Little Bird | Bruce Banner

03

May 3, 2012

An incessant pinging from my phone jars me awake, and I flinch up into a seated position, staring horrified at Gennie, who's currently holding my phone out to me.

"Your phone won't stop going off," she says. "If it's that Jakob guy from last night, please promise you'll block him."

I rub my eyes with the back of my hand and take my phone from her with the other. Somehow in the events of last night, my ringer had turned on. Given I've been with the one person who texts the most, it normally wouldn't be an issue, but now my phone is coming alive with constant Twitter notifications.

When I click on one of the rapidly incoming notifications at random, it shows me my messages with Candy, of which I have to have at least 20 by now.

As even more messages pour in from the girl, I glance up to see Gennie staring at me worriedly. "Is it him?"

"No. Just a..." I glance down at the messages again, not sure how to explain. "...a fan on Twitter."

I guess it technically isn't a lie. Candy is definitely a fangirl, although she isn't mine.

Gennie nods and flops onto her bed beside me. "Oh, good," she says. "If that guy texts you, please let me respond to him on your behalf. I really want to give him a piece of my mind."

I can practically hear the words she didn't say. You could have died last night. His immature, selfish actions put you directly in harm's way. Chivalry is dead in this generation, I swear.

She says that last comment. All. The. Time.

"If you're okay," she continues, "I actually want to go back to sleep. I'm exhausted."

I stare at her worriedly. Gennie is not one to sleep in.

She notices my stare and waves me off. "No, I'm fine, I swear. I just didn't sleep very well last night after the...excitement."

I nod and curl back under her comforter beside her. Gennie falls asleep again as soon as her head hits the pillow, her shoulders slowly rising and falling with her slowing breath.

Meanwhile I turn back to my bombardment of messages from Candy.

candid-candycanes12: Hey. Wake up!
candid-candycanes12: I know you're a late sleeper, but it's literally 9 for you.
candid-candycanes12: Open those pretty eyes of yours and answer me.

candid-candycanes12: Okay but I actually might have something huge, Rem.
candid-candycanes12: There are whisperings that something is going on with all of our little suspected heroes.
candid-candycanes12: Have you heard about it too?

I sit up in at this and widen my eyes. What does she mean? Could that be why no one was around last night to stop that man?

candid-candycanes12: People think it's why so many of them have been spotted in similar locations lately (aka New York City)
candid-candycanes12: I have no idea what any of this means, but part of me really wants to come to New York to find out.
candid-candycanes12: I mean, YOLO, right?
candid-candycanes12: Maybe we'd have a chance to see Tony and Bruce being all sexy and heroic. 😉

There are dozens more messages after that, but I can't help the panic suddenly gripping my chest. How could Candy be excited about something happening in New York City that would require all of the world's rumored superheroes' attention?

I drop my phone into my lap and cradle the sides of my head. Gennie is lightly snoring beside me in the bed, and I don't want to jeopardize her sleep—especially not after everything she did for me last night—so I try to keep my newest anxiety attack under control.

Nevertheless, Gennie's snoring stops with a snort, and she whips over to look around blearily. Her eyes scan around the room briefly before she lands her gaze on me and blows her long strand of blonde hair from her mouth.

"What happened?"

I shake my head. "I'm fine, sorry." I force a smile. "I just realized I need coffee, which I'm going to go make now."

She watches me cautiously for my entire walk to her bedroom door. I try my best to appear perfectly normal and happy with my every step. It seems to work because as soon as I pull the door around, the springs on her bed squeak with her movement and the quiet snoring restarts immediately.

Once I'm down in the kitchen, I shakily prepare myself a pot of coffee, although I honestly probably don't need any caffeine with how much my body is shivering.

While the coffee brews, I press my back into the granite countertops and try to name all the things I can see in Gennie's small and colorful kitchen.

An orange lava lamp, not turned on currently.

A giant sun decal with a completely unnecessary smile in the center.

Three separate stacks of vinyl records scattered on the countertops and bookshelves.

Markedly few actual books on her bookshelves. Only mine and ones with bright orange, red, or yellow bindings.

As I continue to point out her decor to myself, I slide down the floor and pull my knees to my chest. I have to get it together before she comes down. If she finds me sitting on the kitchen floor hugging my knees like a four-year-old, she's going to give me that pitying look she always does, and then I'll have to lie and come up with some terrible excuse for being on the floor and—

Someone is knocking their fist on the back door to Gennie's apartment. The back door that is attached to the kitchen. The kitchen that I'm currently in.

With both panic and relief wrapping around in my chest, I realize that by sitting on the floor in the exact position I am, it's not possible for anyone to see me through her back door's little window. I'm perfectly hidden.

Squeezing my knees tighter to my chest, I try to distract myself by thinking of my favorite literary quotes, but this only works for a short while, and the person keeps knocking in that same quiet tone that evades Gennie's notice but haunts me.

It sounds exactly how Patrick used to knock.

I drop my head between my knees and sit as perfectly still as I can. My breath won't stop rushing in and out of my mouth rapidly, but if I sit still and don't move, he'll move on. If I blend into the cupboards, he won't even see me here. The man at the door won't even know anyone was home.

I don't know how long the person keeps knocking in an attempt to capture someone's attention, but I'm almost certain my birthday has long passed by the time the panic releases me from its hold. But when I check the time on my phone, it still reads, May 3, 2012.

Only one more day until my birthday, the one day of the year I truly try to forget the danger all around me and just enjoy my day. And this year, I've promised myself the most relaxed and enjoyable birthday yet.