Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“I’m worried about Samuel,” I said simply. I didn’t want to get into an argument with one of Samuel’s best friends. Maybe his only friend, as I’d never seen him with anyone else.
Renato waved me off. “He’ll be fine. Just pop a couple of painkillers into his mouth and give him a strong coffee in the morning.”
“Can you help me get him out of his clothes?”
“Just let him sleep in them. That’s what I do.”
I gritted my teeth, growing annoyed at how blasé he was. Was it a man thing? A Made Man thing? Or was I really overreacting? I didn’t think so.
“All right. Thank you for getting him home. I’ll handle it from here.”
I pulled Samuel’s shoes off.
“Are you sure you don’t need help?”
“I’ve undressed him before, don’t worry,” I said, not even blushing. I was so frustrated with the situation. I felt helpless in a way I’d never experienced, not even when my body failed me after the accident, and I didn’t know how to come to terms with it.
Renato nodded, then he turned around, and I heard him walk down the stairs. I took a deep breath. After his shoes were off, I got rid of his socks, then leaned over him to unbuckle his belt. Getting him out of his pants was far more difficult than anticipated. Samuel was tall and much heavier than me. I hoisted myself onto the bed, hoping for a better angle. After plenty of tugging, his pants still hung around his hips. I blew out my breath and decided to deal with his shirt for now. But without his help, I couldn’t pull it off either. Tears of anger and frustration gathered in my eyes. I went to the bathroom in my wheelchair, pulled scissors from a drawer under the sink, and returned to Samuel. I began cutting away his shirt and the tank he wore beneath, then proceeded to destroy his pants in the same way. I hoped these weren’t his favorite clothes, but maybe that would teach him a lesson not to drink so much. Though I doubted Samuel was at a point where a lesson like that would stop him from drinking. We hadn’t been married for very long, but I wasn’t blind nor stupid. Samuel had a problem. I just wasn’t quite sure yet how serious it was.
I tugged the rags away and tossed them to the floor. Samuel didn’t stir. I left him in his boxers. Because he lay on the covers, I couldn’t even tuck him in. It wasn’t very cold in the bedroom, so I simply left him as he was and awkwardly crawled under the covers, which Samuel weighted down.
I extinguished the lights, but I was too agitated to fall asleep. My thoughts revolved around what I’d witnessed in the past two weeks. Samuel drank too much. He drank every day, especially when he was in a bad mood or stressed. I wasn’t sure if I was overreacting. When could you call someone an alcoholic? Was there a universal rule? I couldn’t ask anyone I knew. At least not from our families. But maybe I could ask Priest Agnello. Perhaps he had experience with Made Men who struggled with addiction, though I doubted many of them made their problem public since it could cost them their standing and, depending on their addiction, even their lives. I had to make sure Priest Agnello didn’t think Samuel was the reason for my interest. Considering Samuel’s controlled and poised outward appearance, I doubted many people would suspect him. Still, I couldn’t risk anything. Too much was at stake.
Or was I overreacting? I had only gotten a small glimpse into Samuel’s life. Maybe the past two weeks had been an exemption. Perhaps he didn’t usually drink as much. Stress could do a lot to people. His life had changed drastically with our marriage as well.
Samuel snored, which only added to my anger. I had half a mind to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms, but I worried he’d stop breathing. What if he was close to alcohol poisoning? I covered my ears with another pillow and tried to fall asleep.
The mattress shifted, and Samuel groaned. Then something heavy landed on the floor. I sat up and turned on the lights. Squinting against the sudden brightness, I realized Samuel was no longer in bed beside me. I scooted over to the other side and looked down. Samuel lay on his side on the floor, still asleep.
There was no way I could get him back into bed, and for what? He’d probably roll out of bed again and possibly hit his head on the nightstand. He could sleep on the floor tonight.
I turned off the lights, but then worried that Samuel would throw up and I wouldn’t notice until it was too late. I didn’t want him to choke on his own vomit. With a sigh, I turned the lights on and lowered myself to the floor beside Samuel. I leaned against the bed with a cushion at my back and covered myself with the blanket, then extinguished the lights.