Every night I check the closets, the bathroom, and everything else in my 600 square foot apartment. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling and tense when I hear a noise. My ears strain, and the silence roars. My imagination whirs, I think of someone breaking down the door, coming in while I'm asleep. I reach out to touch Ryan's gun, which isn't even loaded, then my hand shrinks away. I've only shot the thing once and hated it so I can't actually imagine myself shooting someone.
Eventually I hear the creaking steps of the upstairs neighbors, bane of my existence ever since we got a "notice" from the landlord saying that someone had complained about "loud voices" coming from our apartment after quiet hours. I'm certain it was the upstairs neighbors and now track their every indiscretion in a notebook, my eyes slitted, hating them even though I know nothing about them except they like the word "fuck" and they smoke, because I can hear them coughing all the time. I'm not quite sure what I will do with the list of indiscretions, but it makes me feel better to track those coughing bastards, their late night parties and their drunken name calling and crying.
It's harder to be alone than I imagined. Hopefully I'll score a !!!JOB!!!! soon and will be more preoccupied.
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