The Hard Times Of Samantha Lace

Chapter Thirty Five: THTOSL

A while had passed already, but I wasn't that tired. I stared at my ceiling for which could have been a couple hours but I wasn't too sure. Time usually always felt like it was dragging when I was alone. I wonder what John was doing. Hes sleeping already I think. Probably, it was probable. Right? Yeah, because I'm the only person ever with sleeping problems...

Maybe I could go check...

I creeped out of my bed, it felt way too cold in my blankets. My tip toes touched the floorboards, making them creak. Okay, why the hell am I creeping? This was my house, I could walk freely. So, as self-arrogantly as I could, I walked across my room and to the door. Suddenly walking felt like stomping, so I kept to my ninja technique. When I pushed open my white door that wasn't fully closed in the first place, it's hinges squeaked just as bad. I huffed as I padded down the short hallway, coming to my living room, my eyes darting to the sofa.

Where I expected a sleeping John to be.

But he wasn't sleeping at all; he was peering in my fridge.

The first thing I noticed was that he was shirtless. He kept his jeans on, but his shoes were off too. He actually moved my 3 liter Soda over to check behind it. And what did he find? My oh-so-lovely chocolate bar. It might seem strange I put my chocolate in the fridge, but I liked it better cold. I know I got that from my Dad, he used to do the same. John's shoulder sagged, in what I could only think to be relief.

When that son of a biscuit eating bull dogs hand grabbed and went to carry my sweets with him I cleared my throat,

"Ahem." I announced, with my arms crossed. I saw those bare shoulders tense up again. And redhanded, he instantly dropped the chocolate candy bar back onto the ledge. Right where I expected it to be. "Just what do you think your doing?" I demanded, tapping my foot. He straightened up, still not facing me. I could see the muscles in his back, making me think things that a girl who says she doesn't-want-to-date-this-guy shouldn't think.

"Um..." John turned, but my foot had already stopped it's tiny thumping. "I was--"

"Yeah, save it buddy."

"I was hungry..." He mumbled, turning his head I away. I let my arms drop to my side and walked over to him.

"What would you like?" I asked, cramming my head into my own fridge curiously. I didn't have much, but I had enough. My refrigerator had a decent amount of food in it.

"I can have something?" He chirped.

I sighed, "Yes- you were going to do it anyway." I pointed out.

"But it's just chocolate." He protested.

"It's my chocolate," I pointed to myself with my thumb, "That I have been saving."

"Well excuse me, can I have a sandwich please?" He asked. How original. What else had I expected a guy to say?

"Mayonaise or miricale whip?" I replied flatly.

"Mayonaise." He mumbled, hoisting himself up on the counter. John couldn't of been more rude, but in another way I didn't mind. It was a simple favor. I mean, he picked me up today, and made sure I got home other times when I was drunk... I'm starting to feel guilty- not a good feeling with me. So I pushed it away, and focused on what I was doing. A minute later, the food was completed. I handed it to John with no plate, from experience it was obvious guys could just eat things whole, including paper plates...

"All I'm missing is an olive with a toothpick." John joked. "You made a beast ass sandwich."

"Your welcome." I said, praised. He yawned.