This shift feels as if it’s dragged on for centuries, but finally I’m in the home stretch: there’s a mere forty minutes left until I’m gone, and there isn’t a customer in sight. Kay’s in the back catching up on some beauty sleep, so I’ve been handling the register for a while. I’m bored to tears, though. We only have Cosmo and some ancient issues of People around, and I can only look at glitzy outfits and haute-couture makeup for so long. In my boredom, I almost miss the sound of the little bell above our front door jingling– thank the Lord, someone’s stepped into this ghost town. I keep glancing through the glossy pages of People, and it’s not until I realize that the someone is standing impatiently right in front of me that I look up, and feel betrayed.
It’s not a customer, it’s just Em, who appears to have forgotten to change out of the star-spattered sweatpants and tshirt she wears to sleep. Like Morgue, her makeup’s just not up to par today, and there are slight bags under her eyes. It would be an understatement to say she looks more comedically tragic than a four-way car crash.
“Foss, I have to talk to you.” Oh, so we’re back to nicknames now, are we?
“Okay.”
She sighs, and struggles to keep her eyes level with mine. “How...um, how are you?”
“Fine...? You?”
Em shrugs in response, and I take that to mean she’s been feeling as horrible about things as I probably should be. “I understand why you did what you did,” She says suddenly, pretending to sound calm but the act’s falling flat because her voice is shaking terribly like white kids at a rap concert.
“Em, I didn’t sleep with Morgue. I didn’t.”
“Then why did you stay the night with him, when you knew he was drunk and he wasn’t in control of what he was doing? Why did you do that?” Her eyes burn in accusation as she stares unrelentingly, and I’m fearing my face is going to develop skin cancer much sooner than I had expected.
“He asked me to...and all we did was just fall asleep in the same bed. Swear to God,” I add quickly. “Nothing happened.”
Her glare dulls, but she still looks doubtful, and dangerously so. “You can sing that tune all you want, but I know something went on. Morgue even told me.”
I let out a breath in exasperation and cloak my face with one hand. “He wanted something to happen..and I guess he thought I did, too. But I didn’t. He looked really crushed and I was just trying to help him out. I’m sorry if helping a friend through hard times is now punishable by law.”
Em looks away and purses her lips, like she’s still angry as anything, but I can tell that she’s beginning to believe– her shoulders aren’t as tense anymore. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
“You don’t. And I’m not going to bother proving this to you. If you don’t want to believe me, don’t. But I just want to say one thing.” I slowly mold my left hand to the base of Em’s chin, and tilt her head slightly so we’re eye-to-eye. “I love you, Emma. More than anything. Even if there was a fraction of a chance that Morgue and me could’ve done something last night, I wouldn’t have done it. Because you are the only one for me. I love Morgue like a brother, but if I had to pick between you and him...well, just guess who I’d choose.”
A flutter of a smile appears on her lips for a second or two, and she looks away. “Morgue?”
I roll my eyes, and another smile finally secures its place on Em’s face.
“Alright,” She says, with not the slightest hint of disbelief. “I get it. You’d choose me because you love me. I’m just so relieved now...I couldn’t stop thinking this whole day that my best friend and my boyfriend were doing stuff behind my back.”
“This isn’t a fucking soap opera, Em. Things don’t get that crazy and complicated in real life.”
“They could, though. I’ve seen it happen loads of times.”
I grin. “Well, maybe so. But if it does happen, it’s definitely not going to be between that best friend and this boyfriend.” Moved by our exchange, I lean over the counter and kiss Emma for what I’m expecting is just a small peck– but she wraps her arms around my neck and presses her chest against mine and wow, is it hot in here or what?
I can’t even think for the next few minutes, except to worry if I’m doing this whole making-out thing right and if maybe I should get away from the counter so the experience proves itself somewhat less awkward and uncomfortable. My back’s being twisted and extended in ways I never thought possible, and I’m finding myself analyzing whether the piece of bread stuck between Em’s molars is from breakfast or lunch. Eventually she pulls away from me, looking as flushed as I am, and we wheeze for a few moments.
“Where’s Morgue?,” She questions once her heartrate’s measurably decelerated.
“I dunno. We had a fight, because he thought I wanted to fuck or something last night, and I just screamed all this shit at him about you know, how he shouldn’t be liking me, and how I thought it was weird he’s gay,” Em looks shocked. “–which isn’t true, but I was just pissed, you know? So then I think he got a call from his boyfriend, so he just stormed off. He wasn’t even supposed to work today anyway, he just called in because I guess he didn’t want to think about me.”
She nods, but stays quiet.
“He...he told you he liked me, didn’t he?” It’s a random question, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about since Saturday. “When did he tell you?”
“Um...well, I think in like sixth grade or something,” Em admits in a sheepish sort of tone.
“...what? He’s liked me that long?”
“Yeah. He’s known since forever...which is why he couldn’t tell you he was gay until high school. He didn’t know how you’d take it...or if he’d be able to tell you without also by accident mentioning he liked you. You’re really the reason he knew he was gay.”
Woah, woah, wait. I stare at her, at a loss for words. I was the reason he knew he was gay? Me? I mean, God, in sixth grade I had braces and a frizzy, failed attempt at an afro. I always assumed Morgue’s first crush had been...well, actually, I had never thought about Morgue’s first crush. Or Morgue’s first anything, for that matter. I guess I’m still slightly uncomfortable with the thought that he likes men.
“And,” Em continues, “That’s why he’s dated so many guys. He’s always trying to find someone who can make him forget about you. And I think he’s found that guy in Shane,” She ends softly. “He really likes him.”
I nod, still numbed by what I had heard. “Yeah...he seems like a nice enough guy.”
She give me a confused glance. “You were ready to kill Morgue over the fact that they were dating before. Why the change of heart?”
“I dunno. I guess he just...seems sort of like the wrong kind of guy. He gives off a bad vibe. But if he makes Morgue happy, then it’s fine with me.”
“Actually, I sort of thought so too. I mean, he’s never been arrested or anything, but he just didn’t seem right. You said he called before?”
“Yeah, he called Morgue to come over or something at like one. Weird, I can’t believe he’s been at Shane’s house for five hours.” I furrow my brows. “You don’t think something’s wrong, do you?”
“No,” She says unconvincingly. “He would’ve called, wouldn’t he?”
“Yeah...oh shit.” I reach frantically into my pockets, to Em’s dismay.
“What’s wrong?”
“I forgot, I’ve had my phone off for hours...” Just as I feared, the little screen informed me I had three missed calls– all from Morgue. “He did call, three times...Jesus, I hope he’s alright.”
“I’m sure it is.” Contradictory to her remark, she’s already pressing her hot pink Razor to her ear. Her eyes dilate as she shuts the phone. “He’s not answering...it’s going straight to voicemail.”
I place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze. “Chill, Em. Maybe he’s busy...you know, having some alone time with Shane. How would you feel if you and I were doing stuff and Morgue kept calling?”
“But didn’t you say he called three times? Why would he do that if he was having some ‘alone time’?” She’s almost screeching at this point, and there’s so much hysteria in her voice that this feels like a Godzilla flick. “What if he’s in trouble?!”
“We’ll call back in a half hour, okay? I’m sure that Morgue’s going to just be pissed that we’re interrupting him, anyway.” I’m actually getting a little nervous, now that I think about it, but if both of us start getting panicky God knows what we’ll do next. “If Morgue trusts Shane– and he obviously does– we should, too.”
Great job again, Sneh!
It's really amazing how you are doing this. I mean, really, there is actually not toooo much happening here, but still it is so much fun to read, I just like these little crazy comparisons like "It would be an understatement to say she looks more comedically tragic than a four-way car crash". To be honest, I found Em and Derek to be a bit "over-worried" at the end of the story... but we'll see how the story proceeds. Just continue like this, Sneh!
...
Haha, I thought this was funny, "She sighs, and struggles to keep her eyes level with mine. 'How...um, how are you?'"
I love your similes and metaphors; they're always so different, and they help me get the picture. I didn't feel like reading inside this genre today (romance, drama), but I did it just to read your tweaked up word gluing. Ahh, I am satisfied, yet again!
Short Stories 
