Puck's back and he's saying something about shit and car and winning. Sam looks at him with big sorrowful eyes, slumping against Puck's shoulder. "I didn't do anything," he whines, his words slurring together. "You made me dance with her. I didn't wanna. Then she told me all about the fancy ring her big strapping boyfriend got her while his equally attractive boyfriend sat at home by himself. I didn't make Quinn cry either. I didn't do anything to her. What did you tell her?"
Sam grabs an empty shot glass and holds it in front of Puck's face. "Look. The bartender won't give me anymore shots. Tell him I need more. I need to pee. Just take me home, I want to sleep on you." The glass slips from his hand and shatters on the floor, leaving Sam dumbfounded as he stares at the shards. "I'll clean this up." He gets off his stool, then promptly falls. He breaks his fall with one hand, then hisses as a piece of glass slices his finger. Sam holds up his hand for Puck to see, watching blood well up in the shallow cut on his index finger. "Ow. I'm sorry. Puck, I'm sorry." Sam swipes his free hand over his eyes, sighing shakily, leaning his back against the bar, still sitting on the floor. "I'm sorry about Quinn even though I didn't do anything. I'm sorry this is so hard. I wish I could be enough for you, but I can't, so I'm sorry. I won't mess things up for you and Quinn. I promise. You're a good man, Puck." Sam looks down, his vision blurry with tears as he wipes his bleeding finger on his shirt. He can sleep under the bar tonight. He can't picture a scenario in which he actually gets up and walks far enough to get to Puck's car. The room is spinning and he just wants to crash.
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Date: 2011-08-13 02:21 am (UTC)Sam grabs an empty shot glass and holds it in front of Puck's face. "Look. The bartender won't give me anymore shots. Tell him I need more. I need to pee. Just take me home, I want to sleep on you." The glass slips from his hand and shatters on the floor, leaving Sam dumbfounded as he stares at the shards. "I'll clean this up." He gets off his stool, then promptly falls. He breaks his fall with one hand, then hisses as a piece of glass slices his finger. Sam holds up his hand for Puck to see, watching blood well up in the shallow cut on his index finger. "Ow. I'm sorry. Puck, I'm sorry." Sam swipes his free hand over his eyes, sighing shakily, leaning his back against the bar, still sitting on the floor. "I'm sorry about Quinn even though I didn't do anything. I'm sorry this is so hard. I wish I could be enough for you, but I can't, so I'm sorry. I won't mess things up for you and Quinn. I promise. You're a good man, Puck." Sam looks down, his vision blurry with tears as he wipes his bleeding finger on his shirt. He can sleep under the bar tonight. He can't picture a scenario in which he actually gets up and walks far enough to get to Puck's car. The room is spinning and he just wants to crash.