Page 64 of Almost Ours

Of course it's fucking Josh.

Chapter Sixteen

Saturday

October 17th 2015

Joshua:

I only came out to the alley for air.

The Shed is packed and boiling, Lady – Hear Me Tonight blasting loudly. It’s all a bit much.

I lean against the back wall, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets, letting the cold settle over me, mulling over the day. It’s on nights like this that I notice people say a lot about who they are but almost none of it lines up with what they do.

Words are easy. You can paint yourself however you want. I stopped trusting what people say a long time ago.

How they behave is who they are.

As I’m deciding the night’s a write-off, something bangs above me, followed at once by swearing that would send a nun into cardiac arrest. I turn toward the sound. It takes me a second to realise what I'm looking at.

Ruby Hollis is hanging out of a tiny bathroom window, head-first.

Her entire upper body is outside in the alley—head, shoulders, arms, half her torso resting awkwardly on the sill. Everything below her waist is still inside the bathroom. I can see the way her legs must be braced on something, probably the toilet she climbed onto, because her hips are jammed tight against the metal frame.

She's literally stuck in the window.

"Ruby?" I call, because what else do you say to a girl dangling out of a toilet window as if she's trying to escape prison? “Ruby, is that you?”

She goes all stiff, then groans loudly into the night. "No. No. I reject this entire reality."

I cough back a laugh. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm thriving," she cheerily calls, voice muffled by the fact she has gravity working against her. "Just having the best night of my life, actually. Everything is going brilliantly, thanks for asking."

I walk closer until I'm directly underneath her, trying to process the exact mechanics of how she got into this position.

It's obvious once you see it: she must have climbed onto the toilet, shoved the window open, leaned out head-first, and then attempted to squeeze the rest of herself through. But the window's too narrow, and now her hips are jammed, and she has no leverage to pull herself back in or push herself out.

"What happened?"

"The lock to the toilet jammed," she explains, humiliated, cheeks flushed pink. "I shouted for help, but no one heard me. Brooke has my phone… so I tried the window, for reasons I cannot explain.”

“So… you’re stuck?”

“No, Josh. I’m chilling here. Thought it would break up the evening.” She huffs as she tries to push herself backwards into the bathroom again, but her hips don't move at all. They’re wedged against the frame in a way that looks painful.

My hands hover above her waist, not sure what to do. "Do you want to come down?"

"Please," she groans. "I think my blood circulation is being cut off. Oh my God, I'm going to die here."

"You're not going to die."

"Josh," her voice is whiny, "I can't feel my left thigh."

I get closer. "You're gonna be alright."

"No, I genuinely think it's gone."