Flipping Coins

I distinctly but distantly heard my name, and I instantly sat bolt upright in the massive bed that was most definitely not my own.

“Emie,” my name was softly uttered once more in an almost agonizingly whiny tone, sounding from behind me.

I zipped my head around, and my bed hair--let loose and back to the familiar impossible-to-deal-with curls--flew around in my sharp turn of direction to fall in my vision. Irritated, I harshly swiped the wavy strands back, scowling. But as soon as I focused on what my pupils were actually resting on, I gasped.

Brendon was fast asleep right next to me, tangled up in his silk white sheets--naked, might I add--and dreaming about me, apparently. Brendon always talked in his sleep, ever since he was a boy, so I was somewhat used to the incoherent mumbles that would slip from his mouth every once in a while. But to hear my name being thrown in the mix was far too much for me to handle, especially when we were both naked in his bed.

Wait…was I naked too?

My eyes instantly shot down to observe that I was wearing an overlarge, fantastically smelling Dent Clinic t-shirt, which was obviously Brendon’s. As I searched my memory for some record or recollection of putting this shirt on the previous night before, the painful truth struck. Brendon had put that shirt on me--maybe because I had gotten cold, maybe because he thought it would comfort me when I woke up to see that I was wearing at least one article of clothing, maybe it was just because he simply liked the way I looked in it.

Each and every thought crossed my mind with a more vivid fictional short film of Brendon putting the shirt on me. And with each and every one of these maybe’s, the light casted a shade brighter upon Brendon’s heroic, knight-in-shining-armor role in my mind. It was through the thoughtfulness and care he had so lovingly placed upon me that made this all seem so fucked up. And as these thoughts piled up on each other, I began to think that I might have actually preferred waking up naked.

My stomach did a rollercoaster-like jolt forward, and I felt like I was going to puke. The fight or flight feeling was suddenly all-too unstably powerful, and I knew that my straining could only last for another minute or so before the contents of my stomach spilled from my mouth.

I carefully and strategically slipped out of the jumbled blankets and planted my feet softly on the hardwood ground. Of course this classy apartment complex would have loud hardwood floors and not soft, quiet carpet. It was only natural.

As soon as I saw that Brendon was still as unconscious as before, I darted out of the room, down the hall, in the bathroom, and to the toilet. (Gotta love those prepositions.)

I gagged my heart out, hopefully not literally, and flushed more than twice just to fill the frigid bowl once more with the smelly substance. I knew I was being loud with my constant heavy coughs, burps, and sputters, and I prayed that Brendon wouldn’t wake up. I didn’t want him to see me like this, and I sure as hell wanted a clean getaway.

Once my stomach was thoroughly vacant and my throat was as raw as sandpaper, I collapsed against the bathroom wall and wiped my mouth clean with toilet paper. Staring into space, I thought about the last time I threw up and wished I could go back to that simpler time. I then thought about the last time I watched someone else throw up, and then I remembered it was my mom because she was pregnant with a soon-to-be miscarriage.

And there, laying inbetween those pale indigo walls and sleek bathtub, dabbing that scanty tissue against my lips, was where it hit me….

“Oh my god. I’m pregnant.”

I was paralyzed with feelings and thoughts. Hysteria was seething in my very veins. My stomach lurched in a very uncomfortable manner. And I looked down and saw that damn gray, too-big, wonderfully scented t-shirt coating my frail upper body, and then my anger skyrocketed.

I clutched the cotton cloth into my clenched fingers and ripped the shirt up with fury striking in every muscle I owned. Seams tore as I pried the article of clothing off my head, and I screamed as I slammed the shirt down against the bathroom tile. I kicked and kicked at it and screamed in agony and anger, and I knew I was being dramatic for no real reason at all.

But I did have a reason! I was fucking pregnant! I was having morning sickness all because I had stupid Brendon Urie’s baby developing in my stomach! It wasn’t fair!

“It’s not fair!” I screeched because that line sounded like it fit the moment, and I kicked the ripped shirt again for good measure, and I punched the pale blue walls, and I screamed again, “It’s not fucking fair!!!”

And then I remembered feeling brawny, soothingly cold arms around me, but I didn’t open my tightly closed eyes. I was mad and upset, and I didn’t care who was holding me. I needed to be held, for crying out loud! Besides, their crisply brisk touch felt good against my suddenly sweltering skin.

“Emie! You’re okay!” cried a reassuring voice in my ear, and I let out a desperate wail in response.

“It’s…not…fair!” I yelled once more inbetween my uncontrollable sobs.

“I know,” replied the lenient voice. “I know, hunny. You’re okay. Everything is going to be fine.”

And soon I calmed down enough so that my piercing howls turned into soft hums and whimpers of misery. That’s when rationality and reality hit me again, and I horrifyingly realized that I was bare naked, holding some person like they were my own mother reassuring me that I would get a date to the Junior prom--that really all those boys were just too shy to ask me because I was so unapproachably pretty.

I dared to open my eyes, and my eyes widened at the sight of Trent--Brendon’s roommate and Evelia’s own big brother--whispering comforting words to me and embracing me like I were his younger sibling and not Evelia. It was weird and mixed up, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t glad that Trent was here to help pick up the broken pieces that ultimately made one screwed up puzzle in the end.

I decided that my drama queen moment needed to end before I could further embarrass myself (if that were possible in any universe), so I pulled away from clinging to Trent’s shoulder and said softly, “Thanks, Trent. I’m sorry you had to--uhm--see that. You’ve probably never experienced anything more awkward in your life.”

Trent scratched the back of his neck, refusing to look at anything but the floor. “Uhh…well, you would think. But with three little sisters--let’s just say that I’ve had my fair share of uncomfortable moments.”

I laughed lightly, but there was an odd air about it. It sounded almost like a sob to me. Realizing something, my face went pink and I shrieked, “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” I yanked a towel off the towel rack next to me and hurriedly wrapped it around my body. “I didn't even realize I was sitting here like that. Here we are, talking about awkward moments, and I’m practically pushing my way to the top of your list.”

Trent bellowed with laughter and finally met my eyes with vivid green ones--just like Evelia’s eyes. It was kind of scary looking into them.

When our laughter ran short, a tense silence settled in the air. I bit my lip and looked down at the floor while Trent continued to scratch his neck and stare into space.

“Look,” I finally began, “I appreciate you helping me just then, but can you please not mention any of what just happened to Brendon? I have a feeling that things could get even rockier than they already are if he hears that I had a breakdown in his bathroom.”

“Absolutely,” Trent agreed, nodding his head. “Mum’s the word.”

“Thanks.” I smiled at him before I got to my feet and began to walk to the door that led to the hallway.

“Where are you going?” Trent asked, confusion contorting his expression as he jumped to his own feet.

I wounded back to face him. “I--I have to go. I can’t stay here. Things happened that shouldn’t have, and I owe, like, a million people an explanation.”

“But what about Brendon?” Trent questioned, pointing in the direction of Brendon’s bedroom. “Do you want me to wake him? After two years of living with the guy, I’ve finally learned how to snap him out of sleep mode.”

I laughed nervously. “No thank you. Please don’t. I’ll--I’ll probably call him later or something.”

“Or something?” Trent raised an eyebrow. “If I’ve learned anything from having three little sisters, it’s that or something means the guy doesn’t have a chance.”

“Well I can’t talk to him!” I yelled, frustrated he could read me so well. “He was fucking drunk and he has a girlfriend, but I still slept with him anyways! What am I supposed to say? What if he doesn’t even remember what happened and I have to explain it to him? Don’t you see? I have to go. Now.”

I turned back, planning to run to Brendon’s room to grab my stuff and haul ass out of there, but then Trent said something that made me stop in my tracks.

“He loves you, Emie. He doesn’t love my sister. He loves you.”

I froze, turning slowly back around, and I knew my expression said it all because his expression said my expression said it all.

I shook my head, saying in monotone, “No he doesn’t. He doesn’t love me like you think he does. He’s told me he loves me like a sister. He loves Evelia, and if he doesn’t now, then he will in the future.” Even to me my words sounded heartbreaking.

Trent took a step forward, a triumphant, confident smirk on his face despite my denying, tragic statement. “No, he does love you more than a friend. How could you not see it? He was with Evelia only because he was trying to get over you. He liked my sister, sure, but nothing could compare to how he felt about you.”

“And he told you this, huh?” I raised an eyebrow, hands planting on my hips and my weight shifting to one leg.

I didn’t know why I was defending this so much. To have Brendon meant to have the world to me, so why was I refusing to believe that that world could ever be mine? Why was I arguing the fact that Brendon didn’t love me more than a friend?

At my query, Trent’s secure smirk sagged down a few centimeters, but a sure smile was right there to take its place nonetheless.

“Well, no, actually,” he admitted, looking down for a second before those emerald eyes shot up once more. “But that doesn’t mean anything! I know he does! Why else would he sleep with you twice? Why else would he attempt to commit suicide because you were ignoring him? Why else would he drink himself dry when he was forbidden to so much as speak to you?”

I winced during his speech a fair few times--at those dire memories where our worlds had been touched with the unfathomable darkness--and it became ever so clear to me that I didn’t want to go back to those times. I wouldn’t go back to those times…so why was I taking the first few steps leading to the darkness again?

“Look, I have to go,” I hoarsely spluttered out, turning and abruptly darting to Brendon’s bedroom as fast as my legs could carry me. Trent had already seen me breakdown once. He didn’t need to see it again.

Just before I sealed the wooden door closed, I dared to lift my gaze with the wooden floor and casted a weary, sad little smile at Trent. And just before the door’s frame touched the door itself, Trent managed to direct me a weary, sad little smile in return.

Blowing out an absorbed sigh, I wounded back around and immediately sunk to the ground, leaning against Brendon’s bedroom door for support as I put my hands over my face in frustration. I felt like I had lost my backbone in my desperate retreat to the bedroom where unspeakable acts had taken place. I was taking refuge in the exact spot where all the wrong had occurred. Ironic, wasn’t it?

I peeked through the cracks of my fingers to see that Brendon was still as unconscious as ever…and also just as naked as ever. But instead of an injurious stomach lurch or sudden beads of sweat to produce on my palms, the effect was something else entirely. I began to stare.

Brendon was lying against his stomach (thank god), and at that precise moment, the two great windows built into the east wall were illuminated, and sunlight began to pour into the alabaster bedroom. The bright rays beamed against Brendon’s alluringly pale skin--the skin of his smooth, unblemished back, the skin of his lean arms and legs, the skin of his neck where tiny red marks could barely be made out, the skin of that beautiful face….

Oh and his face.

Although his eyes were closed, they still brought an extraordinary amount of beauty with their round, spherical shape ending with dipping, lengthy lashes. His hair was tousled from his sleep--a hurricane of russet strands--and a dark, wavy lock had fallen to rest in his eyes. And then there were those lips--their ample, broad shape were pressed closed, but were highlighted pink due to the scruffy five o’clock shadow surrounding their plump nature. The bristles were like an army of stubs, protecting the fair, smooth skin of his cheeks underneath.

And before I knew it, I was on my feet, at his bedside, slipping carefully into the sheets. And before I knew it, I could feel Brendon’s warm body heat radiating onto me. And before I knew it, I was back to lying down with Brendon.

I continued to stare, mesmerized at how handsome the creature was. I say creature because he couldn’t be human. He was too beautiful for that term. He was perfect--no human was perfect.

“Oh!” I almost silently gasped when, suddenly, there was a deep auburn where the slivers of white skin had just been.

Brendon was awake.

Without a word, Brendon stared at me and slid his slender arms around my waist, pulling me so close that I could now smell his sweet breath as well as feel it waft back my hair. We were so close that our torsos touched with each heavy exhale we pushed out, and our breathing patterns cohered together as one.

And Brendon, being the ADHD freak he was, couldn’t remain still if it killed him, so he constantly adjusted his legs, gently kicking a random beat with his left foot against the mattress so that it lightly shook the bed. I think he fell back asleep because he closed his eyes again soon after he had grabbed me by my hips, and that’s when the unintentional kissing began.

When the bed shook, it rocked me and Brendon forward by the centimeter of space separating us. Brendon’s full, warm lips would press against mine for half of a second, sending an electric current to shock my entire body in a temporarily paralyzed state, and just like that--it was over.

And then a tiny sample of his taste teased my tastebuds during one of these unplanned kisses, and that’s when I knew I had absolutely no control anymore. I craved his taste, praying that this next kiss would bring me satisfaction when it really just increased my intense longing even more. I thought that I was being silly, silently dying inside for something as foolish as someone’s flavor, but this opinion was echoed as soon as it crossed my mind.

“You taste so good,” Brendon murmured softly just after another one of our inadvertent grazes.

He pulled me forward by the waist, causing every patch of his welcomingly warm skin to flatten against my own. I squinted my eyes to hold in the sound that was scratching at my throat to be yelped out, and I even clenched my fists to keep from doing something irrational like, I dunno, kissing him.

Then suddenly, far beyond my knowledge, Brendon was pressing his lips against mine--as intentionally as being unconscious allowed--while he fervently ran one of his hands through my hair as the other caressed my back in the most soothing manner. He slurred some nonsense as my lips pried apart, allowing his tongue to slither inside to run against my teeth and all over the rest of my mouth.

I wanted to stop the moment--pause it so I could collect my thoughts and better judgment. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so infatuated and focused on the wonderful intimate acts Brendon was playing against me--and maybe then I could push him off, gather my things, and then leave. That’s what I needed to do.

And as God’s gift to me, he gave me that strength to think for myself, retrieving that backbone I’d left twelve yards away in the hall.

I untangled my fingers from Brendon’s thicket of rich hair atop his head and slowly moved them down to his blazing hot chest, pushing myself away from his body. Brendon’s tongue was finally returning to his own mouth, and now his lips merely smacked sloppily against my own. So, strategically careful, I slowly shifted my weight to rest over him, but not enough to wake him up fully. Then, once he was lying on his back, I pressed my lips against his for a second or two for no particular reason at all, and then lifted my head so that my mouth was out of his reach.

And after that, I slipped off of him, pulled on my neglected outfit from last night, opened the door, took one last forlorn look at Brendon still fast asleep, and then left, leaving the past behind me again…and not for the last time, either.