Flipping Coins

Prancing up the steps, I plunged the stairs two at a time. My ragged breath billowed out from deep within my chest, caused by the sudden surge of adrenaline teeming through every vein in my body. Pellets of sweat were already dripping from my forehead, and I felt the bothersome pearls of perspiration beginning to seep from my scalp.

At last, I reached my floor and earnestly dived into the door handle that extended to cover the full width of the entryway. The door immediately swung open with objecting squeaks, and I didn’t bother to decrease the speed of my dashing legs. I needed to get to my apartment.

Why, you ask, was I in such a desperate hurry to return to my humble abode? Well, after work, I flipped open my cheap cell phone to find a text message from an unknown number. Opening it, it read:

You. Me. Your apartment. 7 o’clock P.M. Don’t be late.

I was hoping against all hope that this was Brendon’s way of saying, ‘Hey, I’m in your house, so hurry the hell up!’ which sounded exactly like something he would do. Either it was him, Grey (which would be incredibly weird), or my personal stalker, and I was hands-on ready to disprove that last theory. Anyone who was dull enough to stalk me would probably just end up getting incredibly bored by watching me stalk around my house all day, searching for food I didn’t have.

Pushing out my predictions, I focused on the present. I found myself at my doorstep, out of breath and eager to get inside and solve the mystery.

The keys kept trying to slip from my fumbling fingers, managing a quick escape to the floor only once before they were quite rudely shoved back into the lock and thrashed to the left. A click peeped throughout the deserted hallway, but I didn’t push the door open just then.

Taking account my gender, it was perfectly natural of me to adjust my appearance just before I barged into an incredibly (romantic) mysterious encounter. So, after swabbing away the beads of remaining sweat and fiddling uselessly with my flat, volume-deprived hair, I took a deep inhale before advancing into my pitch-black apartment.

Through the darkness, my jittery fingers blindly searched the surface of the wall. My index finger at last found the plastic stubble protruding from the flat surface and, with a flicker of bright light, my eyes found his. (Hint: That pronoun should rule out a lesbian stalker, just in case you’re still trying to dwell on this being a slash tale, ‘cause it ain’t.)

I began to greet him cheerfully, “Hey---“

Leaping fluently to his feet with an over-dramatized motion, he quickly pranced up to me and pressed a finger to my lips.

“Shhh!” he commanded in a whisper. “No words.”

“Buh I---“

“No words!” he repeated, a dab of humor bleeding through his eyes. “What we are about to do will not require any conversation, but only the language of our bodies.” His hands entangled in my dry hair, and he took a step closer to me. “That is with the exception, of course, of any involuntary noises that might slip up during our steamy, hot, lustful---“

“Or-gan!” I shrieked, his finger still pressed against my lips so that my language sounded strangely distorted and foreign. Without waiting for another round of dirty comments, I clutched his wrists and threw his arms away from my face. All the while, he cackled with laughter.

“You are such a perve,” I muttered, trying not to blush or smile, failing exceptionally on both.

Jordan rubbed his spleen, the smile still remaining plastered on his face. “Oh come on, Em! You have to admit, that joke was total boss.”

“Boss of lameness,” I shot back.

Jordan smirked. “You’re just trying to hide the fact that it totally turned you on. Don’t worry, babe; it wasn’t all a total joke. It can still happen.” While quietly saying his ‘seductive’ words, his arms snaked around my waist and stealthily sneaked under my shirt and up my back.

I pushed him away and snorted. “Dream on. What makes you think I’m into ginger kids?”

Jordan gasped, his hand over his mouth and eyes wide. “I was unaware we had a racist in our midst.”

“Yeah, well…your mom,” I stammered out lamely, running out of comments.

Raising his lanky arms into the air, Jordan peered around my apartment as though my furniture were a live audience. “And Hillman is, yet again, victorious in the deadly sport of comebacks! Three cheers for our incredibly sexy king!”

I muttered, “You’re unbelievable,” before turning away and lazily tossing my sweater and purse onto my kitchen’s counters.

“Unbelievably gorgeous,” Jordan corrected before shouting once more, “Another score for the big guy!”

“Well, if he would be so kind, could the Big Guy please explain the purpose of this unexpected, and, yes, unwanted visit?” I asked, rolling my eyes with fake annoyance.

Jordan pouched his bottom lip before hopping onto my kitchen counter, snatching up my purse and digging through it without invitation. He explained, “Just wanted to drop in and see how my Emie-Goosey was doing. Is it a crime to check in with old friends now?”

“Yup,” I replied, hopping onto the counter next to him. “Newly established. Don’t you keep up with the news, my Jordan Almond?” We never seem to grow out of nicknames.

“Meh, here and there,” Jordan shrugged, still picking through my purse. “Only when it’s news from home. Those channels only show how fucked up the world is. It brings me down.”

Jordan was as outgoing and random as hell, but when he had opinions, they were strong. It was rare to see Jordan in such a serious mood, but I didn’t dare push it.

“Having fun?” I questioned with amusement, watching him swim his hands through the unknown depths of my bag.

Jordan nodded. “A blast. Oh, hey! I forgot to mention something. Did I ever tell you that I’m in a ban---“

His sentence was interrupted by a series of loud bangs issuing off my front door. After this chorus of bombarding knocking, my doorbell shrilly echoed several times impatiently.

Aggravated, I muttered, “Someone better have good reason to attack my door like this so late,” before hopping off the counter and rushing to the door.

Swinging the door back, I was almost knocked over by the soon-to-be victim.

“What the hell? Brendon!” I yelled with rage, staggering to maintain my balance while glaring at the dark figure.

Brendon crept into the light and smiled sheepishly at me, but it was a strained smile, not natural. He hoarsely muttered, “Sorry. I was leaning against the door and---“

“---didn’t expect her to open it?” Jordan finished for him, walking toward us with a wide grin.

Brendon’s dark eyes shifted to meet Jordan’s, and his lips strained farther to complete an even more artificial smile. “Yeah, blond moment, I guess….”

I could tell something was wrong, but I didn’t want to ask with Jordan listening in on Brendon’s personal problems. I decided to hold my tongue until a more appropriate time.

Placing a comforting hand on Brendon’s shoulder, he immediately turned back towards me and I asked, “Do you want something? I’ve got water and peanut butter just dying to be digested.”

Brendon shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I actually can’t stay long. Evelia will be expecting me soon….”

Looking down at my socks, I nodded and mumbled simply, “Oh.”

I could feel Brendon’s stare watching me as Jordan began to babble to us.

“…never been to Las Vegas. I mean, when I was five I flew over it, but I’ve never actually set foot here. That’s whacked up, isn’t it? Emie, you being my best bud and all, I should have at least visited you a couple of times instead of you going---“

“Well, you surely have other best friends in Massachusetts though, right?” Brendon questioned abruptly, suddenly turning to look at Jordan again.

Jordan looked taken aback and stammered, “Uh---yeah, of course, but Emie is still one of my greatest friends---“

“Sorry,” Brendon interrupted, turning back to me, “but can I have just a moment with Emie? There’s something important I have to talk with her about.”

Jordan looked even more perplexed, but slowly agreed, “Sure. Actually, um…Emie, I think I’m just going to go ahead and take off. But what are you doing this weekend? Maybe we can get together.”

Brendon was giving me a pleading expression, but I didn’t know why. I mean, I know he was probably here to apologize, but he surely knew I would forgive him. I had cracked a joke to him a few minutes back. That was like a dead give away that I wasn’t upset with him. Why did this have to be so urgent and dramatic?

A bit impatient to see what was up, I gave Jordan half of my attention and quickly stammered, “Yeah, sure thing. I’ll---I’ll call you or something.”

Jordan nodded, his eyebrows knitted together, and he grabbed his hoodie before he strode towards the door. He then gave a timid wave before he shut the door behind him, leaving an eerie, tense silence between me and Brendon.

Something was wrong, and there was a sickening feeling erupting from every fiber in my body. It was the feeling of something about to go wrong. Really wrong.