular? Kudos."
Sam looked over to see Mercedes who was stuck in a conversation with Quinn and Kurt, and prayed that she would hurry up.
The drunk man queried again. "I asked if you and her… y'all bone on the regular?"
Puck swiped the towel from his shoulder at the belligerent man. "Jake, what did I tell you? You're cut off."
Jake put his hands up in surrender. "What? I'm just asking a simple question. 'Cause, see, the answer will determine if I go over there and give Ms. Pretty my number."
"Mrs. Pretty," Sam muttered while crunching on a piece of ice.
"Minor detail." Jake got up from his seat. He huffed into his hand to smell his breath and shrugged.
Sam stepped into his path. "Just leave her alone, man." He wasn't in the mood to play games.
Jake smiled, "I'm just gonna take a piss. I don't see the problem in that. But if I happen to make friends on my way to the john and back, that's just an added bonus. Tell me, with that soft voice of hers, she's a moaner isn't she? She seems too sweet to scream. I could change that." Jake shoved him out of the way and began to walk towards her.
Something came over Sam, like he was in the yard again. His reflexes were in overdrive. Before he knew it, Sam dumped out his iced tea onto the bar and bashed the glass over Jake's head. The ex-con found a large piece of glass on the floor and picked it up. He hovered over the man's body, ready to finish the job. But then he heard it…
"Sam!"
He looked up at Mercedes' horrified face. In fact, he started to notice everyone's horrified faces, and dropped the piece of glass. "I'm… I'm sorry" was a hollow incantation, but bellowed from his heart.
Puck grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him away from the bloodied body. "Cops'll be here in five minutes. You, don't move." He pushed Sam onto a stool.
Sam could feel the judgment, the confusion, the fear. That's all he could read from Mercedes—the fear. Tears ran down his face, as he watch his wife help Jake off of the ground and apologized for her husband's behavior, like Sam was some child who couldn't control his impulses. Sam perceived he was worse than a child, he was an animal. That was what rehabilitation had gotten him. He froze when Mercedes walked towards him.
"Mercy, I'm-"
Mercedes shook her head, "Don't."
She took the stool alongside him and threaded her fingers with his. She closed her eyes, and rested her head on his shoulder.
He had done this. He was the reason for her heartbreak, and he hated himself for it. He kissed her forehead, enjoying the feel of her, until the sound of sirens descended.
A/N: This was more Convict!Sam than Psycho!Sam, and depressing as hell apparently, but it was the best I could do. And I know, I need to update "Sign Here." It's coming soon, I promise. This just came pouring out of me, and I wanted to get it out. Your reviews are better than hot tea and a Boy Meets World marathon on a rainy day, so write one if your heart desires.
