Ruby Red

XIII

"What came first... the chicken? Or the egg?" Ken mutters absentmindedly, tossing the empty can of beer onto the basement floor. He looks at me with a slight smirk. The blob of sauce in the corner of his lips makes me giggle. I take another sip of my beer and put the can down on the table in between the lounge chairs. "Are you... druuuuunk?" I ask embarrassingly, pointing at him with my wobbly index finger.

"I am... in serious trouble. I can't afford to be drunk." He says, making a hand gesture I've never seen anyone use, ever. "Trouble?" I ask, hoping to get an honest answer out of tipsy Ken. Despite my lightheadedness, I still feel pretty alert. He sways from side to side on the edge of his bed, clumsily bringing his hand up to his neck. "Ooone more strike, and I'm doomed." I don't know what he means, until I notice the strikes on his skin he's trying to show me. I raise an eyebrow at him, drinking the last bit of my beer.

"What's that?" I ask. Deep down, I feel kind of excited to finally get my answer. Those strikes have made me more curious than I've ever been. Ever since I cleaned his wounds, the image of them would linger in my mind. "Every time I kill someone. I get anoooother one. I hate it. So much." His sentences are somewhat chopped into bits, but I understand what he means.

"So what happens at the fifth?" I ask, twirling the empty beer can in my hands. He brings his fists up to his face, and opens his hand in a sudden motion. "Daaaarkness. I will become darkness. Shadower? Yes, shadower. That's it. But I'd rather die. Being a shadower... Is my worst nightmare." He says, crossing his arms over his chest. This part of the curse wasn't written in the book. So, it can get even worse. That's so cruel. His coldness makes sense now. If I was a ticking time bomb like him, I wouldn't want anyone else to suffer because of me.

I want to ask him if he's okay, but I freeze when I notice tears in his eyes. "I hate it. I hate it. I hate it so much." He claws at the skin in his neck in a hopeless and painful attempt to get rid of the strikes. His skin turns visibly red, and I quickly jump out of the lounge chair. Apparently my head has other plans, because the whole room starts to spin before my own eyes. Luckily, I make it to the bed before I fall. I sit down next to him and immediately reach out to grab his wrist.

"Please stop." I beg, noticing a light shimmer on the surface of his eyes. He turns his head to look at me. His eyes look tired. Drunk, but mostly tired. I suddenly wonder how long it's been since he's had a goodnights rest. "You're not going to get your fifth strike. You can't hurt me, rememberrrr?" I say, a tipsy smile forming on my lips. With my thumb, I finally rub the sauce off his skin.

...Aaaaand immediately realize that it was too impulsive of me. Even in the dim lighting, I notice a red blush spreading across his cheeks. He's never been shy in my presence. I must have embarrassed him. Shit. I quickly pull my hand away.

"I'll get us some water." I say in an attempt to get away, but as I get up, he grabs my arm and pulls me back down.

I plop back down on the bed. There's only an inch between my lips and his. The uncontrollable beating of my heart is the only thing I hear. He gradually pushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and looks into my eyes. I'm afraid of his next move, but it somehow feels right. With a quiet whisper, he carefully cups my cheek. "I'll only look at you." 

And with that, he presses his lips onto mine. A kiss I'd never expected in one million years, but also a kiss I'd replay every day for one million years if I could. I close my eyes and give in to the unexpected softness of his touch. Many opposing thoughts go through my mind.

I conclude that it doesn't matter. For now, what matters is how right it feels to be this close to him. Drunk or not.