4. Chapter 4
“Poppy! We weren’t sure you were coming!” Shay exclaimed as she opened the door and pulled me into her arms.
I was still pissed at Jordan and hadn’t been replying to their texts.
Honestly, I hadn’t planned on showing up until I looked up from my pity party on the couch and noticed the time.
Going to Jordan’s gaming nights was second nature, so I didn’t fight it when my body went into autopilot, and I dragged my ass to his apartment.
“I couldn’t miss this.” I wiggled out of Shay’s grasp.
She gingerly touched my shoulder. “I’m glad. We were worried about you.” Her voice was sweet and soothing like honey.
“Nothing to worry about. I’m here.” I forced a grin.
With her hand still on my shoulder, she guided me inside.
At first, their high-rise apartment impressed me.
Years later, everything about it screamed phony.
I knew they had issues with the plumbing and the heating.
Both of which were hell to deal with in winter.
But the floor to ceiling windows had an amazing view of the city and that was worth it, or so Jordan claimed.
A handful of the couple’s friends mulled about.
I hadn’t really gotten to know anyone in the years I’d been coming to these gaming nights.
My self-loathing got in the way and after a while, so much time had passed the idea of asking names after spending two Sundays a month with these people was just too fucking awkward.
“Honey! Poppy came!” Shay shouted.
I winced as everyone turned to look in my direction. Jordan stuck his head out from the kitchen and grinned at me.
“Hey, Poppy! Can you come help me with some of this food?”
I stepped into the kitchen to find him adding veggies to a tray.
Jordan glanced over his shoulder at me. “Hey. I’d hug you, but my hands are covered in crap.” He held his hummus-covered fingers in the air.
“You should get that looked at.” I reached around him and grabbed a slice of cucumber.
“Hey! You’re fucking up the balance!”
“Oh, the balance of the veggie tray. Whatever shall we do? Shut up!” I rolled my eyes and bit into the crunchy coolness of the cucumber.
Our banter was back. In a matter of moments, our friendship was mended. Jordan never really apologized for anything. That was just the way he worked. It was for the best, really. I popped the rest of the cucumber into my mouth.
Sometimes an apology would be nice…
“…So, what’s the game for tonight?” I asked.
“No game tonight.”
“What?” I leaned against the fridge, disturbing their fridge magnets.
“I didn’t think you were coming, so we didn’t have enough people to play Mystic of Eternity.”
Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Jordan was my best friend, but I didn’t have the nerve to tell him I’d rather put glass in my eyes than keep being a guinea pig for his RPGs.
More often than not, Jordan’s games were slow moving and too detailed.
But we all kept showing up every other week, so my opinion was clearly in the minority.
“What are we doing, then?” I rearranged the alphabet letters on the fridge to spell out “dick.”
“Classic movie night.”
“Oooo! What are we watching?”
“Wrath of Khan.”
I groaned. “I hate Star Wars!”
Jordan whipped his head towards me with a quickness. But before I could receive his death glare, I grabbed a tray of cookies and carried it to the living room.
I made myself comfortable on an overpriced beanbag near the couch.
For a couple that enjoyed having company over, they lacked appropriate seating.
While Jordan and one of his friends messed with the projection screen, Shay leaned over the edge of the couch and kissed me on the cheek.
I tilted my head to the side and grinned at her.
She was a goddess, and for all her caring, kindness, and friendship, I still found myself pricked by occasional pangs of jealousy.
My friends had their lives together. I did not.
Ugh.
I forced too many cookies into my mouth and scowled through the 80s’ first stab at Star Trek.
My brain glazed over while Shatner munched the hell out of the scenery.
The saving grace was Ricardo Montalbán being amazing as Khan.
As the two men hurled through space toward their inevitable clash, I couldn’t help but admire Khan’s persistence in the pursuit of revenge.
Kirk totally deserved it.
I shifted on the beanbag as Kirk screamed his famous line. They weren’t face to face. The game was mental. Khan had worn Kirk down.
At that moment, something clicked. I needed persistence. I needed to work some mental sci-fi moves on Summoner to convince him to agree to an interview. I didn’t have much of a plan. But I had bits and pieces and honestly, that’s where all plans started.
Right?
***
The bench across the street from Summoner’s apartment building became my new base of operations.
I bypassed Muffin Monday and bundled up in my warmest clothes: t wo pairs of socks, leggings under my jeans, my heaviest coat, and plopped my ass down on the chipped wood bench across the street from the entrance to Summoner’s building.
For the most part, I stayed put, but when I needed a bathroom break, I took a short walk around the corner to a tiny family-owned deli.
I sipped coffee from my insulated mug and hacked away at my listicles from my tablet.
The doorman and I exchanged tentative smiles as he ushered people in and out of the building throughout the day.
I wasn’t sure what he thought of me sitting there at my post like a relic of a forgotten war, but he seemed amused enough not to call the cops, so it was a win!
Can’t be going crazy if I already was crazy!
If I was honest, this bullhead determination was shades of hypomania.
I knew that. The balance of my mental health had always been this delicate thing I was never great at managing.
The grip of an unending sadness kept me trapped, like a ship lost in turbulent waters.
Currently, things had gone a bit off the rails.
Acknowledgement pushed uncomfortable cramps of warmth through my stomach.
I had an obtainable goal within reach, so I had no problem ignoring these blaring warning signs.
Interviewing Summoner was the key to everything changing for the better in my life.
I could differentiate myself from the mass of other content writers.
I could write about things that actually had meaning and importance.
I could make money that reflected the value of the words I wrote.
I could support myself. I wouldn’t need any outside help.
A domino effect. I was determined to see things through to the end, no matter the cost.
I need this!
At 5pm, I packed myself up and headed home, just to wake up and do it again the next day.
I worked my way through Summoner’s discography in my headphones.
I treated my amateur (and technically illegal) stalking like a day job because it was equivalent to one.
After another cautious smile from the nameless doorman, I looked up what held up as stalking in a court of law.
I grimaced at the results. However icky that made me feel, though, my selfish interests outweighed it.
Poppy: Not coming in today
Jordan: Why?
Poppy: Another appointment :(
Jordan: Lameeee
I stuffed my phone into my pocket. It was Wednesday morning, and I walked in the opposite direction of the Popbyte office.
As day three dawned, my hopes of interviewing Summoner were starting to fade.
I hadn’t seen him leave his building. I sighed and flopped down on the bench.
I wasn’t sure how long I could keep this up.
Maybe Jordan was right. Maybe I was losing it.
I looked up from my listicle, “Eight classic rock songs for every personality.” The doorman held the door open for a couple.
The pair braced themselves against the cold and shuffled down the stairs.
Doorman raised his eyebrows at me. Confused, I waved.
Which I instantly regretted because it probably made me look even more crazy, if such a feat was even possible.
Shaking his head, the doorman headed back inside.
At that moment, little white flurries fluttered down from the heavens.
Shit fucking shit fuck!
I gnawed the hell out of my bottom lip and sank deeper into my coat. I needed to make it through today. At 5 o’clock, I could give up and retreat home with my tail between my legs like the failure I was. My persistence wasn’t paying off.
Sorry to disappoint you, Khan.
I wanted to kick my own ass for not checking the weather when I woke up.
I should have added more leggings. The wind picked up, and those little flurries turned into a haze of whiteness.
Looking at my tablet screen became impossible.
I groaned a death keel of defeat and put my tablet into my bag.
I shoved my tingling hands into my coat pockets and sighed.
The weather had me beat in the temperamental department.
One moment, the snow was blinding, and the next it was serene, like a Hallmark movie.
I pulled my arms into my coat sleeves and hugged myself.
It didn’t stop my shivering or the chattering of my teeth.
I craned my neck to see the doorman conversing with a man at the entryway of the building.
My throat tightened as the doorman pointed directly at me.
A heavyset figure emerged from inside, pulling his leather coat tightly around him as he braved the cold.
My palms began to sweat, and I fought back the urge to vomit.
He strode purposefully across the street toward me, his footsteps crunching deafening on the icy pavement.
Maybe he’s not here for me? Maybe he just likes a good bench?
Deep down, I knew that was stupid, fucking wishful thinking.
The man stepped over the curb and came to a halt right in front of where I sat.
Fear coursed through my body, making me shiver more than the cold ever could.
I couldn’t tell if the tingling sensation was from hypothermia setting in or from the man’s intense gaze drilling into me.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally mustered up the courage to meet his eyes.
His expression was cold and unreadable as he looked down upon me.
He commanded in a stern tone that brooked no argument.
“Come with me.”