RISK

"Reset your password," I put my phone down and looked up at the ceiling; I wished I could reset the world. Or at the very least reset my routine for the past year. Instead, I had locked myself inside my bedroom since 6 p.m. the night before. Just like every other night since it all began and people made locking themselves inside their bedrooms their safest getaway.

I heard him from inside my room. Him coming into his room the night before. The quick moaning. The coughing. He always came fast but that night was at light speed. More coughing. More coughing. Then he stopped. He stopped for almost a whole twenty-hour hours. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going out there unless I absolutely needed to. I didn’t want to get it again.

It was almost uncomfortably silent. Vincent smoked like a chimney, so I was used to his coughing. The sound of it. Then it started again, as if it had heard my thoughts all the way from Vincent’s lungs. But the more the coughing repeated itself, the more indistinguishable it became; it wasn’t Vincent’s. It could have been Tom, who didn’t smoke and whose cough I have never heard, even when he himself caught it. He had quarantined at his family’s for those two weeks. Tom was the one roommate I didn’t talk to past our casual trips to the fridge. We didn’t have much in common with his career involving being behind a computer screen the entire day and mine keeping me as far away from one as humanly possibly. Granted, the pandemic made engineers like him rivet in their field while artists like myself reveled in the sheerness of still being alive. I grabbed my phone off my bed; I couldn’t delay it any longer.

“Reset your password,” I entered the three words in all lowercase letters. I thought I was being extremely clever in making that prompt my new password, but the truth was I was being lazy. At least this way, there was no way I’d forget my password for the app again. The app., which was in and of itself my laziest getaway.

“Hey sexy,” I reread the message sent to me by “George” before locking myself out of the app. the night before. The night before when I decided the app. was a waste of my time. But I was wasting time equally by sitting in my bedroom texting no one. It didn’t make a difference how I chose to waste my time. Was I going to take a risk by meeting George? Probably not. Was I going to take a risk by talking to my roommates in our coming living space, to finally discuss everything we each did that was slowly driving me to edge of insanity. Probably not.

“Hey,” I responded. It had been over twenty-four hours. Men usually stopped responding on that app after twenty-four minutes. “Hey!” I heard along with a knock outside my door. It was Larry, my other roommate; my straight roommate and surprisingly the one I got along with the most.

“You ok, Larry?” I asked as he stood in front of my door with a dirty sauce pan in-hand. “No, do you know where Vincent is?” he asked me. “He should be in his room, I heard him coughing,” I responded. “That was actually me,” Larry said as I suddenly and impulsively started to close the door. “I don’t have it,” Larry said as he gave me a judgmental look. He could give me that look all he wanted. “Better safe than sorry,” I thought as I looked as his unprotected face.“What do you need?” I asked, hoping he’d spill the beans and get moving along back to his lease-assigned living space. “I need him to buy me some more butter and cheese,” Larry said, revealing the justifiable root of his irritation. There was crusted over butter and cheese on that pan. Vincent loved grilled cheese sandwiches. He hated paying for the cheese and butter to make them. “I’m sorry, I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday, but you should text him...”I said, wanting Larry to just go away. There was nothing I could do for him—especially going to the store to replace his groceries—so getting his nose inches closer to mine wasn’t going to help. Larry didn’t believe in face masks or the reason why I, along with half of the country, had stay locked in their room most of that year. After looking at me hesitantly another couple of seconds, Larry started backing away and heading back to his bedroom.

I laid in bed for another hour then napped for another hour until I was waken up by my phone, which laid against my elbow. It gave me another vibrating nudge before I finally grabbed it and checked the notification; it was from the app. “Hey sexy,” I read George’s second message. Really? He had no originality. He copied and pasted the exact same message. So I did the same, except this time I added his name to it, “Hey, George.” Maybe by reading it, he’d realize how stupid sending repetitive, two-word messages on that app was. Maybe he’d start messaging me in a more interesting manner. I waited for a response for ten minutes, flipping back and forth between the app and social media. Then I moved onto another lost cause.“Larry is pissed because you used all his cheese, text him about it, man,” I messaged Vincent. He was good about responding to my texts. I didn’t really care, but I wanted someone to respond to my call for attention. Then I heard a sign of life from him; this time from the kitchen. It was loud; glass shattering. It wasn’t enough to get me out of bed, but it was enough for me to send him another follow-up response saying “Dude, are you trying to get evicted?” Vincent was Larry’s gay best friend first, and that’s how he got on our lease; little did either of them think they’d end up liking me more than each other; little did I think I’d end up becoming their mediator more than I’d ever care to be. Vincent responded with loud footsteps back to his room and a loud door slam. He was louder than usual.

I laid down for another hour. Scrolling back and forth through the app and social media and then mostly through the app. I saw random faces, and then familiar faces. I saw some beautiful faces, and a once beautiful faces: Ken. Ken was my ex-boyfriend who became an ex when I discovered he gave me an STI. That’s the risk you run when you meet your future ex on an app. Then there was Vincent, who was always on the app. Vincent who hadn’t responded nor given me any direct signs of life in over twenty-four hours. Then there was George. George was online but hadn’t responded in over an hour. Flakes were always the risk with these apps.

“Hello, sexy,” I read George’s third message. He was the worst. If I hadn’t been so bored, I wouldn’t have responded, much less with an actual response. “That bored, huh?” I had to know why he kept wasting both our times. Then something else caught my attention; it was Tom. He was on the app. I never expected to see my most antisocial roommates on there. An slew of questions infiltrated my mind. He was gay? Why didn’t he tell us he was gay? Why was he on the app? Why did I care? Was I that bored with my life? I almost sent him a message but stopped when I heard a door slam again. This time it wasn’t coming from the direction of Vincent’s bedroom. It was coming from behind one of my bedroom walls. It was coming from Tom’s bedroom. It was a loud slam, followed by a banging on the wall, also loud. And lastly, coughing. A loud cough. A scary loud cough. There was no way I was leaving my room anytime soon and risk getting whatever Tom had.

I laid in bed for another hour, this time just scrolling through social media, then I switched over to my playlist and listened to “Everything Will Be Alright” at full volume. I was sure the sound of that whole album playlist would get Tom’s attention just like all his banging and coughing had gotten mine. But nothing. I was allowed to bury myself in the sound of The Killers best album until I wasn’t. This time the sound was coming from my door. I got up, assuming it was Larry again. If Vincent hadn’t responded to me, I knew Larry hadn’t gotten a better outcome. I walked over and stood by the door, calling out to Larry with “What’s up, dude?”

Not a sign of life from the other side. Was I going to risk another face-to-face interaction. Maybe. I wasn’t sure so I hesitated for a few seconds until I finally opened the door ever so slightly. I heard it, breathing. But not from the other side. This time it was coming from the direction of Tom’s bedroom door. Curiosity got the best of me so I opened the door more, just a little more. I risked peeping to the other side: nothing. A nothingness followed by a loud slam from Tom’s bedroom door. There was no one on the other side of my door. And soon there was no sound coming from the direction Tom’s bedroom.

I laid in bed for ten minutes this time before the sound of “Joy Ride” was interrupted by a message from George. I waited a minute before opening it. “So what’s your favorite Killer’s song?” I responded with “So you can write complete sentences? Everything Will Be Alright, yours?” It was cute message he sent. George took the time to look through my app profile and read my “About Me” and the section on “favorite music.l” He didn’t respond right away again. After four minutes, I got curious. His pictures were cute. I wanted to see them again. Curly-haired, dirty blonde with mysterious, dark eyes; he defined brooding. UCLA graduate. His sexual position complimented mine, not that I had considered taking that risk yet. After another four minutes of cruising his profile, I decided to do the same with mine; I wanted to make sure my pictures weren’t the reason he hadn’t been responding quicker. I looked through them; they were all current and I had stayed in relatively decent shape throughout the pandemic, maybe even lost a few pounds. Then I looked at my “About Me” just to make sure every bit of punctuation and spelling was correct. Then it hit me. Hit me like a sharp knife to my absentminded mind. Then I proceeded to message him back before even getting a response from him, “How did you know I like ‘The Killers?’” I sent it and not a minute too soon he responded with, “I can hear you listening to them.” He was joking. George had to be messing with my already messy mind. Maybe I was being Cat-fished? Vincent was a comedian, after all. His whole life was a joke. But would he go through all that trouble? There was one way to find out. I went to George’s profile to see his distance; 91 feet. Then I went back onto Vincent’s page. 120 feet...

There was no way...Then I remembered who else I had just seen online on the app. I scrolled through all the familiar and harmless faces until I reached Tom’s profile. Then I clicked on it. Then I read the distance. 91 feet. I didn’t do anything else at all for a whole minute, maybe longer, my phone opened to the app; my phone lifeless in my hand now. I had forgotten to charge it that day as I didn’t think I’d be leaving my bedroom to take any risk. I hadn’t noticed it slowly losing his life throughout my day and evening of pointless messaging. I looked for my charger, my absentmindedness creeping back into my life in the ugliest of ways.

I heard another bang against the wall. It wasn’t loud, but loud enough for me to hear. George wanted me to hear. He wanted me to know he was with me. George wanted to risk what was left of his cover as one of the hundreds of harmless faces on the app. I got closer, as thin as the walls were, there was no way he could penetrate through them to penetrate through me. Or whatever he had in mind. But I heard it; the same breathing I had heard from Tom’s doorstep. And it was then and there that I recognized it; the same breathing coming from Tom’s doorstep only an hour earlier. A breathing I had never before heard until that evening. How could I have taken such a risk in my absentmindedness.

I had to make sure, though. What if it was all in my mind? What if I was writing out a tale of horror for no justifiable reason. What if it was a figment of my imagination as a result of the year of self-imposed quarantine in my bedroom. I made my way to the door and opened it. Quicker than almost any other time.

Darkness flooded the space, the only light coming from inside my bedroom. I crossed over into the darkness, step by step as I clutched my lifeless phone in hand. I walked closer until I was less than six feet from Tom’s door. I almost reached the door, almost feeling its white, wooden body touching my fingers. As I reached out to touch it, I instead reached out for dear air, for dear life as I tripped over something; something big, and as I hit it, something big and wet. I could feel wet, straight hair. The same straight hair I had seen earlier by my door. Larry. A slow creaking followed. The door. More darkness followed. But this was only momentary as a light greeted me, foreshadowed the horror that had been patiently waiting for me for the past twenty-hour hours. Maybe longer. “They know we’re here, Tom, they know who we are...” the light flashed on his eyes; the greenest eyes I had ever seen. Eyes both full of life and devoid of it. I couldn’t move. They were snake eyes. Deadly eyes. Eyes willing to take any risk with anyone’s life, including theirs. Then, just like it had proven my enemy in that fall, gravity came to my rescue as I got on one knee and kicked the door, sending George back with another bang following from his body.

I got up, leaving Larry’s lifeless body to serve as a roadblock for George catching up to me. I made my way to the front door and attempted to open it, first reaching for the top lock but my brain and fingers couldn’t make the connection. I wasn’t going to make it out. So I had to head back inside. I started running back towards my door when I felt gravity once again, once again against me. I felt his body on top of mine. The pandemic weight loss against me. His bony fingers had a power over mine, which despite my smaller frame, retained their pudginess. He grabbed them and I could feel them start to crack under the cold, powerful bonniness. I had to do something. I couldn’t risk letting anymore seconds flash before my eyes. His fingers would soon lose interest in mine and make a reach for a more vital body part. I had seen my next move, my only imaginable move, in a horror movie. Except it was the killer risking their own consciousness by head butting the heroine. I did. The sharp pain came running through my skull but it was enough to regain control of my fingers. But George wouldn’t budge. He still was on top of me and this time he did exactly what I feared; his boniness was now around my neck. I took a risk and risked everything without knowing it. My neck felt those bony fingers ensnare it like the deadliest of pearls. Seconds ran quickly, quicker than an second, minute, hour, or day spent in that shared, four-bedroom apartment during that one year quarantine. I had my pudgy fingers still, so I started reaching around the floor; I felt it; my lifeless phone. I made another attempt to give its lifeless body some use and flung it in the direction of George’s head; but again gravity proved my enemy and it instead hit the wall, sparing George from the risk of another blow.

The darkness started to get stronger, like the weight of George’s body and that boniness, a crack coming from my neck as its tenderness was being penetrated. But I still had my pudgy fingers. They were all I had left of my body to control. I started feeling through the dark, cold, wooden floor again. Nothing. It was getting darker and I heard a second crack from my neck. I couldn’t risk slowing down. Then, after what felt like an hour of nothingness, I felt something, the greasiness and crustiness of it and then the steel it had bloodied. One last, unknown act of bravery by Larry. Without one more second to risk, which might have been might last, I hit George with all my remaining strength over the head. Finally, the boniness lost its control. I gasped once, and only once for air before getting on my feet and starting to run. Run. Run until I reached the front door, the light coming from my open bedroom door helping me find the first lock. My fingers were wet with blood, not mine, not George’s, but someone’s blood. I didn’t risk losing a minute by turning to look at George. Where he was. How near he was. After a second, a second and a microsecond, I got the top lock to slide. I made my way down to the second and last lock, and I only struggled for a microsecond to get that one open. I opened it and air and sunlight, what was left of it due to daylight savings time, flooded my eyes and the space. And in response I uttered the loudest scream my beaten trachea possibly could.

I didn’t scream afterward. Or at all. I couldn’t. The guilt wouldn’t allow me to as Mrs. Ardalan cried while over the phone. She didn’t expect to witness the grizzly sight she did when coming to visit Vincent for New Year’s Eve. Vincent. Tom. Larry. And five more men before them. All in five days. All through the app. The pandemic had swept every news outlet that the world had forgotten there were other living viruses out there claiming innocent lives. Each innocent life had allowed George, (who wasn’t named George and had no identification on him) into their home for a hook up, only to end up hooked to their bathroom door by a knife to the throat, or to their bedroom door by two knives to their palms, or in Tom’s case, hooked to his bed by a knife to his right eye. He had died of a fractured skull minutes before that. A fractured skull involving the thin wall between his bed and mine.

“You always run risks,” said the officer, Rodriguez, as he looked down at me. I could tell that coincidentally, Rodriguez was part of the community of those deceased men: my community. I didn’t say anything. Not because of my beaten trachea, I simply had no words. I always jokingly wondered if spending a year in self-imposed quarantine would pose the risk of my words disappearing; I never thought such a thing was possible in such an ugly way.

“Be careful, kid,” said Rodriguez as he walked over to talk once again to the inconsolable Mrs. Ardalan. I was careful. More careful than Rodriguez as he risked both of them by talking so close, so face-to-face with her; there wasn’t a word from his mouth that would bring her peace. Recovery. You can recover from a seemingly deadly virus; how do you recover from the virus known as the human race? A virus waiting to mutate from a seemingly half-decent member of society into something else, something unblinking, something barely breathing, something unthinkable; something willing to run every risk to destroy you.