2. Nixon

Chapter two

Nixon

I don’t even know how many times I’ve nearly died, but I’m sure this is the one that’s going to finish me.

Only I could be so unlucky to choke to death on the one night all of my roommates are out of the house.

Panic claws at my insides, needy and desperate, as I frantically paw at my throat in a futile attempt to dislodge the stupid piece of sweet and sour pork I was trying to toss to myself. Well, Winner , I guess we caught it.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I know I have only seconds to save myself, but I’m freaking the fuck out and can’t think straight. My hands are glued to my throat in the universally known gesture of “help me, I’m choking to death,” but there is no one to save me tonight. Linc, my best friend, is going to come home in the morning to my stiff blue corpse and two half-eaten cartons of congealed Chinese food, sauce on the side.

I know I’m clumsy and accident prone. I know I have the absolute worst luck. But come on, universe! Give a guy a break!

A flash of memory—my dad, in jeans and a white undershirt, telling me during one of our many trips to the ER that at the rate I was going, I wasn’t going to live past my teens, my mom holding a blood-soaked towel to my head as we waited to be called back.

A car crash.

Weak lungs.

Caught in a riptide.

Mugged.

Tripped on my own shoelace.

Only now it seems I’m going to die of an obstructed airway. Great.

As black spots begin to appear in my vision, I scramble into my bedroom on weak and wobbly legs. I somehow manage to make it up onto my bed, and in a last-ditch effort, I jump and launch myself into the air.

The impact against the hardwood floor is so jarring I know I’m going to have a mild to moderate concussion, but the instant crack to my skull and down my back is secondary as I gasp in a lungful of air and then practically fold in half as I cough and cough, the blasted batter-coated piece of pork flying from my mouth to land harmlessly across the room.

My eyes water, and I clutch my head and throat, trying to get control of my coughing as the tingling in my limbs gradually subsides and adrenaline takes its place. Everything else fades as the seconds tick by, and I breathe in the shock of being alive.

“Fuck,” I mutter roughly, hardly able to process the last seventy-five seconds. Blinking away tears, I slowly try to sit up and just manage it, only everything wobbles once I’m upright. I’ve had enough concussions to know I won’t be going into work on Monday.

Movement outside my bedroom window catches my eye though, and I swear I must have hit my head harder than I thought. There’s a man standing on the fire escape.

I’m on the fourth floor, so it’s not impossible for him to have climbed up there, but what the fuck is he doing staring inside my window at one o’clock in the morning?

“Hey!” I shout instinctively, then instantly regret it, my vision swimming as I squint toward the window while rubbing the back of my head.

I’m with it enough to see the man jerk back in surprise, though I can’t make out any of his features since he’s wearing a black hoodie with the hood pulled up. Before I can blink, he vanishes into thin air, and if I hadn’t just nearly died, again, I know I’d be freaking out that he possibly fell off the fire escape to his death. Or that I’m hallucinating.

As it is, I muster the will to crawl to my window, moving slowly so I don’t rattle my noggin any more than necessary. There’s no way I’m fighting with the damn old window to wrestle it open right now, so I settle for peering outside. I can’t see much since it’s dark. There is some ambient light from the street below that filters in my windows, but I don’t see any bodies on my escape or the one below.

Whatever. The way I figure it, if the guy was some Peeping Tom, he got what he deserved.

Settling with my back against the wall, I rest for a minute, still rubbing my bonked head and swallowing continuously in a futile attempt to soothe my sore throat. I pull out my phone and squint at the brightly lit screen as I text Linc.

Nix : Just so u know, I managed to save u from having to come home to a corpse.

It takes a minute, but Linc’s reply comes in all caps.

Linc : WHAT DID U DO?

Nix : Nearly choked to death on a piece of sweet and sour pork.

Linc : Dear God. How are u actually still alive?

I snicker because seriously.

Nix : (shrug emoji) Mysteries of the universe.

Linc : Do u need me to come home?

I pause to take stock. My head throbs and my developing headache will probably only get worse. My throat hurts, but it’s not really anything to worry about. All in all, aside from having nearly died, I know I’ll be okay. I’ve been here before.

Nix: Nah. I’ll live.

Linc : Not funny, man.

Nix : Ik. Sorry.

Linc : Text me if u need me.

I send back a thumbs-up emoji and then set my phone down before kneeling up again to look outside. It’s just as dark as before, and I literally can’t see anything other than my platform and the ones directly above and below mine. I’m not sure why anyone would be out on the fire escape at this hour, but I suppose whoever it was probably won’t be coming back.

I grab my phone to make a note since I know my fuzzy brain won’t remember it in the morning: dark curtains and something to bar the window.

I wasn’t expecting much to happen on my lackluster Saturday night spent at home, but I definitely wasn’t planning any near-death experiences.

I’ve never been what anyone would call “hale” or “hearty.” Having been the only one of a set of triplets to survive to birth, I was still born premature and incredibly fragile. While I suppose surviving at all might make me lucky, it was clear from the start I was going to be one of those people who should live in a bubble. Or Bubble Wrap.

My younger brother—apparently my parents wanted another shot at producing an heir who would make it to adulthood—is probably twice my size. While Saint definitely got the brawn in the family, I’m not at all sorry to say I got the brains.

If only all my smarts could keep me out of trouble.

Deciding I’ll be okay for the night, I know the best thing I can do for myself is to get some rest. I gingerly stand and head to the kitchen, glaring at the cartons of half-eaten food while I close them up and stick them in the fridge. I grab a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and a bottle of water from the pack on the floor.

Stopping by the bathroom, I pop a couple of ibuprofen, brush my teeth, and then head back to my room to strip. If whoever was outside earlier wants to watch me sleep, well, I hope he enjoys the show.

I forgo a text to my mom since I know she’ll only worry and flick off the light, then place the peas on my pillow. It’s bound to be a restless night, and the morning is not going to be pretty either, but I settle in, close my eyes, and do my best to sleep.