s. faxon

The night belonged to Emily.

The trips and tumbles, the disappointed glances from her mother, none of that mattered now.

“Tonight is mine,” Emily whispered to her reflection as she dabbed on tan foundation. Though she’d given herself over an hour to prepare for her interview, Emily rushed through her tasks of getting ready, just in case anything should get in her way. With her luck, or lack of it, she couldn’t afford any risks.

While interviewing for a promotion at a nightclub she already worked at wouldn’t be a pin drop in the greater plan of her life, it was something. A light in what had otherwise been a long stretch of rough times. If nothing else, it was a potentially positive update to give her mother at her birthday brunch this Sunday. Emily couldn’t remember the last time she’d had something good to tell her mom about, so she swore to herself that this promotion was a step in the right direction.

Emily pulled a brush through her long, black hair, before drawing it back toward a loose bun. While her thin fingers negotiated the thick strands into her intended style, she repeated to her reflection, “I’m going to get promoted. I’m going to get promoted. I’m going to get promoted.”

Though her back was to her family photograph on the wall, Emily could feel her mother’s piercing gaze burn into her shoulders. That photo was supposed to be a snapshot of a happy occasion; her younger sister’s graduation from her university last summer, but all Emily could really recall of that afternoon, was her mother’s eyes driving a stake into her soul.

Emily’s hands stilled, holding her hair, suspended with the weight in her hands. 

She’d never really understood what her mom wanted from her and no matter what Emily did, her mother always seemed more impressed with her sister. She gulped and fought the urge to not glance at the whisper of a scar running down her left wrist. 

Emily finished her bun and grabbed the roll of bracelets and the thick watch band she wore on her left arm. She swiftly scooted the rows of tiny beads over the daily reminder of her mother’s longstanding disappointment in her.

I promise, Mom, someday, I’ll make you proud. She rolled her eyes at the thought. Like being a club manager would do anything to make a life-coach proud.

Turning her wrist back over, Emily checked the time.

“It’s five o-nine…” Her interview was scheduled for five forty-five, fifteen minutes before her regular shift began. Emily hoped it was a good sign for such a short amount of time to be budgeted for her appeal to be promoted. She pursed her full lips before saying to herself, “Shouldn’t take me more than a half hour to get there and get parking. Okay. Time to go. You’ve got this.”

Emily snatched her keys, tucked her wallet in her pocket, and ran for the front door of her apartment. But before her shoes pounded down the creaky wooden stairs, her right arm latched onto the doorway leading to her living room. 

Emily took two slow steps back to peer across the small space with an eclectic collection of chipped second-hand furniture.

Jordan’s door’s still closed?

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her friend and roommate. The occasional glow of his bedroom’s light from beneath his closed door had been the only indication in the last few weeks that he was still among the living. 

Emily bit her lower lip.

I really should see if he’s alright. I haven’t seen him in forever.

Emily took another slow step back. Rotating the keys in her hand, she contemplated what to do.

It’d been two months since the funeral. The bite it’d taken out of Jordan had been beyond what she or her sister, their other roommate, could have anticipated. Jordan’d always been the life of the party, the smile that lit up the entire room. But losing his hero right before Christmas had been a blow to his very soul.

No one our age expects to lose anyone, not like that.

Emily had helped Jordan and his mother every day during those dark hours, but when the dust settled, the ceremonies ended, and all the frozen casseroles people brought were consumed, Jordan withdrew into the shadows of his room.

Between his schedule and mine, I never see him anymore. God, I hope he’s ok.

Emily rolled a step toward the stairs once more, but caught herself yet again, her upper body jerking back.

She scurried into their tiny, square kitchen, ripped a paper towel, and snatched the marker from the whiteboard where the roommates kept track of their combined bills. She held the napkin flat on the counter as she scribbled her message.

After slapping the marker’s magnet back to its whiteboard, Emily rushed across the living room and to Jordan’s door. Though she felt like she was being childish, she shoved the message that said, “I love you!” under his door.

While running down the loud, tight stairway, Emily glanced at the watch on her scarred wrist. 

Ok, this is fine. I have time. I’m going to make it.

~*~*~

Traffic downtown had been abysmal and finding parking on the bustling streets of America’s finest city nearly impossible.

Though her black Vans had pounded the concrete towards Hypnotic’s back employee entrance, the watch on her wrist struck six a second before she reached the door.