48 Hour Short Story Contest

Conner watched the flicker of the flame. It swayed and danced in the late-night breeze, casting shadows where it fell. He raised the lighter toward his face, touching the hand-held fire to paper and igniting the cigarette between his lips. Removing his thumb from the latch, he extinguished the device and dropped it into the pocket of his Dockers.

He took a deep breath, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling again. Closing his eyes, he put the phone back to his ear. “Are you calm enough to talk now?”

Andrea hiccupped in his ear, and then sniffled. “I-I think so.”

“What did Kyle do this time?”

“I-he-” Her shaky breath echoed across the line. “What makes you think this is about him?”

Eyes rolling toward the sky, he leaned back against his sliding glass door and took another drag off his cigarette. “Give me a break, Dre. What else would it be about?”

The tears vanished from her voice. “Maybe my apartment got robbed, or I lost my job, or something really serious. You don’t know.”

“Let’s see. You’re a freelance photographer, so you didn’t lose your job. Did your apartment get robbed?”

“Well, no. But it could have happened. I’m just saying you don’t know.” Righteous indignation crept into her tone. “If you don’t care, then how are things going with your pseudo girlfriend? What’s her name, Mercedes?”

“Lexi. And she’s just a friend.”

“Yeah.” Her laugh ate at him. “I never thought I’d see the day you couldn’t get the girl.”

A knock on his front door filtered out to the balcony, drawing a smile at the excuse to end the call and making him grateful she couldn’t see his expression. “Listen, someone’s here, I’ve got to go. Let Kyle sleep off the booze, show up at his door in the morning in something sexy but casual, and he’ll grovel at your feet for whatever drunken slight has incurred your wrath this time.”

“But-Wait. Who’s visiting you at eleven thirty at night?”

If I’m lucky, it’s not Kyle. “Oh, and if he’s in jail, tell him to call me when he makes bail.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “Bye.”

He felt bad about giving his best friends the brush-off. But I wouldn’t have to if the two of them would stop using me as the messenger for their repetitive squabbles. Snapping his phone shut, he snubbed out his smoke in the ashtray. He moved to answer the door, white socks shuffling against blue carpet.

Setting his phone on the glass and metal stand by the entrance, he twisted the doorknob to greet his visitor. He couldn’t help himself, his gaze lingered on the individual leaning against his doorframe. His eyes traced over white knee-highs to a red-plaid skirt and white shirt with only three buttons done up before landing on a face framed by a pair of long, black pigtails. “Lexi?”

A smile tugged at the corners of her pink lips. “Hey you. This isn’t a bad time, is it?”

The stifling scent of liquor greeted him with her breathy question, and he suppressed a cringe. “No, come on in.”

“Okay. If you insist.” She tried to straighten up, and stumbled into the living room.

He winced when her canvas sneakers hit the carpet, but didn’t think asking her to take them off would be a good idea given her current problems staying upright. Rushing forward, he grabbed her arm before she tripped over the coffee table. He steered her toward the tan couch. “Had much to drink tonight?”

She flopped down with a giggle, air escaping from the cushions and ruffling her bangs. Holding up her thumb and forefinger an inch apart, she squinted through them. “Just a little.”

The outfit still had his thoughts racing in more ways than one as he sat next to her, trying to be subtle about tugging down her skirt. “At work?”

Her brows knit together, and her lower lip protruded. “Yes. They made me go home early, can you believe it? I was making good tips too.”

“A drunk off her ass stripper dressed like a school girl making good tips. Imagine that.” Conner sighed. “So you came here?”

She giggled and rested her head against his shoulder. “I gave the cab driver your address instead of mine. No one else cared what happened, but I knew you would.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, letting stars dance in front of them. I can’t believe I’m starting to wish I’d kept Dre on the line. I wonder if I would be thrilled or confounded if she threw herself at me right now. He looked again when he felt the couch shift.

Lexi had moved to lay on her back, head resting on his leg, blue eyes peering up at him. She bent her legs at the knees, sending her skirt sliding down again. “Are you okay?”

He forced a smile. “I’m fine. What happened?”

“My sister.”

“You have a sister?”

She tried to nod from her prone position and held her purse up in the air with both hands. “Her picture’s in the front pocket if you wanna look.”

Taking the black clutch from her, he pulled a photograph out. “This is a picture of you, with short hair.”

She giggled and plucked it from between his fingers. “She’s my twin. Are you one of those guys who has those twisted twin fantasies?”

Memories of ex-girlfriends with telepathy flashed through his mind, but he discarded the possibility. He decided avoiding the question was his best option. “So what happened with your sister?”

“She’s a chipmunk.” Lexi reached up and grabbed her purse back, jerking into a sitting position and wobbling for a minute before he placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

He realized he didn’t have a comeback for that, though he wracked his brain for one. "I'm sorry?"

The weak response didn’t seem to bother her as she dug through her purse. Pulling a piece of paper out, she twisted to face him, waving it in the air. “She wrote me a letter, gloating. She’s coming to New York and wants to stay with me.”

The pieces started to come together, but he knew he didn’t have nearly enough of them yet to make an entire picture. Having a fair level of experience with Kyle’s drunken logic, he decided to take a stab in the dark. “She’s coming here because she’s a chipmunk?”

She nodded, hair flying up and down with the violent gesture. “Exactly. And not just any chipmunk. She’s Alvin.”

A few more pieces of the puzzle clicked. “She’s going to be on Broadway?”

A scowl marred her face. “Yes. Stupid bitch. And her letter went on and on about how wonderful the director is, and how sexy Dave is, and how it was too bad I never did anything useful with my life.”

Images of Alvin the Chipmunk flirting with Dave mutilated the aforementioned twin fantasy, scrambling his thought-waves and making him flinch. He realized she wasn’t paying attention though as she pushed to her feet.

She wobbled for a minute before steadying herself and moving toward the kitchen, rambling the whole way. “You have scissors, right? I bet you keep them in here. You have all sorts of nifty cooking stuff in here. Do you cook?”

“All the time.” He scrambled after her, stopping short when he banged his knee on the coffee table. A string of profanities struggled to get out, but he held them back. He limped after her. “Why do you want scissors?”

Setting her letter on the counter, she took a pair of kitchen shears from a wooden block and held up a pigtail to examine it. “I’m going to cut my hair.”

He lunged for her, growling when she stepped back and almost tripped. Taking a tentative step forward instead, he held out his hand. “You don’t want to cut your hair, Lex.”

“I do.” She paused, studying him. “But you like my hair long, don’t you?”

Drawing within arm’s reach, he snatched the offending tool from her. He decided honestly was the best approach given her current state. “Yes. I think it’s very attractive.”

“Attractive.” She giggled. “Not pretty, or cute, or sexy. Attractive. You’re always so proper.” Stepping forward, she slid her hands into his front pockets.

A silent mantra repeated in his head when she pulled herself closer. She’s drunk, it doesn't mean anything. Don’t react.

“You’re silly.” Her whisper brushed his ear before she pulled away with a jerk, his lighter held between her fingertips. “And predictable.” She stepped back and grabbed her letter. Thumb fumbling with the switch, she finally got a spark.

The sight of the flame made him cringe. “Please don’t burn my apartment down.”

“I won’t, silly.” She touched the orange glow to the edge of the letter and held it over the sink. “Because Mister Metro has stainless steel covering his entire kitchen.” She dropped the paper, eyes fixed on the flames licking at the edges as they curled and burned.

“Feel better now?” He grabbed the lighter back and set it on top of the fridge.

Her chin quivered. “No. I lit my sister’s letter on fire. It’s not her fault she’s better than me.”

The tears forming in her eyes tugged at him. “She’s not better than you.”

She sniffled. “You have to say that. You’re trying to get down my pants.”

Deciding to try humor to bring her back to a happier extreme, he flashed her a crooked smile. “You’re not wearing pants.”

It had the opposite affect he was hoping for. Her sniffle turned to a hiccup and then the tears streamed down her face. “I-I can’t believe what-what a screw up I am.” She managed between sobs. “I earn a living taking my clothes off and my sister’s got a real job. She’s someone.”

He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her in and not caring that her tears soaked through his Oxford. “I thought you liked dancing.”

She took a shuddering breath. “I do. But she says it’s stupid.”

“She’s jealous.”

Her gaze turned up, red-rimmed blue searching his face. “Why would she be jealous of me?”

“Because you’re good at what you do, you enjoy it, and you look super sexy doing it. She’s just a chipmunk. Do you remember how much that cartoon sucked?”

A smile formed through the tears and she wrapped her arms around his neck, hiding her face in his chest again. “Are you this good to all your friends?”

The question summoned a twinge of guilt at his earlier irritation with Andrea. “I try to be.”

“I think I need to lie down. Are you coming with me?” She stepped back and grabbed his hand in hers.

“Tell you what, I’ll tuck you in.” He maneuvered her toward the guest bedroom.

She stumbled a few times on invisible lumps in the carpet before making it to the twin bed. Flopping back on the beige comforter, she stuck her feet up in the air. “Take my shoes off?”

He sat next to her, pulling her legs back down and removing the sneakers. “Are you going to be okay?”

Her sad expression returned, tinged with a smile. “I think so.”

“Get some sleep.” He stood to leave.

“Wait.” She grabbed his wrist. “I have to tell you something.”

I don’t know if I can handle much more of this hot and cold. “What?”

“Come here, it’s a secret.”

He leaned forward, resting his hands on the comforter. Her hands draped his neck again, surprising him, and she pulled his head toward hers. Lips brushing his check, her whisper floated to his ear. “Thank you.”

Word Count: 1,955

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