The Numbers on Her Wrist

24

Soon after the fights conclude for the night, Samuel takes my hand and guides me.towards his home. He offers to hail us a taxi, but despite the light rain that begins to fall halfway home, I refuse to let him. I smiled at his look of surprise. "I'm already drenched in sweat- and blood..." I breathed and he no longer persisted.

As we turn down the street that is adjacent to Sam's home, I am more than slightly taken aback when he points out the place in which he lives. I am astounded by the size and the expensive nature skyscraper, lost for words as he pulls me closer to the doors. I run my gaze over it, taking in every detail I can.

The outside is made of soft pale bricks, the light creamy color standing out in the golden light that is provided by the street lamps and bulbs that hang from and before the front exterior of the building. The towering apartment complex stands high above the majority of the surrounding architecture, and I can count almost twenty-five storeys with intricately chiseled scaffolding and hand-carved designs. Tall windows reveal the interior of the first floor, a grand lobby decorated beautifully- but the rainwater courses down the glass panes, obscuring my vision of the inside; I make a quick mental note to investigate more once we arrive in the lobby. The main door and entrance way is shielded by a balcony, allowing a man in a red uniform and white silk gloves to remain dry as he waits to serve the tenants and prospective buyers. He brings a smile to hos face the moment that he sees us, his head inclined forward politely to greet us. "Evening, Samuel! How are you doing this fine, rainy night?"

Sam tightens the hold on my hand and brings me closer, pulling us under the stone balcony to allow us respite from the storm. He shakes his head a few times, droplets of mingled sweat and water swinging from his head and onto the dark rug under our feet. "I'm doing great, Wesley!" He is forced to shout as thunder rolls and lightning screeches across the New York skyline. "This is Amelia Reyes, a very good friend of mine." The apartment employee grins even brighter at me, a short gentleman-like bow given. I run a hand over my soaked hair, the tangles and knots making it extremely hard to cram from my eyes. "Evening, Miss Amelia! Wesley says kindly, "Will you be staying with us tonight?"

Samuel chuckles and answers for me, "her old apartment got, uh..." He looks to me for barely a second, thinking quickly; the pause is practically unnoticeable. "Foreclosed. Tha manager was not very goof at keeping his finances in check." Wesley nods grimly, but his face still radiates a feeling of welcome and warmth that I have never felt from a stranger before.

I quite like him.

"I'm very sorry about that, ma'am... But, I hope you find your stay enjoyable and will remain with us for a while."

I smile and tilt my head forward gratefully, glad to have such a friendly face to greet me. "Thank you, Wesley."

He waves an idle hand, winking at me and a roguish smile appearing on his lips. "Call me Wes." Sam notices the grin and swipes at the man's head, growling playfully. "Stop flirting with her!" Wes only laughs, opening the door for us, and bowing comically to my friend. "Yes, your majesty!"

Wesley dishes another punch from Samuel as he guides me inside, his fingers intertwined with mine as we walk into the lobby of his apartment; it is more stunning than the exterior.

The ceilings stand over thirty feet tall, with imitation-gold chandeliers hanging low and shining beautiful twinkling light across the main area. The walls are painted a dull brown- almost like coffee with a little too much cream- and many pictures with bright blues and calming greens are held against the sides of the room by nails or screws. I turn my head to the left, a large white stone faux fireplace sitting behind a couch and a few chairs; the embers burn without smoke. There is a coffee table between the seats made of brown leather, fake fruits stacked carefully into a basket with a small pile of old books set beside it onto the low-sitting desk.