Flipping Coins

Sunlight was my best buddy. I know that there are bucket-loads of people that hate waking up to the blinding beams that star gives off, but I could bathe in it. There was nothing I loved more than to blink my eyes open for the first time in the morning and feel the thermal Sun rays shower over my face.

That morning was no different.

Before I even opened my eyes, I could see the streams of bright light reflecting off of my closed eyelids. I smiled in my half-asleep state, savoring the blazing beams flushing against the skin of my face. I was blissfully happy, until reality kicked back in, and my nose detected the smoky scent of something burning.

Punting back the wooly quilt that had been enveloping my body, I hurdled to my feet and darted throughout the recognizable house, toward the source of the roasting aroma.

When I shuffled to a stop in the kitchen, I began to sputter out coughs from the strong stench of smoke, and my eyes watered up from the dusky, polluted air. My hands found the outlet that was attached to the source of burning: a toaster.

I began to tug until the wire was unhooked. Then, my hands searched until I found the bridge of a windowsill. I wrenched open the window and swayed my arms towards the outdoors, trying to force the smog out of the kitchen’s atmosphere.

Once I could inhale without hacking violently, I turned to find Ryan grinning widely while clapping his massive hands together for my performance.

I grinned and curtsied. “I’ve had my share of experience.”

Ryan sheepishly smiled, placing his gigantic hands together into one big fist and popping his fingers. “Sorry about that. I knew I should have just ordered out breakfast, but I ignored my instincts.”

“Oh, my dear Ryry,” I shook my head, walking to Ryan and padding his shoulder sympathetically. “When will you learn that some people just aren’t born with any sort of luck in the kitchen?”

“The day I watch the Food Network and understand it, I’ll call you,” Ryan smiled, padding my own shoulder with a promise.

I laughed and turned back to the kitchen. “So, would you like me to make you something the right way?”

Ryan frowned and answered with an aggravated voice, “No, it’s too late now. I’ve got to go down the radio station. The band needs to promote our new album by playing a few songs for K.M.R radio, and I was volunteered to be the one who goes to play the gig because everyone else has plans.”

There was something odd about his tone. It seemed a bit stern. Like there was more to his annoyance then having to do work instead of hanging out with me. There was something else hidden behind his aggravation.

Choosing to ignore my observation, I wounded back to Ryan and said, “Well, in that case, I better get going to my own home.”

“You don’t have to go, it won’t take more than an hour or so,” Ryan explained, hopefulness seaming through his honey-brown eyes.

I scratched my head and nodded sadly. “Yeah, I really should. I have some errands I need to take care of. Maybe we can have dinner or a Lord of the Rings mini-party or something tonight.”

Ryan smiled. “As long as I get to be the sexy dark wizard, I’m all for it.”

“Deal,” I replied, backing towards the front door of Ryan’s house. After slipping on my shoes and thin jacket, I waved bye to Ryan and exited his house.

Ryan lived right inbetween the city and suburbs, so it was always easy to haul a cab. But I didn’t feel like being stuck inside a confined automobile that smelled of car gas and Ritz crackers today. It was nice outside, so why waste it somewhere I didn’t want to be?

There was a light breeze in the Vegas atmosphere, evening out the scorching Sun beaming in the sky. I tucked my hands into my hoodie’s pockets, letting the cool wind refresh the hot back of my neck.

The scenery changed dramatically within ¼ a mile of walking. The nice, bricked houses transformed into glass windows offering various products up for sale. The green grass morphed into blackened neon signs that meant to lure in customers. Laughing children turned into lampposts that were turned off until the night would fall.

More and more people brushed past me, and soon the idea of elbow-space became the unthinkable. I knew exactly where I was going, though. I didn’t even have to think about it, really. It was like a second nature to me. My legs were already mechanically programmed to take me to my destination.

I lived in Vegas for all of my life. It was all I knew. Living in the outskirts past this lively city just seemed strange and foreign to me. It was hard to picture how it would be if I were to live in New York or Seattle or Paris or some other place besides this city in the middle of the desert. Truthfully, my heart was in Vegas.

I pondered over these thoughts along my brief journey, suddenly finding myself trudging up the stairs to my apartment building. Don’t ask why I don’t prefer the elevator over the stairs. It’s a long story involving an Elvis-look-alike, some Elmo slippers, and one hell of a bruise.

I lazily bent over and snatched up the spare key I kept underneath my 'Wipe Your Paws' carpet. I had yet to find a less obvious place to hide my spare key.

Once inside my exceptionally clean apartment, I sighed and, out of routine, walked over to my home phone’s holder. Pressing one index finger down on the Messages button, I perked my ears up for any messages I might have.

Immediately, a robotic male voice responded to my touch, “You have six unheard messages.”

Six? I had gotten so used to hearing ‘you have no unheard messages’ that it absolutely astounded me to have that many messages all at one time. Everyone who knows me should know better than to call my house phone and expect me to answer. That was like expecting Johnny Depp to play a normal male role in a film. It just wasn’t gonna happen.

I pushed aside my shock and plumped onto one of my loveseats, listening to my messages attentively.

“Message one: ‘Hey, Ems--uh--Emie. This is Jon. Just calling to see how you were doing. You want to get breakfast or something? Call me back, ok? Bye.’”

Jon? Jon never calls. He is a strict text-man. What was going on here? Something was most definitely not right.

I shook off the fishy feeling as Grey’s voice filled my vacant apartment.

“Message two: ‘Emie! How is my favorite sister?” I made a face at that. “Anyways, sis, just checking in. Hey, a couple of us are going to IHOP for some breakfast, wanna come with? It’s just me, Jon, Dan, Spence, and Gretel. Call me if you decide to come. Ok, love you! Bye!’”

Something was definitely up. I had confirmed that much already. First of all, Grey’s relationship with me has always been more friends than siblings. We never ever referred to each other as ‘brother’ or ‘sister’. Secondly, Grey never gave me more details than necessary, so the fact that he gave me all of the names of the people who were going was more evidence. And lastly, since when is Grey capable of ‘love’?

I listened to the next three messages, more confusion and suspicion piling up with each one. Spencer and my mom held similar attitudes as Grey and Jon, overly polite and almost even sympathetic. The fifth message was from Ryan, confirming our dinner plans, who seemed to be the only one who was acting semi-normal.

By the end of Ryan’s message, I had a whole list of wild theories in my head.

I was just thinking to myself that I should call Brendon because he would know what was up, and he would tell me without hesitation, when the last message came.

“Message six….”

There was dead silence from my machine’s speakers for at least half a minute.

I thought that maybe someone had just forgotten to hang up. I started to get up to turn off the machine when Brendon’s voice came.

“Emie, this is---um---Brendon.” His voice sounded so morbid and hoarse, like he had been crying. I froze in place, instantly scared of the reason he had called. Had something happened to his family? To our friends? Surely not to him…?

Before I could cook up more assumptions, he continued, “Listen, about last night---“

Last night? What had happened last night?

Last night….

It hit me with 1,000+ forces. Last night. How could I have forgotten last night?

My eyes began to swim with tears at just the reflection of the previous day’s events. The harsh words that were spoken. The emendable wound Brendon had carved within my fragile heart.

My fingers began to shake with the millions of emotions I had managed to shield from my memory thus far. Rage, dejection, bitterness, hurt, panic…none of them felt good. I tried to calm myself down by breathing in huge gulps of air and exhaling intensely.

Despite my vast downfall of mood, I continued to listen to Brendon’s blatant words.

“…Emie, I---you---God! Can we please just talk? This is impossible to do over the phone. If you're there and just aren’t answering, please talk to me. Give me five minutes, Emie. I swear you won’t regret it. If you truly aren’t there, and you get this message, then I will be waiting at the Starbucks across the street from your house. I’ll be there all day if that’s what it takes.”

My prideful side screamed rejection while a less honorable part of me wanted to jump out of my window and run into Brendon’s arms with acceptance. As of that moment, though, my pride seemed to dominant my decision.

Then he said it.

“Em, don’t ignore me again. Please. I don’t think I can handle it this time. Right now, I feel the worst I’ve almost ever felt. If you take me out of your life again, I have a feeling I’ll take the path I went down earlier. If you don’t go today, I’ll take that to mean you don’t want me in your life anymore. I’ll get it, and I’ll never bother you again. I’ll be waiting for you---“

That was all it took. I didn’t care about all the serious damage Brendon had done to me, and I honestly didn’t give a shit about my pride anymore. I needed to see Brendon. I refused to let him attempt to commit suicide again.

He would definitely be the death of me if the bullet were to make to his heart this time.

Without a second glance back, I jogged out the door of my apartment. I was out of the building before the machine was able to say ‘no more messages’.