Just as my eyes begin to feel heavy, I can hear the deep bass line penetrating through my bedroom wall. The large mirror that hangs above my headboard rattles with each thump. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I grumble. I ball my hand into a fist and bang on the wall a few times in a heed of warning.
The music continues for another thirty minutes before I finally break down. In between bouts of laughter and tears, I come unglued. I throw shoes at the wall, throw pillows, and kick the wall so hard I damn near leave a hole. I’m so angry, lost, and sorry. Pulling myself together, I stand up and brush the tears from my face. I realize that I look like a wreck and I don’t care. I need to sleep before I lose my mind.
I walk through the living room, dodging end tables, and into the kitchen¸ where I flip on the light over the kitchen island. I twist the deadbolt lock and step into the carpeted hallway. The music is noticeably louder out here, and only gets louder as I approach the door marked 2200. I knock, tentatively at first, and wait. When no one answers, I smack the door hard with my open hand and wait again. This time, the door flies open and the obnoxious club music fills the hallway along with sounds of laughter from the party.
“Can I help you?” the obviously drunk man says as he steadies himself with the open door.
“Yeah. I’m Lindsay, your next-door neighbor who is trying to sleep. Think you can turn down that atrocious music and ask your friends to keep it down? I mean it’s only three twenty in the morning. I hope that’s not too much to ask.” My voice is loud and laced with anger and sarcasm.
“I’m Jonah, and three o’clock is usually when we just get started. Want to join us?” His eyes trail slowly down my barely clothed body and he smirks. I look into the condo and see a couple snorting something off the granite countertop and an island full of liquor.
“Just fucking keep it down,” I hiss at him and begin walking back to my condo. “And quit acting like a twelve-year-old boy with a boner, who has never seen a girl in a pair of shorts and tank top.”
“Those are fucking underwear, not shorts.” He laughs and slams his door shut before I get the chance to slam mine first.
“Prick,” I mutter to myself and lean against my door. My hand is trembling and I’m not sure if it’s out of anger or exhaustion, but I know I need to take a pill and relax. I spot my purse on the couch and quickly make my way to it. Reaching inside, I pull out the brown pill bottle and pop open the top. I dump two little white pills into my hand and toss the bottle on the couch as I scramble back to the kitchen for a glass of water.
Pressing the glass to my lips, I let the water carry those two little pills that will bring me relief down my throat. I’d been doing great at not using these pills until three weeks ago—until I made the decision to take this job and move here. I clench my right hand in hopes that the trembling ceases. The thumping music is less noticeable here in the living room than it is in the bedroom, so I lie down on the cool leather couch and release a deep breath. Knocking the small bottle of pills onto the floor, I hold a large throw pillow against my chest and close my eyes. My heart beats wildly while I wait for the little pills to dissolve and bring me relief—relief from the anger and self-hatred I feel—but mostly relief from the pain in my heart.#p#分页标题#e#
I find myself stuck somewhere between deep sleep and semi-consciousness when I hear the loud knocking that doesn’t let up. “What?” I mumble incoherently. I finally open my eyes, only to be assaulted by sun streaming in from the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows in my living room and another round of loud knocking on the door. “Hold on,” I holler as I push myself off the couch and get my bearings.
I stumble to the door just as the knocking continues. “Jesus Christ! I said ‘hold on,’” I bark as I fling the door open.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s finally awake,” Jonah, my obnoxious next-door neighbor says as he stands holding a cardboard tray with two coffees and a small, white paper bag.
“What do you want?” I glare at him.
“Peace offering,” he says as he raises the bag and tray and a wide smile stretches across his face. “Are you going to be neighborly and invite me in, or do I have to take this back to my place and share with the girl who’s passed out on my couch?”
“Classy, aren’t you, Jonah?” I say, opening the door wider and motioning him in. He walks to the center island and sets down the bag and tray of coffees. I shut the door and stand with my arms crossed over my chest and wonder why in the world I just let this asshole into my condo. But the smell of the coffee reminds me why: I have a headache the size of the Grand Canyon and coffee is what I need. Jonah pulls out one of the tall chairs and waits for me to take a seat.